YOUNG VICTORIA, JUNE 20

Eighteen for a month, regent threats destroyed,
she sleeps a princess’s sleep, still dreaming
of helping the poor. Feels a cold hand toy
with her forehead’s curls, slick fingers seeming
to control her psyche, wakes to mother’s
stare. Three a.m. Still in her dressing gown,
she flows through her sitting room (won’t bother
for a robe) to two awed men who kneel down
before her. Conyngham kisses her hand.
The Archbishop prays, “The king is dead. Long
live the queen.” In a moment she’ll command
her bed moved from her mother’s room; make wrongs
right at last. Through vast stained windows, the bright moon
gleams. She longs for Albert’s kind smile. He’ll come soon.

Roger Armbrust
October 26, 2011

MOON AND JUPITER, OCT. 13

And so we shared emails this afternoon.
And so our words have ended much too soon.
And so tonight I watch us in the moon
and Jupiter reflecting with one light
it seems. Will such wonder lead to insight
in our dreams? Sight an angel’s sacred flight
assuring blessings and sweet heaven’s care?
What’s left to do but offer silent prayer
for those we love? What’s left for us to share
but grace of open mind and heart we gave
through honest words today? Feel the wind wave
across your face. Please smile and say you’ll save
my poetry. I’ll preserve every phrase
of your gentle counsel, your gracious praise.

Roger Armbrust
October 14, 2011

YOUR WEDDING TOAST

I know what it’s like to love a sister.
Joan—older than I, beautiful dancer
(ballet, jazz and tap)—couldn’t resist her
chance: Taught me the box step. I entranced her
with my poetry. She cherished me with
tones like yours for Janie in your blessed toast.
I cherished her dancing. She seemed a myth,
moving as one with music. How she’d coast
across the stage—like you on the dance floor
Saturday—with joy. You’d have liked her then.
Watching you dance that way made my heart soar,
just as your words made my psyche begin
to long for family: Warm nights after
supper. Gentle words of love and laughter.

Roger Armbrust
October 12, 2011

I CAN’T STOP LOOKING AT YOU

Why is it I can’t stop looking at you
seated in your church pew, your lavender
gown caressing your frame, eyes of gray blue
glowing lavender? Just why I’m under
this spell as you linger on altar step,
caught in sacred ceremony’s splendor—
burning stained glass surrounding you, precept
of your being interweaving ardor
and serenity—I suppose each wall’s
wooden carving could explain if only
I could hear them whisper. But if it’s all
left to me, instead of living lonely
silence, I’ll say at Clinton’s (a quiver
in my voice) just how I love the river.

Roger Armbrust
October 9, 2011

THE BIG GENTLE

for Derek Kass

Ancestry.com says your surname comes
from Middle High German: kaese meaning cheese,
your predecessors cheesemakers, or some
served as food merchants—why you moved with ease
among folks, I guess. Rhineland dialect
offers Kas: a thicket of young oak trees
and, yes, you were an oak, strong and erect,
voice like a soft breeze through gentle oak leaves,
making one listen close each time you spoke.
Whenever you walked in the room I’d smile
and think, Here comes The Big Gentle. You broke
our hearts when you left. If you’d stayed a while
we could have loved you more. Yet somehow we
can grasp that fatal desire to be free.

Roger Armbrust
October 17, 2011