Kristin Flick Strid: 3 Poems

copyright 2010

Forty Years Together

Today we walked in the wind
along the cliffs of Moher
high above thundering surf

In Lahinch
we explored the rocky beach
as late day sun quieted
booming waves washed
slippery stepping stones
that tested our balance

Now in the alcove of our room
facing the murmuring sea
I read to you
a story of a climber
who builds schools
in the name of peace

You sip Irish whiskey
rub my feet
listen with attention

We are content
as the sun begins its slide
slowly out of sight.

Anam Cara (Gaelic for Soul Friend)

On a misty morning in Killarney
we met a storyteller
he called it a soft day
a day fit for a bit o’ lore

Behind a gray window
he coaxed the invisible
gave us glimpses of magic
heroes, ghosts , and gods

In a rose colored room
by the sea in County Clare
we got shocking news
of Jim Manion our friend

He died in his sleep
just sixty years he was
and no flights from Shannon
could take us back home

By Galway Bay
on a pebbly beach
We remembered his wit
drank some whiskey

Cried for his Maureen
their red headed kids
things he would miss
the songs we had sung

On a bus packed with locals
who all seemed familiar
we bounced through towns
on our way to Lahinch

Stopping in Ennis
looked for a church
dragged our suitcases
over time worn cobbles

We found a cathedral
filled with mourners
a funeral mass
for another man

whose name was
was Jim Manion

To Evelyn

          June 12, 1914 - February 20, 2005

       I

The peonies appeared right on time
some in crepe paper pale lavender tutus
did pliés
along the bluestone walk
the crimson prima donna stood tall
waiting for applause
while quiet whites leaned
and looked for you
over their shoulders

       II

I always meant to take you
to the zinnia farm
where I cut flowers
ten for a dollar
never longer than wrist to elbow
leaving buds for the next lady
to cut in the hot sun

I meant to walk you there
between alleyways of
sunset pink, blaze orange
school bus yellow, lipstick red
like rows in your paint box
where together we could
squint to see Matisse and Monet
waving to us

Biographical Note for Kristin Flick Strid: I started writing stories and poetry as a young mother of five, sneaking time at my typewriter while the children napped. In the early 80’s I enrolled in an autobiographical writing class and have been there ever since. Every Monday morning, I would steal away to my secret place, behind the heavy wooden doors, in the parlor of the old Victorian house, where we read each other’s work, talked, and listened to each other. It was there, engrossed in the works of my classmates, that I forgot if we were out of milk, if the dog needed his shots, and didn’t care what was for dinner. I made many life-long friendships and began to learn the art of good writing. My published works include The Swimming Lesson, an eighty-three page collection of poetry, two children’s stories, and inclusion in Monday Mornings, an anthology of short stories and poetry. For more writing by Kristin Strid, see Author Index for Poetry and Author Index for Prose L-Z.