By: Milt Montague

That morning Milt awoke at 6:05 AM, realized it was an ungodly hour, and tried to get back to sleep. Morpheus was nowhere to be found and after a full hour of fruitless searching for respite in his arms, he surrendered and went into the living room to the surcease of the recliner.

There Milt was completely at ease, floating peacefully on soft beige cushions awaiting the arrival of his Muse, Clio. She usually met him there and helped recall some tidbit of information that has been lying dormant in an unfrequented corner of memory for several generations. This usually expanded, as he typed it into the computer, and became an incident that occurred long, long ago.

That morning Clio played coy with him, as she had done for the past week or so. Flirting from behind a voluminous curtain, she had yet to make her first appearance in many days. Giggling, with her sister Erato, they debated who would come to the aid of this struggling and needy mortal.

For the many months, Milt had been recalling and writing down incidents from his past life. With Clio’s help, he was able to recall 88 separate events or “snapshots from his past”. Now she seems to have deserted him, but because they had been linked together for many months , she nudged her sister Erato out from behind the curtain and into the spotlight as her replacement.

Erato jogged Milt’s mind with his very first poem, written way back in the fall of 1959. This piece had been reposing quietly, in a folder, for many years. Two years ago as he neatened his office and went through some old books, it fell out of it’s resting place and started him on a poetic adventure of discovery. With Erato’s aid, he penned about 100 poems during the next six or eight months.

One day, with no warning, Erato decided she had more needy clients elsewhere and left. As a token of friendship, she nudged Clio in his direction.

Here is Milt’s first poem [aided by the immortal goddess Erato]. To be read with Erato softly playing her cithara as Aeolus wafts a gentle breeze across the ebbing tide on the deserted beach save for one lone figure.

Six Years, Four Months, Three Days

One grain on a sandy beach that
Seemed as the other multitudes
One bit that didn’t fit into this world
A single lonely iota that drifted,
Tarried a little, and moved on
A lonely soul that cried out into the wind
There must be someone who feels as I
But the wind blew the words away
As if they never were

One day I saw a face
A most wondrous face framed in silken gold
And as I spoke I trembled
Lest In my anxiety
I’d frighten this doe away
And when she spoke……
The music of faeries dancing on cowslips
I looked deep into her eyes and saw
An oasis of peace and delight
From my desert of loneliness
My heart trembled and almost leaped
Through my mouth to that other
To beat as one

Six years, four months, and three days ago
I fell in love