Black Squirrel

Black Squirrel

There was a large pine I would walk past

Everyday

Near City Hall.

A black squirrel lived on that tree.

Storing nuts all spring and summer.

Running across the lawn.

Sleeping in branches.

I found him one morning dead in the street.

Burst open.

No expression on his face.

I’m sure those nuts are still hidden away in that tree. 

DUST SETTLES AFTER THE SKIN HAS FALLEN AWAY

DUST SETTLES AFTER THE SKIN HAS FALLEN AWAY

The load bears witness to the growth.

Heavier now than before.

The weight more solid, too.

I guess that’s what it means

to mature

to love

to be hurt.

Age adds a lot to your face,

Except hair.

You hope one day

That everything you built

(Started to build)

That every piece comes together.

Time feels wasted looking back,

But you haven’t learned the lesson

Looking forward.

Sometimes there is no Lesson,

Just an exhaustion from experience

Repeating. 

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012

We're Getting Older

We're Getting Older 

A faded image: a couple falls onto the crisp white sheets of a bed in each others’ arms.

A morning shower.

The breakfast table. The morning paper. A piece of toast and black currant jam.

She enters. Late for work. A black pencil skirt and white blouse. Her leather satchel in one hand. She empties the coffee press into her thermos.

You get up to kiss her.

“Morning, babe.”

“Morning.”

She takes what remains of your toast off the plate.

“I’ve gotta run.”

“Bye.”

The door slams shut.

“It’s always me doing nothing. Staying home and pretending that’s all it takes to be a successful creative," you think.  

"I don’t work hard enough. I need more concrete goals to push me along,” you think.

You finish a bowl of cereal and the paper.

“More dead in Syria” crosses your mind.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012