We took a wrong turn off Maryland-295
on purpose, knowing the outcome.
First exit: NSA EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Second: DELIVERIES FOR NSA.
Nothing about “ONLY.” The police,
in combat gear, were suspicious.
We only wanted to see
the shimmering façade,
not the land of OZ,
or a wizard behind
the curtain.
Matthew Eichenlaub, an old intercept operator from the 1960s – the age of analogue – thinks he still has “A Need to Know.”
To discourage temptations to divide and sell,
to encourage harmony and family gatherings, Baba and Papa
left the lakehouse property to just one
of their many children.
Granddaughter Mara called from the lake.
Our beloved grass-barren badminton court
is now a wildflower garden.
Squeals and laughter silenced for a generation.
When he finally started to listen, Matthew’s heart led him to Maine. Now, he lives and writes next to a lake, and sometimes Googles synonyms for the word “regret.”
Weeping for his dead father,
Aunt Lizzie held him at the doorway
to the kitchen,
______________and would not let go.
Later, she spooned bacon grease over sizzling eggs.
Cooled their coffee and milk while he sat on her lap,
cup to saucer, saucer to cup, a sip,
______________and a giggle.
Matthew Eichenlaub is most fortunate to be living in southern Maine with a pickup truck, health insurance, and a new right hip. Thank you to the Essence of all that is.
She felt safe in asking only a few trusted friends.
Do you question your motivations?
Most said no, they just did stuff.
She asked a spiritual teacher if it was important.
Don’t waste your time, said the teacher.
Now, when it bubbles up, she gets real quiet,
like a tree.
Matthew lives in Maine.
When your name was
bantered about our kitchen table,
I was too young to understand.
Now you are back
like a ghost from Salem,
mocking the innocent,
burning them at the stake
in the halls of power.
I’m old now, but understand.
Wake up Joseph McCarthy,
you will lose again.
Matthew lives in Maine.
Late afternoon, early winter
Shadows lie heavy
Across this old wooden floor
In sleep, my cat’s ear twitches
Pulling in his paws a little
Oblivion
Feeling his fierce softness
Sunlight between the shadows
Seems to brighten
Then it’s just this old familiar ringing
That always comes
when I am still
Matthew lives in Maine in the fall, winter, and spring. He wishes more of his family lived nearby, and his cat, Mephistopheles, who is a great hunter and a compassionate comforter, and inspires simply by doing nothing.
A loon’s call echoes across the amber lake. Her mate’s wail reassures her.
Above, a rested comrade takes point. The spent goose banks away, catching the slipstream.
Hardwoods preen, sashay their brightest orange, gamboge, and crimson. The old ones yawn, smiling at the adolescents, who dream tonight’s dance never ends.
Matthew lives in Maine.
One spring morning
A strong wind arose
Waking the old trees
Their young leaves shimmied
Like tiny gymnasts stretching
Practicing handstands and cartwheels
While nearby other giants
Stood somber as if caught
By some old trauma
Some unspeakable shame
That had broken
Their mighty spirit
So many long years ago
Matthew lives and grows in Maine.
A good Buddhist
He attends every meditation retreat
Sitting all day with others
Breathing in
Breathing out
But he gets distracted
Today
It’s her exposed knee
Reflecting a glint of sunlight
Off the polished floor
Where shadows creep
Entering just now
A narrow gap
Lying dark
Between two wide floorboards
Matthew lives in Maine.
Nor’easter outside
been going on and on about itself.
Ahab wants out.
Cracking the door,
he is blasted. Crouching,
ears flattened, he retreats.
Sitting Buddha-like now, licking his wounded pride,
he pauses to bring his puffy tail about, and lay it by his side.
Like a monk adjusting his robe.
Matthew lives in Maine.