Marty and Ann

Mimi Brodsky

Along a ledge,

high on a hill,

when trees were

blazing color,

we saw your names

carved on a rock

and touched them

with our fingers.

A squirrel skidded by.

Birds squawked in the weeds.

Fossils dotted stone.

We were quite alone.

Were you alone that day?

Not very long ago.

When you climbed the jagged rock

and hammered in your mark?




The world was bleeding then.

Battles, bombs, dread.

Blackouts in the night.

Headlines screaming fright.

How long was forever?

How long did you love?

Did it last for a month?

Did it keep for a year?

What kind of day that day?

Bright with sun

spattering light through leaves?

Crisp with clean autumn air

sweeping down from the hills?

Rich with the fiery hues

of the dying season?

A day like today?

We stand beneath

layer upon layer

thin pancake folds 

of rock

thrust up to sky

from floor of the sea.

Each layer an aeon.

Marty and Ann,

where are you now?

Where are we?

Where are we?

At least


carved love in stone.