Olya

Olya

Anna A. hovers over this pen. Mimsey, Jenkin’s Mom,
Plays a frontier tune: “Jesus Loves the Little Children.”
Last night, on Olya Crawley’s birthday
(It was the twenty first here) we were reminded
Just how special this life has been. Bombs do that.
But why can’t we have a village of our friends?
Why can’t we live in one happy town?
The world is smaller, and short on time.

Eternal soulmates mingle here on earth.
Some have waited many lifetimes to be together.
Only fools fail to jump through those universal
Windows. Those tiny moments when you have
A chance to change your life forever. But an open heart
Prevails eventually: second, third, fourth chances
Until, with eyes open, the heart finds its corresponding
Mate. We’ve found ours, continents apart.

Here’s a vision of Peter: brilliant financial mind
Tempered by a flair for establishing strong economies
Via timely loans. A beach guy in warm weather, away
From London’s fog. Happy, so happy, a conscientious
Friend. who, unlike so many businessmen, delights in
Small surprises: summer breeze between Eucalyptus,
A smooth rock, a blown glass medallion to give away.
Likely this is off, so laugh and know we laugh too.

Dreams do not come true when talent goes to waste.
So it is back to the pen, the brush, the fret-board
Seeking peace in a brain too rocked by events outside
Its control. Being at the screen late last night caused
New dreams. (It was a schoolyard, then a dormitory.
It raced from the closest moments to scattered
Ethereal teardrops). Here we have bright red leaves,
But no Birches. Six children wander, finding nature’s

Offer sweet. There is a new sketch of a giant tear
With a peace sign made within it. To honor
October 22, it will be one meter square on
Canvass in time to show the strange eyes
Something new. We have seen so many things, been
So many places. There is but one soul. So my new
Thoughts persist in making my little part better while
Here, while there, while scavenging for understanding.

There she is– a smiling friend traveling two
Hundred miles to step off a platform and remain
In our minds. Small, very small and humbled,
My father reports back years later, after new soulmates
Mingle, and we lift a Christmas glass to toast the
Friends we’ve known so long. Liszt lingers now too.
Mimsey reports that he followed her around, and, one day
When she refused to go to school, she asked his ghost to

Make the rain stop or else she wouldn’t go. Poof, the rain
Stopped. Naturally she played “Liebestraum: as part of the
Serenade this afternoon. Can one quick dance charge a
Whole town? Can the frolicking peaceniks persist amid terror?
Of course they can, friend, so out you go, to the dance, to the
Show. Anna is weeping at such loose use of words, but
The point is, this village is growing. Here is to Peter and Olya, Jenny
And Doug. They know that to make the soul better you have to have fun.

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2001. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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