WINDOW is the word this month and for me it brought back good memories. The pictures are of our friends, Larry and Maryann Wakefield, and my wife Sandy. They’re all in the poem.
Pebbles on the Glass
By David L. Harrison
when I, heavy sleeper,
lay oblivious in bed.
Down the hall
my mother would hear,
tell me next morning
Larry was tossing pebbles
at my window.
I would awaken eventually,
open the door.
We would sit and talk,
in the intimate hours of youth,
about taxidermy (we were taking a course),
teachers, our girlfriends . . .
pebbles on the glass are a memory,
no need to talk of taxidermy
(which ended after a distorted pigeon or two),
But we still sit, late,
in the intimate hours of friendship,
and talk about our old girlfriends,
while they, sitting nearby,
talk about us.