Sand Dollars For The Grandchildren

 

Did you know

that every sand dollar

that you find on the beach

has a poem inside of it?

 

When you first

pick up a sand dollar

from the sea shore,

sand will fall out from

two holes on its underside,

one larger hole in the center

and one smaller hole off to

the side near the edge.

 

Each grain of sand that falls

from those two holes are the

unused words to the poem.

The grains that remain inside are

the words that make up the poem.

 

Every time you shake the sand dollar

a little more sand falls from those

two holes changing the poem inside

a little bit, but no matter how many

times you shake it and no matter

how many grains of sand fall out

of that sand dollar, the last line

of the poem will always say

I love you.

 

 

 

Winter Wheat in Upstate New York

 

“Winter wheat” my uncle Carl responded

to my question, as he drove past the frigid

frosty field being worked and sown on this

suddenly sunless hands gloved, breathe

snorting, ear muffed tractoring morning.

 

“They plant it in the Fall”, he explained,

“The seeds can survive the cold and

germinate under the winter snow, then

the wheat sprouts when spring comes”.

 

I wish I could do that... survive the winter

cold until spring, I thought somewhat 

sardonically to myself remembering how

physical last winter was with 105 inches of

young people’s snow as we drove on toward

my cousin’s wedding up at Keuka Lake.

 

I thought that wheat must be one of those

new fangled genetically modified kinds of

wheat with some sort of teeny tiny Silicon

Valley digital micro clock embedded inside the

DNA of each and every last seed. How else would

each wheat seed know when it was March 20th?

 

Then I wondered how today’s marriage would

last through its first winter and would there be

any new sprouts announced when that winter

wheat says that spring has arrived. That would be

lovely I mused. My uncle, AKA father of the bride,

hadn’t excepted any such notion... as his new

studded tires growled on toward Keuke Lake.

 

 

Limo Lumbago

 

When I look through

the pitted windshield

over the dented

and rusty hood,

 

I still feel that

revving tingle

just as I did when

I was seventeen.

 

I still see all of

what drives me.

It all looks so

wonderfully and

 

beautifully the same.

It’s only when I mash

the old gas pedal that

I begin to feel the pain.

 

 

 

The Morning After... Trump Was Elected

(or the 1st day of the worst hangover you will ever know)

 

Woke up this morning

As did the entire world

Shell shocked

Horrified

Stunned

 

A mind crushing nightmare

Lingers like septic lead

Hillary Clinton lost

Donald Trump won

 

Hateful name calling reality show

Becomes stone cold reality

An American embarrassment

 

How is it possible

This divisive, dreadful man

Is now our new president?

 

I pray my fears

And my worst expectations

Will never be met

 

Please God

Tell me, tell us all

Of some silver lining

Anything hopeful

Anything to break our fall

 

Buckle up citizens

No matter your side

I am afraid

It is going to be

A rough and scary ride

 

© Edward Ferri, Jr.

 

Biography:   Edward Ferri, Jr. grew up on a "non profit" farm on the dry side of the Santa Cruz Mountains where "Bailing wire, gumption, and spit" were the "apps" of the day. He is a graduate of SJSU has been published in Eskimo Pie, Lucidity, Muddy River Poetry Review, Still Crazy and Agave Literary Magazines. Also forthcoming in Main Street Rag. He first realized the beauty of Denali in the rear view mirror of a gutless gutted Volvo 544. He was leaving to meet Carol and never returned.