…they sprouted from her lips as she sighed.
The door is open
Hinges maxed
Warm joy filters in
The longest day
The summer start
We made it
Through the cold
And dimly lit
Another season of hope
Possibility bursts all around
Seed pods exploding with life
Store it up in our bones
Fill our cells to the brim
More dark days are coming
We have what we need to make it
But first
We must walk on through
- S O L S T I C E
The sun burns into my chilled face
Warms my chest
Finally after a winter of shivering
I think
What does it feel like to be dead? Do you feel formless?
Gossamer? Scattered?
Is there temperature?
Does it change? Is it too... anything?
The cry of a blue jay assaults
Mourning doves echo in loneliness
A distant marching band shouts
Trumpets and trombones proclaim while a bass drum hammers
Are there sounds on the other side? Can you hear your own voice?
Your laugh?
Do you remember when you went silent on the phone, sitting in your hospital bed
Trying to fool me into thinking you’d fallen asleep?
Can you hear what I hear?
Can you hear me crying in my sleep?
Or insisting that I’m ok?
The Easter sun forces its way through a puny cloud
White with a sliding ultraviolet blue center
Searing neon green and yellow edges
I squeeze one eye shut
Hold my gaze until the tears come
I see you
Can you see me too?
3/31/24
Easter
11 days
What happens if
the monsters mess up the drug schedule
Hand shaking
Feet with tiny random kicks
Trying to write but the pen just jiggles back and forth
The thought hits the lips…
One word… two…
Eyes close, mouth open… gone
Suspended between here with pain and somewhere where the monsters break in to disrupt
Round and round, can’t takeoff, never land
Take the coat and the jacket to the hospital because I need it
Because I need it
+++++++++++++
I leave you as I would want to be left
Asleep within an ocean of lights bravely facing the creeping darkness
Dive deep into your cavernous dreamworld where possibility is currency, and outcomes are never written down
Mom
She was cool
Like really cool
Like super hip
Love the trip
Catch me when you can
Cool
Art school dreamin’
Airplane flyin’
NY city livin’
Fell in love
With the devilish boy
Who worked in her father’s store
She got married
Like really married
Like one kid
One more kid
Three and four, no more kid
Married
Corvette trade-in
Laundry foldin’
Babies rocked til sleepin’
Started a family
With the dedicated man
Who also tended bar til four
There she ruled
Like really ruled
Like eat your peas
You say ‘please’
Don’t talk back when I’m talking to you
Ruled
PTA dreamin’
Striped flag flyin’
Hobby farmhouse livin’
Built a home
With the devoted man
And their rowdy crew of four
Today she’s 80
Like really 80
Like seen it all
Watched ‘em fall
You’d better count your blessings
80
Summer dreamin’
Tied flies flyin’
Backyard garden livin’
Sculpted a world
With that devilish man
And passed down her cool to more
“Do birds die of old age
Do their little legs get tired
And their wings get sore
Do their feet ache from being
Wrapped around a lifetime of branches and wires
Do their tiny throats get hoarse from singing their lively tunes
Do their feathers start to fade and their beaks crack in pain
Do they get to the worm later, take naps in the sunshine and go to bed before the moon is high
When they fly do they wobble, are they slightly off course and do they land with a plop as gravity starts to win
Do birds get tired, old bones tired, barely any flight left tired and they feel so cold
Do they wish for one more summer where the winds were warmer and the sky stayed lit until the stars put them to bed”
I wander around the room with myh laptop tuckedunder my arm loking for a place where the cat won’t bother me. But that doesn’t exist. She follows me around the kitchen island as I go in search of an easyfix. Insistence is now pressing up against mmy leg. Finally, I select a seat at the table, while she climbs onto a chair makingher way towards me.
I open my laptop and type. Her body pushes ibto me, wet mouth brushing over my typing fingers. The screen is blocked so I close my eyes and continue to type, trying to erase mistakes I can only assume I’m making, forcing words out past the nudging, the pricks of claws. She pitions herself between me and the keyboard, a fixed obstacle in front of the glow of creativity and sits. I give in and stop typing. She has wonn so I must do her bidding.
Did I tope ‘cat’? I meant e’anxiety’.
— Morning Pages
Eight hundred nursing home residents were evacuated into a building built to hold three hundred, the article said.
Four sinks, twelve showers and a few port-a-lets, but mostly five gallon buckets were used for bathrooms, the article said.
Hurricane Ida leaked in causing mattresses on the floor to float with residents on them, the article said.
Seven died and fourteen were hospitalized.
“Normally with 850 you’ll (lose) a couple a day, so we did really good with taking care of people,” the owner said.
— Going Numb
I meditate
To soften into the gaze
That scrolls through
The sick
The panicked
The dead
I practice yoga
To stretch out the muscles
Tense from
Lack of sleep
Sequestered living
Standing helpless
I pray
To ask for assistance
Shining my light
Bringing the calm
Holding back fear
I garden
To prove to myself
Despite
Darkness
Drought
And disease
Life always finds a way
I did not send you a card.
Not one with an inappropriate joke about what a pain in the ass of a kid I was.
Not a squishy Hallmark sentiment awash in pastel colors and crystal glitter proclaiming my love.
Not even a handmade card of old with wobbly crayon letters and lopsided cut out hearts.
I did not send you a card because I do not know if you can still read.
I did not send you a gift.
No historical biographies written about heroes and champions. No albums of crooning Italians. No shiny JC Penny ties in jeweled colors.
I did not send you a gift because they tell me in this place your possessions are disappearing. First your jackets, then your sweaters, one by one. And now you have no shoes.
I did not bake you a cake.
Not a fluffy sweet Italian cream with juicy berries tucked inside. Not the decadent cheesecake always made with Bailey's and enjoyed with Sambuca. Not even one of our childhood pies made with pumpkin from our garden and famously wood stove baked only on one side.
I did not bake you a cake because I live 3,000 miles away and you don't even know it’s your birthday.
Instead for your birthday, I wept in my garden and prayed.
I pray you are safe.
I pray you feel loved.
I pray it's better you have lost your mind in this place where we are all being held prisoner.
Today on your birthday I honor you as I should have for almost 50 years of birthdays before.
I celebrate the most generous and dedicated father you are. I sit with your Spirit and together we laugh and cook and sing.
Thank you for the lessons, the history, the legacy.
On your birthday, you are a gift for me.
