by Ron Yazinski


She has a recipe for dreaming.

First she settles in his recliner, holding his letter from World War II,

The one in which he proposed,

Which ends with his confessing that he has to stop writing now

Because his hands are starting to shake again,

Though this time it’s not the war, but at the thought she might say no.


Last night she slept here,

Dreaming of the time he went into the cellar

To bring up a bag of flour for baking bread,

But dropped it.

He came up the steps, laughing, covered in flour,

Looking like a ghost.


Her hand holding the letter begins to tremble,

As she waits for that ghost to rise.


Ron Yazinski is a retired English teacher who lives in Northeastern Pennsylvania with his wife Jeanne.

His poems have appeared in The Journal of the Mulberry Poets and Writers AssociationStrong VerseThe Bijou ReviewThe Edison Literary Review,LunarosityPenwoodJones Av.Chantarelle’s NotebookCentrifugal Eyeamphibi.usNefarious BallerinaThe TalonAmarillo BayThe Write RoomPulsarSunken LinesWilderness HouseBlast FurnaceThe Houston Literary Review, MenagerieH.O.D.ForgeIndigo Rising, and Crash. He is also the author of the chapbook HOUSES: AN AMERICAN ZODIAC, which was published by The Poetry Library and a book of poems SOUTH OF SCRANTON.


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