Winter Pears
On a wooden swing hanging
From the highest bough
Of his back yard pear tree
We learned to fly at the
Speed of dreams on summer
Afternoons, leaning back
And gripping rusted
Chains and looking far up
Into thick foliage that hid
The dark limbs that held us.
From the tall tree that grew
Small winter pears
I’d fly with him across the
Summers and briefly
Forget for a moment
My parent’s marriage,
The family finances,
My sister’s sickness.
In quick motion sweeping us
Upward, we learned to fly.
Before I knew of fallen fruit
Or how spring winds
Waste pear blossoms,
I knew him. He flew
Unfettered and without
Cares where dreams
Grew slow like winter pears
On the highest branches
To ripen and fall only
In late summer.
Today, under a pear tree
Drooping with fruit
I dreamt him here.
(c)1996 Doug Tanoury
Finches II
On a narrow ledge
Under the front porch
Awning
Families of finches
Have built three
Nests
Sloppy and unkempt
With tangled strands
Blowing
This way and that
Like three women in a
Convertible
Driving with the top down
Along the Interstate on
June afternoon
(c) 1996 Doug Tanoury