there are things we say
when we are
a(part)

what we might not
have said

without the grief of

d i s t a n c e

growing words
loving words
extraordinary
kindnesses

remotely

I miss your face

My list is my own list

 

 

My body is revolting. It is telling me things about the life I have lived and the myriad of ways I have abused it. I am 54. I could easily live 30 more years or more based on my health as I saw it 30 years ago. But now, I get warning signs. I lose friends. Friends younger than I are dying suddenly. I am surrounded by cancer.

Why have I written all these very not-cheerful words? Because we all have a time when we face ourselves. For some it is at 40. For others, 70. For me it was 50, but I ignored it until this past year. I became overly sentimental and mawkish about the smallest details. Everything meant something. A cough, a twinge, a sudden chill.

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Monday Random

This is an old fashioned Monday Random in its purest form – a stream of consciousness – thoughts with no theme. Yesterday required a lot of talking. Today – everything I want to say is lined up in my mind like bullet points. So let’s get to it.

  • There is something to be said for pizza suppers with only two plates and two glasses to wash after I’ve left them overnight
  • Not paper plates because I don’t like to use many disposables
  • We are going on a trip this summer we cannot afford
  • To save money we are eating eggs at 2/3 meals and found this is a very easy way to cut down on grocery costs
  • Salsa is a great ingredient for putting tomatoes and onions in the eggs when I am out of produce
  • Plus you can’t get a good tomato in May
  • My mother’s day became very special with an unexpected phone call and I am utterly grateful
  • For someone writing with brevity I am using a shit-ton of adverbs
  • I’m really grateful and happy for yesterday
  • I promised I would spend nothing on myself last week then bought a book of poetry
  • It’s a disease
  • I learned something this week about negotiating conflict
  • Explaining well is no guarantee someone will agree with me
  • I can live with them not agreeing with me
  • Talking things out is less important for convincing someone of my side and more important for learning to listen and seeing what they have to say
  • It seems you can sell some very bad poetry when you include a photo of a bare ass

Have a great Monday, and I will try and do the same !

 

Extraordinary kindness

approached today
in the midst of clouds and clamour
by my mother(gone since 1997)’s best friend
from long ago

my age now what her age was then
yet I am always a child, the
age of her own daughter
grown, and a grandma now

speaking to me as an equal
saying – let’s be friends like
your mother and I, I believe
we have something in common

melting the cynicism in my center
floating to the surface like dross
her soft voice saying, yes
it’s going to be alright now

Threnody

(2016)
For Mom

I remember the day you told me
it was no good
the end was coming
and all the miracle hopes
and treatments were done

you were calm
you were ready
and I wasn’t
skidding my heels
dragged to the church a month later
baby in my belly
to see something that was not you
you were gone already-

then later
in the garden when
summer came again
I saw you alive in my son’s eyes
then again in a field
of clover and cornflowers

Firsts

The first moments we touched, kissed, dove, flew
those vivid, glossy 8×10 moments that change us
when the instructor said yes
you may have your driver’s license
becoming mobile-able to leave
my bedroom fortress of books
to see more firsts, more thick, creamy
plumed moments when I was new once more

The firsts that stand out for me
from another life, of life and death before
over there, and what is up ahead, calling to me
with all the lights of Vegas, and a promise to forget
what my friend was doing in that dark corner
with Mr. First Moment-still brilliant
those times, good or bad in equal measure
each with a page in the history book

Yet none can come close to that one night
nearly midnight and drugged
scared out of my wits with my legs splayed
all eyes upon me
the fear of silence-waiting for it
waiting to hear only one first moment
that would comfort me then
when my firstborn tried out her lungs
for the first time