Watching My Friend’s Child —poetry by Adina Cassal

Five years old and full of magic

he revels in the wonder

of the backyard sprinkler

running around it

like chasing rain

his skin and his innocence

mix with the rays

of the afternoon sun as

he throws his head back

laughter satiating the minutes

with the sweet exuberance

of the wet cold colliding

with bare chest, legs, arms

at every step of this summer dance

round and round and round

he goes, savoring blue drops

sticking out his tongue

to catch some more

bending his body at times

to mimic the arc

of the stream that rises and falls.

I stay dry.

Later, he will pick up an earth worm,

give it a name and blades of grass,

show me his Spiderman

dinner plate and tell me

he can't wear pajamas tonight.

He will blink his eyes, yawn, shed a tear

and stay up past frayed story books

and broken lullabies

just to listen

for the key at the door.

___
Adina Cassal has resided in the Washington, DC area all her adult life. Before that, she lived in six countries and acquired a love of languages, music and cats. She works providing human services to people she deeply respects. She has been published in Alimentum as well as previously in The Commonline Journal.

Holding On and Letting Go | by Adina Cassal

Feel the air

as it caresses the philtrum

on its approach to the nose.

Is it warm, cold, light, heavy?

Does it enter each nostril evenly

like a well-played Boccherini Minuet

or is it jagged, strained, like

the minutes of a zealous student

fighting for each note?

Feel it enter the unsung chambers

of the nasal cavities,

and feel its fingers explore

the long passage of the throat

as if coaxing a cry

or a laugh or a sigh or

whispered words

that only lovers would hear.

Let it fill the lungs,

so they expand like an idea,

pregnant with a story

that captures the ribcage,

the belly and even

the patient pelvis.

Imagine its light in every artery

and every cell, and then

hold it, like you would hold

the mystery of life.

Hold it one more second and

let it go.

Let go of pain, let go of joy,

let go of assignments and of desires,

let go of wars, of weather,

of prayers. Let go of shorelines.

And as you let

yourself be de-breathed,

let yourself dissolve

into the universe.

Wait.

Feel the hunger

of a child in tattered clothes

in a cardboard crib;

and then – again -

breathe,

breathe,

breathe.

___

Adina Cassal resides in the Washington DC area, where she works in human services. She has had a life long interest in literature and she thanks a wonderful workshop leader for helping her find new ways to play with the written word. Adina grew up in several countries and this is an important influence in her work. She is also regularly inspired by the people she serves and the many writers she admires.