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.