November Note
Diane Kendig
The bright magenta sky is turning a gold we know
can’t hold. My new pup runs crazy laps round the yard.
The loud long train whistle fades as I stand
with Grandma Young on Stewart Avenue while
Grandpa pulls a signal to her as he drives
the engine through Massillon and she listens
even after he’s died and his men signal for him.
After my pathetic sadness over nothings this week,
I know what I do with my one wild life:
remember little things, like how those two
held hands when a sorrowful song played
on the radio, feeling their own sorrows,
dead young mother, mining disasters,
joblessness and their joy at being together.
She told me once she never knew love
till she met him. They died separated, one
in a hospital, one at home with cancer,
surrounded by four daughters and four
sons-in law in attendance at every hour.
While I wrote this, the gray has come on, and
I jot this note though it means nothing to you,
but I hope it leaves you with a note
of your own, full of color and dun,
life and death, some sound that signals to you.
January 2026
Diane Kendig
The bright magenta sky is turning a gold we know
can’t hold. My new pup runs crazy laps round the yard.
The loud long train whistle fades as I stand
with Grandma Young on Stewart Avenue while
Grandpa pulls a signal to her as he drives
the engine through Massillon and she listens
even after he’s died and his men signal for him.
After my pathetic sadness over nothings this week,
I know what I do with my one wild life:
remember little things, like how those two
held hands when a sorrowful song played
on the radio, feeling their own sorrows,
dead young mother, mining disasters,
joblessness and their joy at being together.
She told me once she never knew love
till she met him. They died separated, one
in a hospital, one at home with cancer,
surrounded by four daughters and four
sons-in law in attendance at every hour.
While I wrote this, the gray has come on, and
I jot this note though it means nothing to you,
but I hope it leaves you with a note
of your own, full of color and dun,
life and death, some sound that signals to you.
January 2026
