Kind words. Sometimes they fall into holes in the road and get lost in chunks of debris. Other times they fill the broken spaces and find the exact contour of the cracks. The words can be random. No more than greetings followed by ordinary blessings. Or friendships that begin with unexpected common interests.
I took of picture of four oranges a neighbor gave me this morning. A gift of some extra Vitamin C for nothing more than a smile and friendly conversation.
"A family is a risky venture, because the greater the love, the greater the loss... That's the trade-off. But I'll take it all." — Brad Pitt
FAMILY VALUES
Nephew flinches as Uncle drops a fork
onto a china plate. It responds with a quick high-pitched cry.
Uncle grumbles, There’s dried dog food on these tines.
The waiter steps away from an adjoining table
where a young woman feeds
a girl in a wheelchair.
No excuse for this, Uncle says.
The waiter offers to get him fresh silverware.
Nephew sends the waiter a silent eye-rolling apology.
He cuts his salad into small bites,
his focus on beans and rice while
Uncle speaks about how the nation has lost
family values, allowing abortion clinics,
gay marriage, welfare for fools. Uncle slices filet mignon
and complains about the quality of his chardonnay.
Uncle leaves a two-dollar tip.
Nephew drops a twenty on top of it. Uncle smirks. Insane.
You don’t have the funds to support a hamster.
Nephew nods toward the adjoining table.
Meet the waiter’s wife and daughter.
They live in the apartment behind mine.
"See you at the next town hall meeting, Lyle,"
he calls to the waiter.
"Family values," he whispers to Uncle.
To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake it is necessary to stand out in the cold. Aristotle
The snow will melt before it touches the ground. One part of me circles inside the cold and another part has already melted on the road. I want to leap into a warmer day yet linger in the present. No moment is perfect.
My heart wants to take icy pain away from some people I know. Their burdens won’t melt on the road. And yet, I always hope that enough warmth will find them. Now, in each passing now…
“Goodbyes make you think. They make you realize what you’ve had and what you’ve lost, and what you’ve taken for granted.” —Unknown
Dear Barb,
I watch a plane fly low. Only a flash of silver passes across the sky. Sound eludes me. For no reason I understand, I think about you as you flew to a place that we all will know someday. My heart wants the same plane to pass again. I didn’t see enough, even though I have no idea what I missed.
A moment when I could have paid more attention, perhaps. Or, the mockery innate in the plane’s distance. You said you had enough of hurt, pain, and illness. You told us as you entered our car after dialysis that final Saturday, “I had a bad day.” You fought the pain by asking about freshness in our lives. And we took the bait. Just before we left your house, I patted your hand.
You didn’t look up when you said, “Thank you.” Your last words before you entered the hospital.
I was not ready for you to fly. I am not ready to send a letter that won’t be answered.
Help me to understand that love sings without words. Thanks for sharing it with us.
“And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.” Meister Eckhart
New Tree Buds
The first tree buds I notice this year seem fuzzy, like fine chihuahua fur or moss. The leaf-to-be will give more clues about itself as Spring arrives, even if the observer knows nothing about the botanical world. However, my purpose is metaphorical. Living beings change.
I ask the inner me to be an encouraging atmosphere for any living presence I touch. Peace.
the photo was taken at Mt. Airy Park in Cincinnati, Ohio
I am alone in the room. I smile. A large window opens a view of my neighborhood on a 50-degree January day. Choosepeace, I tell myself while the news repeats horrors in a universally expected monotone.
A sunbeam appears. Winter-bare trees stretch rich, dark branches against stark cobalt blue. The light reaches into our ordinary living space. The sun’s intensity splashes inside.
Breathe me in, sunbeam seems to say. I won’t stay long. The briefness of my appearance does not negate my presence. Even as the darkness appears, remember my brilliance lives within you, too.
“Self-acceptance is self-love in action.”
― Jodi LivonINSIDE THE NARRATIVE
A few fellow writers gather at a coffeehouse
to share poetry. I read a narrative piece
about a nameless boy who pretends a painful event
has never happened. He hides
inside a malignant silence, innocence shattered.
His wounds leak into cells under his skin
long after the bleeding has stopped.
I pretend to hide behind the gender switch,
inside fictional scenes, and create places I have touched
but never embraced. My voice remains strong
through ten stanzas
until a single unexpected stammer
rips through my veneer,
thin as ice on a lake in early spring.
I’m afraid I could drown in my own metaphors.
I come to a moment when my character
compares himself to a goldfinchwho leaves winter and enters spring
with bright warm-weather feathers.
He flies onto a budding branch.
My character knows who he is again.
I recall expecting death one night when
I didn’t know shades of color would reappear
and develop subtlety, strength, and shape.
Songs would rise from my dried throat.
The boy in my poem grows through each stanza,
speaking, becoming whole. Another woman in the group
suggests with a single tremulous glance
that she, too, could tell a similar story. She nods and smiles. I prefer it to applause.
May I speak to the Martin you were when your grandmother died?
Thanks.
I’m asking because I’m a grandmother now. My grandchildren look to me to discover who they are. They learn from the attention I give to them. By my presence. Death took your grandmother and hope left you.
You regained more than hope. You let an entire group of people know who they are.
It’s a privilege to be a grandparent. And yet the child inside me pretends to be gone. I developed into a loving, accomplished woman who helped pay a stranger’s bill in a grocery store. Yet, I struggle sometimes to feel important enough to get past moments when I was a lost child too. The sun is not gone. The world celebrates today because you planted love, Dr. King. I can’t deny recurrent feelings but can allow them to pass and recognize the whole.
Love, may we learn to allow it to spread inside and outside of our families and neighborhoods.
The illustration is taken from a public domain drawing. There are many, just as Dr. King’s gifts are many.
I believe in the goodness of imagination. ~Sue Monk Kidd
Memories, off-screen
A friend calls and her enthusiasm shines.
She describes the beautiful chaos
of her two young children
as they illustrate the book Mommy wrote
about their make-believe adventures,
where the creatures have rhyming names
and skin colors that match the rainbow,
while the television screen remains blank
and the world expands at their fingertips.
illustration made from kid-style decorated photo
“It is character that should be the sole measure of judgement in the society of thinking humanity, and nothing short of that would do.”
― Abhijit Naskar, We Are All Black: A Treatise on Racism
CONTRAST
The news broadcasts the story in an infinite loop.
Nine people killed, one an unborn baby.
Boy or girl, identity as unknown
as the reason for the bullets that stopped them.
I listen to commentary
about hate and racism while a winter-pale
goldfinch travels from tree to wire, a place where robins perch. The wire is long with plenty of room.
Perhaps, there is no genuine connection.
Only a brief metaphor. And yet
I wonder if change can begin
with subtle movements toward peace.
bird illustration made from public domain photo, colored pencil, and chalk
terrypetersen 