How To Wear Melancholy

How To Wear Melancholy

A palimpsest on Picture of a Soul  ~  by Elizabeth Spires

A sweatshirt I inherited.
I sleep in it. Or it folds into my midnight poetry.
Pale blue, of course.

A wearied sag,
Stained with every tear
and slowly fading into rain.

It should be a rag
discarded yesterday, today, tomorrow,
still it ripens every autumn.

Here, can you feel it?
Stretch marks
once round and perky.

On the doorknob
In the closet. Waiting.
Leaves falling fast.

© Andrea Grillo 2018





So What?

Just This

after Ongoing by Jenny Xie

So what…the heartaches and headaches she collected like paper cuts over the years? Her early twenties—the twin beds of naiveté and wanderlust lay between book covers, on movie screens and in ballads along with all the angst of tragic heroism. Mood swings hitched-hiked in her Volkswagen Beetle over potholed backroads and the Parkway bound for revolutions on salty ferris wheels tottering on piers along the Jersey shore. Still, there was hope. Inside poems and under the canopy of trees. Work championed her thirties and forties until the prefixes of peri- and meno- attached themselves to the huge pause that followed many false starts and ambivalences. Books no longer satisfied and workmanship dulled into duty. Paint brushes and solvents hued the corners of her fifties and sixties. Self-Doubt trashed canvasses and shrink-wrapped perspective and poetry offering proposals of a loveless marriage or spinsterhood—what difference anyway? Until composition and compassion, juxtaposition and abstraction and other -itions emerged. New frames started to replace stale views of filtered servitude. With charcoal under her fingertips, she labored hard for beyond the so-whats and the for-whats, graying ever-so-lightly lightly into just this.

Just Download It – It’s Easy They Say…

Sometimes I really feel like I don’t belong on this planet. Sometimes I just feel so stupidignorant is the better/correct word but stupid is the feeling. Also frustrated and angry at the computer, cellphone, apps, multiple user names, complicated passwords and everything else that is supposed to be so easy breezy and yet not. I don’t have any young version of me around who gets this stuff and can show me. I have wonderful and patient friends here and there who are better than me, but mostly in the same boat as they rely on their offspring or offspring-in-laws. And while I’m on this rant – I may as well throw in that I hate keys and all that they represent – a necessary burden in a rather sad state of human affairs. What a colossal waste of time and energy to lug around these weighty  metal objects that supposedly protect us by locking out uninvited visitors, and yes I know – I know, soon-to-be-outdated-if-not-already-in-place by more of the same easy breezy cell phone and computer apps/lock/unlock programs that require even more stringent passwords and are even heavier than keys in the literal and figurative sense.

This is really not a rant about technology or progress, but actually the lack of it in my mind, of human systems and values keeping pace. Or is it, as some of you would suggest, just an outcry on aging. Probably all of the above. I’m going out for a long walk.


vinyl yet another word for the generation gap to define


what password would the rain offer?