Two Poems

Another Country

Our conversations were like paths.
We wandered through the woods,
pushed through brambles,
found the sunlit clearings.

The woods seem unfamiliar now.
Being there without you
is like searching through maps with shifting paths.

Map after map.
Each one blurs and fades away.

Everything You Left is on the Table
on the death of my father


The pencilled harmonies that dance across the staves.
The five-nibbed pen I gave you,
not thinking of the day Id find youd saved it fifty years,
the day Id take it back.

Your musics all been written now.
I gather it and place it in a file.

Judith van Dijkhuizen 

If you have any thoughts on this poem,
Judith van Dijkhuizen  would be pleased to hear them.