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The
Generosity of Hope
The title stands, poised
at the top of the page.
An aerial artist leaning into space
ready to fall forward into open hands.
Seemingly effortless intricate acts
compel our eyes to new heights
and we murmur, a crowd of Julians,*
"All shall be well and all shall be well
and all manner of thing shall be well."
Extravagant with praise
we applaud each twist and turn of fate
and we are not undone by mistakes.
When we fall, we bounce gently in the net
like words tumbling onto paper.
Again and again we scale the ladder
to the top of a new, clean page.
* Julian of Norwich - Christian Mystic |
Good
Taste
For Melissa
Wild mountain wind woman
apricot sweet, mushroom mysterious
You gather your daughters
your berries, your herbs
and fill the house with earth
Wielding our kitchen knives
we cut away all that is old and bitter
leaving only a good taste
I have carved a space for you
behind my eyes
and see you each time
I am startled by happiness
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Here
He's watching TV when I arrive.
It's Monday, noon, our weekly lunch date.
We'll walk up to the corner restaurant
and he'll have a BLT and a milkshake.
It never changes.
But he changes all the time, terribly.
Alzheimers scatters his life
like a baleful wind tears at sand and stone.
A few shrubs and shreds of memory cling
to the scoured cliff face of his mind.
How long till they too are whirled away?
Will he know who I am today?
My greeting is tentative, "Daddy?"
He looks up, filled with delight
"Oh boy!" he cries like a child getting
a marvelous treat. (my father, a child)
He's happy today I tell myself
with a stern inner shake.
I turn off the Travel Show
and we walk outside.
He stops and stares about in amazement
his face as open and filled with wonder
as a baby taking his first long drink of sun and sky.
I look too, at the crocus pushing up through wet leaves,
the yellow forsythia shaking free of winter,
the squirrels chasing bushy tails around tall trees.
"You never know where you'll be"
he whispers reverently.
"First I was in Africa and now I'm here."
I take my father's hand.
I can't speak.
I silently pray
that today
I too may
be here.
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