SUMMER READING
It was through my relationship with Don Quixote and
Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha
That I came to know love the summer of ’71.
Through books, I transcended time and experienced vicariously
How a heart can yearn for love even if it never had any.
You’d lost your brother and had wished it had been you instead.
What a tragic ending for you both; my soul ached hearing that.
I thought you were Italian, so I called you “Louie.”
You told me your mother called you only Louis
And would never allow Louie.
“She’s a typical Jewish mother,” you admonished.
I laughed, “Mine is Lutheran!”
I slew my own dragons that summer.
My friends were all Italians and I, Catholic,
With three Irish priests and two Irish nuns as first cousins!
On one of our earliest excursions to your home,
I rebuked your mother and you metamorphosed into “Lou.”
That July I was escorted by Hermann into Siddhartha
To explore Buddhism, and soon I was spewing mantras,
“Peace in Vietnam,” and vocalizing disdain for Nixon at marches.
I had rediscovered my spiritual identity.
It was when I bought a wooden carving of
Don Quixote in New Hope, Pennsylvania,
As a gift for you, that I knew you were the one
Fifty-two-years later,
He sits in plain view, on our windowsill,
With imaginary windmills,
Reminiscing about love and valor, to this day.
I had found my knight in shining armor, that summer,
Journeying in New Jersey, of all places.
Just as you had seen adventurous me,
Waving from the rooftop of my parent’s home
On our third date, it was fate.
A match made within the constraints of summer’s required reading.
GYPSY PROPHECY
Spheres of devastation unveil a glimpse into the future.
Warnings from a century back,
From a soothsayer’s deck of tarot cards that predicted a dire future
That might have been avoided, but that card wasn’t dealt that day.
Homes washed away from torrential rains,
80 mph winds, scorching heatwaves, fires, shortages of water,
Dreary visions of cataclysmic change spread out upon the table
By a fortune teller in Monterey, California,
In Booth #19, beside the bay.
Death lays like a heavy shadow as she reveals each card.
I gasp repeatedly.
The inevitable is set. Man is entrapped, the card speaks.
The sky is red, the earth below, gray.
Doomed by gross negligence,
Mankind is made a slave to our own indulgences.
We have poisoned the earth. There is nowhere else to go.
As we lie fading, I see an inferno into which earth
Is shrinking. I gulp, clasp her hand,
But lose my grip and fall headfirst into her premonition
Of me lying next to a row of bodies along the river,
Awaiting burial, with you.
I fling the cards onto the dirt floor, pull open the curtain,
Dash outside to escape her vision,
Only to walk into another booth of a Bohemian
Selling enchanted charm bracelets. I’m trapped!
I’m spinning on the merry-go-round of the insane.
I go kayaking in the Bay to clear my head.
Later, I sip a gin and tonic while watching
Seals frolicking in the cold waters of the Bay.
Reluctantly, I step back inside Booth #19 to pay for the reading.
I feel the freezing cold water inside my wet suit,
Chilling me to think, the gypsy knew.
JoAnn Lord Koff is a resident of Northern Virginia. She is married with two children and one grandchild. Her philosophy of life is deeply rooted in her multi-cultural heritage. As a young child, she lived in Charny, France, and moved around within the United States while her father was in military. She attended Lynchburg College where she majored in English, Writing and Secondary Education. Her love of history, her passion for the arts and her taste for originality is clearly depicted in her book, the first from Sappho Publishing, Sand, Pebbles, Fossils, and Rocks. This book is a culmination of decades of poetry that she has written and photographs she has taken all around the world.