‘Mushak’ & ‘Ode to the Banal’
Photographer - Tobi Brun
MUSHAK
Rain and wind lashed the windows
while Stan Getz blew warm gusts
of tender samba over us
You spoke about Etheridge’s drum
and how he ran off at 16 to join the army and escape Paducah
Mark began playing the drum
as you plucked the kalimba
and sang preverbal cosmic incantations
channeling the fourth dimension
And now the feast:
haddock with thyme and lemon
and a basket of rich black Lithuanian rye
Our ersatz glasses filled with
Bordeau that Andy brought
And the last of David’s Irish whiskey
David: whose earthly remains sit
in a box near your door with the words
‘Going home’ and an image of a seagull soaring
In friendship and communion we gathered at your table
covered with lovingkindness, art, books and candles
You spoke softly of those who’d gone to the faraway country
from this aching planet of sorrow and war—
Then Mark saw the mouse
darting shyly from a crevice
Perhaps he wished to join us
for it must be lonely huddling in dark, drafty spaces
avoiding cats, and traps and poison
Always unwelcome and feared
Perhaps this was Mushak, Lord Ganesha’s vehicle,
called the great ‘remover of obstacles’
whom he rides across the heavens
I promised to order you a Havahart trap
and release your Mushak in Lynn Woods
and you smiled and began singing
a lullaby in French about a mouse
that you used to sing to your daughter – un petit souris verte
We polished off the whiskey and the Bordeau
You brought out the key lime pie and strawberries
And then we cleared the table.
TIME IS AN EMOTION
In this place—
time is an emotion
In this room—
time is not wasted
It is cherished and anticipated
Here clocks are vestigial, meaningless machines
Here time is non-linear
Here time is a lie
Mother, your universe is 125-square-feet
This room is your harbor
Your next port is eternity
We know the latitude and longitude of our hearts
Mother, not too long ago
We were rich with time
Our faces were smooth
Our steps were strong and decisive
If we didn’t talk to one another
for a week or even a month
It wasn’t a problem
No feelings were hurt
No assumptions were made
Now when we sit together
I am full of questions
hungry for details
Now your voice is full of ashes and
I imprint your every word and gesture
into the rich dark soil of memory
Time is an emotion
like no other
in the heart’s lexicon.
Linda Werbner is a Salem, MA-based writer and therapist. When she isn't cooking eggplant parm in her garret, she enjoys picking her banjo and making quilts for friends and family.
