Diane Webster ~ Two Poems

Cane Hung

Wooden cane hung
on wood­en fence –
old man had to blow
his nose, need­ed
two hands for the job.
If he crooked his cane
across his elbow,
it would tum­ble
to the ground, dis­tant ground
where he’d have to stoop
and hope he didn’t top­ple
beside his fall­en cane
look­ing like chalk draw­ings
on side­walk star­ing at pedes­tri­ans,
plead­ing silent­ly
for some­one to give a hand
so they could stand
three dimen­sion­al again.

Instead cane is for­got­ten, hung
like a hub­cap on the fence
hop­ing for owner’s return,
owner’s fright­ened hand
grap­pling for sure han­dle
on earth.

~

Gone Inside

Two years after surgery
I still keep the pic­ture
of my dis­eased gall blad­der.
I don’t dis­play it
in the fam­i­ly pho­to album like
“This is the only known pic­ture
of Cousin Gall.
He was the her­mit of our fam­i­ly.”

It nes­tles in oth­er papers
I might need some day
like it used to rest inside me
unno­ticed, unknown, unseen.
Somehow throw­ing it away
is like anoth­er part of me
gone

~

Diane Webster’s work has appeared in Home Planet News Online, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Better Than Starbucks, and oth­er lit­er­ary mag­a­zines. She has no for­mal edu­ca­tion in writ­ing. She has learned from tri­al and error, expe­ri­ence and read­ing.