Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow: A sonata of words in four parts. Part II: teddy bear: a poem

Our backs against a tree,
she read aloud, to herself as much
as to me, and I listened.
Orange leaves (and brown and red)
carpeted the little hill.

"I feel cold," she said.
She looked at me, a wry grin
touching those rosy cheeks;
"I envy you — the chill doesn't
bother you, does it?"

Back inside the house,
I sat on the bed as she changed and brushed
her teeth. The lights out,
she gave me a quick squeeze and sighed.
I watched the ceiling all night.

Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow: A sonata of words in four parts. Part I: Never enough time

I was walking to school one brisk, chill, autumn day. Towards the end of my walk I always cross the park (or "common," as it's called) and that little interlude almost always instills in me a sense of peace found in few other places. The walkway is uneven red brick and there are plenty of trees and grass and open space -- a built in respite from the harsh, fast-paced city life. On this one particular day -- I suppose it must have been early in the afternoon -- the common was loosely populated; a few people passing through, some sitting on benches, others out on the grass. I was halfway across when a dark brown average sized dog shot across my vision like an arrow. My first reaction was to remark to myself just how arrow-like the dog's rush was. My second thought, following the first within the same instant, was to wonder what it was bolting after, and my gaze followed the dog's path, which led to the base of a tree. My eyes caught the flicker of movement as a squirrel darted up the trunk only far enough to be out of its pursuer's reach. The dog, whose momentum had carried it past the tree for only the slightest moment, had adjusted its movement quickly and stood now with its forepaws a little ways up the tree, eyes intent on the squirrel. I saw no more of this scene as I passed by, but as I continued my jouney to school, I breathed in the cool fresh air and smiled to myself.

louder now

I can see them coming, friends with worry in their eyes and concern in the question they all share: am I alright; am I okay? I give them my best smile. Yes. Everything is alright; how could it be otherwise when the scent of freshly cut grass persists stubbornly just outside the window, while someone sings brazen showtunes in the parking lot, and I can see my car nestled perfectly in that slot next to my last class? I smile again to send them on their way and then turn to stare at the window once more. What do they see? I wonder if, perhaps, there some secret in my reflection, some ghost in the glass to expose the flaw. I search desperately for something, anything to fill that hole in my understanding. What am I missing? My thoughts fade as the singing falters outside and is replaced by the sound of cursing as a dreamer is led back to class.