Donal Mahoney- Three Poems & Photo

Arrangement and photo by Carol Bales

Little Gourds in Autumn

He was upstairs doing something

on the computer when she got home

in the rain so she sent him an email

from her recliner rather than calling

from the bottom of the stairs.

Why disturb him. Nothing urgent.

She was weary after a long day

with the ladies who meet every week

and arrange flowers in the Japanese style,

a style where less is more, a style 

befitting their age, the ladies agree.

But no flowers today, she wrote. 

Instead they arranged gourds, 

little ones, in an autumnal way.

She said Victoria hadn’t come.

It’s hard for her with the walker 

but her daughter buys her flowers 

to make arrangements at home.

Her living room looks like a wake.

We’re better off than Victoria,

better off than a lot of people,

she reminded her husband.

We have to be thankful.

But now it was time for a nap.

She would check the mailbox again 

on rising and let him know if the bills 

and magazines had finally come.

The postman, she said, is likely

sitting in his van avoiding the rain.

Parachutes

First leaves of autumn.

Slow parachutes this morning 

almost at the curb.

A Symphony Lost

Harvey at 80

is losing his hearing.

He can’t hear his wife

when she talks,

a symphony lost.

But at dusk

in the garden

alone in a lawn chair

with a glass of iced tea

cubes circling

Harvey can hear 

the whippoorwill ask

and the cricket reply

and that’s all the truth

that he needs.

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Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.