Mike Freveletti is a consultant at an insurance firm in the Western Suburbs of Chicago. He has been writing poetry, short stories, and plays for the past 10 years. He is currently the Historian and Email Coordinator for the Illinois State Poetry Society and his work has been published both online and in print for publications like RiverPoets, Kind of Hurricane Press, and Gyroscope Review.
Before We Get to Desire
I find myself drawn to the security
Of a single though
tNot a confluence of ideas
Or a sense that commonality
Is what binds us to one another
Yet the only angel I look to
Is the one who unravels expectation
And draws upon the night
The only true instance of silence
Where that security is a dream
That formats what we are
In this house, being ourselves.
Bio of Betsy Fuchs
Betsy Fuchs writes poetry, memoir, family stories, and prayers. She posts her work, sometimes accompanied by archival and contemporary photographs, at http://betsywblog.blogspot.com/ These days she is writing stories about her Aunt Claire LeBrint Metzger, of blessed memory, who was the family’s “Auntie Mame” and a writer-role model for Betsy.
The Spaciousness of Books
Twenty-first century clutter traps me
fills my time and in a daze my days disappear
–what with Facebook Twitter Email Facetime YouTube
Wikipedia Blogs Podcasts Texting IM Instagram.
Twentieth century paper clutter still around still abounds
mail delivered daily: donation pleas, advertising come-ons
– tossed out
magazines mailed monthly: AARP, Southern Poverty Law Center and more
– kept in baskets
handouts from: poetry readings, classes, events, workshops
– kept in files
(like my emails, maybe to read or to need later).
Yet in my house there are books
on shelves
on tables
on night-stands
many old
a few new
some from the library
some from friends
with their solid feel
and their sometimes temporary status
– I read them now
(unlike my Kindle, its electronic books unread).
Books in the twenty-first century are
unique a treat rare
and when I curl up in a chair
and hold a book
and feel the paper
and turn its pages
when I read and reread and mark parts I love
with sticky notes or paperclips or highlighting
or when I underline
my life is spacious and slow
in the old-fashioned twentieth century way.