Poetry - 2021

I think of you every morning

When the crows congregate in the Chinese elms

Announcing their imminent departure 

In a cacophony of caws

Before taking flight

Yours was a silent departure

With no fanfare

Your spirit at rest

Ready to be carried away

Waiting patiently for the last remnants of physical life 

To signal the end

I think of you every evening at dusk

When the crows return home

From an ocean retreat

To settle once again in the sheltering elms

After a long flight

Unlike the crows, I know you will not return

It was during one of our early morning walks with our dog
That we met Helen.
She was busy rummaging through her grey, dented, filled-to-the-brim pick-up
Parked in the alley next to her house.

Most mornings, Helen responded with surprise to our “Good morning!”
As though she had just been awakened from a deep sleep.
Her non-verbal reaction of surprise was usually followed by a grudging “Hello”
And an apology of sorts that she had not yet had her first cup of coffee.

Usually it was clear she was not in the mood to chit-chat.
But occasionally, she would rant about her neighbors and the never-positive changes she had witnessed in the neighborhood over the years.

Gradually, we learned that she had been born in the house next to the alley
That it had been built by her German-immigrant father with a last name eerily similar to my mother’s maiden name.
We learned she had a strained relationship with a son in Florida.

Helen was an unhoused woman whose belongings had evicted her from her home and garage.
She had a home, but it was clearly her pick-up.
She had a bathroom, but it was a few blocks away in a park.

One day, workers descended on her house to replace the roof that was close to collapse.
She did not appreciate the invasion.
Her house had become a death trap.
But Helen didn’t care.
She didn’t live there anymore.

Today nothing remains of the house her father built
A new ultra-modern mansion has taken its place
Three times the size of its predecessor.

Last we heard, Helen was in a skilled nursing facility
Trapped in a mind riddled with dementia
That no amount of coffee could revive.

“There’s a crash in the backyard”

Shouted a shrill voice

Accompanied by footsteps

My eyes shot open as my dream bubble popped

My son stood by the side of the bed

Awaiting my reaction

I listened for sounds from the backyard

But heard nothing

Had he really heard something

Or had his dream deceived him?

Now in the middle of the night

Was not the time for interrogation

Work and school loomed on the horizon

I enveloped my son in my arms and comforted him

“Sleep here next to my side of the bed”

I advised, as I assembled a makeshift bed

Of blankets and pillows

My son was soon asleep again

I was not as lucky

I lay awake contemplating what had just happened

It was a reminder that the life of the mind

Is often much scarier than life out there

You are not breathing
My other doctor says
The doctor I visit when western medicine has reached its limitations

But my shoulders and neck are stiff and achy, I complain
Yes, my other doctor explains
Because you are not breathing
The deep, life-affirming breaths that nourish your organs
You are not being pursued by a saber-tooth tiger

His words give me pause
I think back on the past year
To the contrary, there had been many saber-tooth tigers chasing me this past year
Chasing all of us

An invisible virus delivering death sentences
Strange alternative realities with no basis in truth
Sensory deprivation in a virtual Zoom world
Fear of the unknown

Somehow a saber-tooth tiger sounds like a better option

Like the leaves of deciduous trees, our acts, though ephemeral, shape the arc of history

Edging us ever closer to that for which we were born

Giant sequoias do not bend to fleeting winds, although consequential winds may strengthen their resolve

Anger stoked by the minor inconveniences of life is best extinguished, but anger stoked by injustice is not to be ignored

Chase that which ignites passion in you

Your life will serve as a guidepost for those who follow

I refuse to be defined by who I am
I don’t want that baggage
That I can’t change

If you throw that mantle over me
I will cast it off
And leave it to rot in the dirt

I will only be defined by what I am
Because that is what I can control
It is my choice to lift up someone who has fallen
It is my choice to praise excellence
It is my choice to love unconditionally
And it is my choice to give of my time

I may be this or that
From here or there
The child of so-and-so
But that is useless information
When everything worthwhile comes from what I am

Of necessity
I have learned to dance
In little spotlights of hope
Their abundance no longer guaranteed,
If ever it was.

In younger days when hope was as common as ants in summer
I dismissed dancing as unnecessary, even frivolous.
It was sowing season with no time to waste.

But now, as age sets in and the certainty of time fades
I dance
And relish the beauty of those spotlights,
Thankful of their presence.

I find myself

Trying to make up for

Your mother’s unspoken “I love yous”

And your father’s distance

And lack of encouraging words

I have come to realize even a million of my “I love yous”

My hugs

And my encouraging words 

Cannot fill that long-ago void

Nor compete with the pull of a childhood littered with words unspoken and actions unexpressed

And yet, I cannot help but try

Because love compels me to

They say doing the same thing over and over again

And expecting a different result

Is the definition of insanity

I guess I will wear that cloak of insanity until I die

A non-stop litany of the seven deadly sins

Marched across my television, my social media feeds, and my digital streaming platforms

Leaving in its wake fatigue, disappointment, and malaise

Then, one day, as I sat down and resigned myself to the way of the world

My back suddenly straightened and I felt an expansive smile grow across my face

As I realized that the seven contrary virtues had banished the seven deadly sins

The news was all about people helping people, people achieving their dreams, illnesses being cured, mother earth being healed

Inspiration was omnipresent

I hesitantly glanced around, only to find happiness in every room

I looked out the window, only to see my neighbors dancing in the street

It was a new day.

I am learning to take my own medicine
Counting out the stretches
Waiting (sometimes impatiently) for the oolong or dragon well to steep
Breathing in the scent of the Douglas fir in our living room, now dry and brittle
Cuddling with this little pup next to me as she fades into a nap
Relaxing into the warm sweet waters of a bedtime bath
And remembering gratefully the many encouraging and caring voices in my life

I am learning to take my own medicine
Watching the red-tailed hawk float effortlessly to impress his mate
Stopping for a moment to marvel at the sliver of the moon nestled in a nearby tree above a yellow-orange sunrise
Conversing easily with an old friend, recalling shared memories
Planning my next project
Picking up the pace during the last quarter mile of a long run
And basking in the late afternoon sun

I am learning to take my own medicine
And focus on the positive

If only for a moment
They yank the cord on the video
On loop in our subconscious
Never-ending drama, doubt, and dire
Predictions predicated on nothing

Like magnets, they draw us in and snap us to attention
All else falls away
And if only for a moment
We step into the present
And bask in the purity of being
That is the animal spirit

It asks nothing of us but to surrender our ego
And see the world as it was meant to be seen
Without judgment
And if only for a moment
We are healed