Ruth Bradley Johnson's Poetry

His are lightening visits
Reminiscent of a late favorite aunt
stopping by to break the journey, Except he
comes mainly to see me.

It was not always so; I recall fierce squabbling fuss.
He gave up innocence and went to 'Nam' while I
cocooned in liberal arts, Self-absorbed in
interior landscape.

Loss at last links us dearer,
No longer father, mother to home on.

And we age, glimpsing our mortality, re-valuing
common roots still deep in rich Midwestern soil.
Though most of the continent intervenes.

Knowing he comes, I plan, avid to maximize
each minute.
Impart the richness of my eastern life.
It matter not that plans miscarry;

We revel in togetherness, revealing trials and
triumphs of home and work, to affirm our
shared belonging.

Shortly he flies, and what remains is rich residue
of poignant musings.

I view afresh the heritage,
and who might we be, the far-flung two.

Reflections of high excellence, of depth of
character, breadth of thought, recognizing
father, mother, both, this brother,

Longing to mirror the same to him.