Poetry By Gary D. Grossman

Gerry Dincher CC



Last Lesson

i.
The crinkle of new percale, no, it's the full moon 
awakening me as cold silver folds back the

curtain's edge, a dream returning me decades, 
Mom's voice — my right ear, I need to break 

you before you leave, too much pride
and arrogance. At sixteen, first year Valley State

College, I topped her by half a foot, but when
she lost it, my face changed to sculpted granite  —  

rock always the best look. This hurts 
me more than you, her neuropathic hand 

barely grasping the curtain rod that struck
my left arm inning after inning as her brain raged. 

No physical marks. But all can be borne by hard stone — 
heart in rhythm with the pine rollers of the Blue Ridge. 

ii.
I never yelled at lovers or wife, but at times
the daughters provoked — anger lurking 

behind eyeballs and mouth. After time I
learned, inhale, exhale, calming mantra

as if I was a deep eddy in the New River gorge, 
my lava now ash, and sunlight sifting

the cloudy skies.  

iii. 
Mackerel sky blankets the moon as our room
reaches for the unlight. Calves touching, kids

grown, we comfort in familiars of the flesh. 
The decades teach how mountains waltz, 

or stay in place. How breath breaks 
anger down to sand, and silt, 

then tosses all into 
the strong west wind, 

all, for the best.  


​

Gary D. Grossman enjoys sharing his poems and essays, published in 80 literary reviews. He doesn't enter contests but his work has been nominated for the usual awards, i.e., Pushcart, Best of Net, etc.- no wins yet, so meh, right? His graphic memoir, three books of poetry and gourmet venison cookbook all may be purchased via his website or Amazon. Gary enjoys running, fishing, gardening and playing ukulele.