Back of the Bus

We giggled holding hands on the bus in fourth grade. Our first dance was at the seventh grade sock-hop. In tenth grade, I surprised him with a kiss in the library. We said a rushed goodbye on graduation night. Lost contact until the ten-year reunion, both married with kids. At the twentieth, he sobbed, telling me of his divorce. The thirtieth, I unloaded the grief of my husband’s cancer. The fortieth coincided with our sixth anniversary and I felt like a kid again, holding his hand and dancing. Duty and habit led me to the fiftieth, without him, I left early.

recession redux

this recession’s an enigma
as I sit in a place
that survives,
wait, it thrives
selling little more than
coffee at four or five
bucks a pop

a constant buzz
from the tables
a crowd at the counter
while cars wait
at the window
filled with those
too harried to step inside

I remember history book pictures
and family stories
my great-aunt “Arkie”
wiping her plate clean
reminding me to not waste
“we never know
what will happen next.”

They speak of angels

They speak of angels,
Blinding lights and
Silver wings aflutter,
Not quite flesh
They seem to hover

Protecting our offspring,
And the aged we ignore,
Shepherding believers
As well the doubting score

A dance without music
Of magic and mystery
A child’s dream
And hope in senility

But not disappear

Before you decide
To stroll down memory lane
You might want to consider
What lies behind

Like that patch of decaying grass,
By the river on the other side of the dike,
Where things unspeakable
And unforgettable evolved

You may find it has a power
That you had overlooked,
Or fear that became rage that begat confusion
Which dwindled to a whisper

But did not disappear

Everyone does

pilgrim, poet, prophet
i'd like to think
i have something to say
or, at least, somewhere to go

i'd like to think
a lot of things
about one’s worldly significance
especially related to me

yes, me
big surprise
another aging person
fearing an empty end

keep your head above water
don't follow the crowd
it all makes sense
but you forget too soon

everyone does
you'll get your turn
i'd tell you to get ready
but there’s really no way

breath after breath
step follows step
dust again dust
and i'll soon be no more

She found her peace

Sitting by the window, she’d seen it all. Rain, in its near unending forms, could come at any time in Oregon. The annual dusting of snow could produce a bitter blizzard, just once or twice a decade. Without warning, fog was an early morning surprise as it drifted over the ground. Those dismal gray days replicated for weeks on end. But there was an occasional bright sunny summer day too. In the evenings, the moon shined bright as it danced through its phases, creating its own calendar. She knew her place and found her peace in sitting and watching in silence.

It’s about over

Once you turn in your office keys
You know it’s about over
That once distant end
Is now your reality
No more empty meetings
That drag ‘til dawn
Or emergency interactions
Where you know just
What to say
And someone is so thankful
That you said it
No more being the first to arrive
To get a jump on the day
No more knowing where you were supposed to be
When you’re supposed to be there
And what you were supposed to do

Soon they’ll want the house keys
Say it will free you up
To move to that smaller place
Not so much to take care of
Your back needs a break
You can travel more
Enjoy the life of leisure
But you know it’s a short step
To what’s next

It’s the car
Not even the impractical one
That you dreamed of
A quick little number
Maybe a red convertible
If that’s not too cliché
The sensible vehicle
Is too much even
Freedom and mobility
Demand quick reflexes
A sharp mind
You’ll have neither
By this time
But you’ll be sharp enough to
Know what’s happening

And before long
You’ll wake up,
If you’re lucky enough
To wake up,
And realize you have
No responsibilities
Or pressures
People will be there
To care for you
And you’ll never again
Need any keys

I’m really glad

I’m really glad my mom
Can’t see her kitchen
I know, it sounds cruel,
Like I’m happy she’s going blind
But, I ache watching her
Arch her neck, tilting her head
Toward nothing, looking
The wrong direction, eyes lost, unfocused

She wants to fix dinner
Like she used to, cook a feast
And revel in watching us
Rush toward satiation
I offer to take her to dinner
Anywhere she’d like to go
A poorly veiled attempt to distance myself
From eating from her kitchen

Tiny sugar ants,
Smaller than the ones we’d find
Summer afternoons on the curb
Aligning a magnifying glass
So the sun focused in a spot
They could not escape
We’d watch them sizzle and smoke,
Occasionally igniting a flame,
Then look for more,
Like I said these are smaller
And look black until sunlight reveals
The ruby shine of their shell,
And they are not an army
Swarming every open surface
But small groups of up to five or six,
They crawl over calcified food bits
Long past identification
On counters and in drawers
My wife and I have “deep cleaned”
On our past few visits
A conflicted attempt at love and self-preservation
Yet when we return
Our efforts have vanished
Clearly we don’t visit often enough

When sitting in my mom’s chair
By the front window
I discovered they had migrated
To the living room
There were a few on the side table
My guess is they found where she
Sets her partially eaten cookies
Or where the crumbs settle
When she flails her hands while talking
Or the syrup of her soda pop sloshes

I have tried to explain
To help her see
Little things she should do
To make it better
Only to instigate mutual frustration
That results in no change

She is at peace in her
Lack of knowing
And it may be best for
At least one of us to be
In that state these days

Drifting Toward Twilight

A cool breeze brushes my face, sunlight hits my eyes. I blink, reach for you. Get up, grab the paper and fix oatmeal, for two. Eat alone, the television newscaster mumbles.

Phone rings. Kids want to take me to dinner and talk. I know what’s coming: They love me. Want my best. You’ve been gone so long. I forget things. Might hurt myself. They’re busy. Can’t always check in. They’ve talked to the doctor. Found a nice place. I'd enjoy being with people my own age. They love me and want what’s best.

If you were here I’d be OK.