21 Years
Two decades + one year ago
on a brilliant Massachusetts evening
the clouds and humidity took a night off
and we said our vows.
Tonight, like so many others since,
we sit together.
Side by side.
I touch his arm.
He makes me laugh.
Simple moments in a complex life
are those most worth celebrating.
Highland Park Elementary
14 school years.
Thousands of footsteps, back and forth.
Later walks were quieter…
As kids moved up
moved away
moved on.
Today we made our last trip home.
No more Arts Nights or Jog-a-Thons.
No more WWII Programs or “Wax” Museums.
Even as we say farewell,
I believe the ghosts of those footsteps will remain.
Dog Mom
We met on my last day of chemotherapy.
Both mamas.
Both with recent surgeries
(we could never be new mamas again)
Her head lay upon her paws.
Her eyes looked straight into mine.
Six years later. Still, she sees me.
My dog, my companion, my friend.
I like to think that we rescued each other.
Together
We move around each other, mostly.
But sometimes we hit head-on with
flashing eyes and clashing words, because of
secret tattoos
old-fashioned ideas
covert experimentation
embarrassing anecdotes
maddening indifference.
I remember when I was like her.
She imagines she will never be like me.
I treasure those times when we look toward the world,
together.
Middle Childhood
What wouldn’t I give for another afternoon
of “making” ice cream with
an upside-down bike
or an evening filled with American Girl doll sprawl,
or a recess tale that highlights the intricacies of
third-grade society?
As time turned, those latent years,
rich with delight and heartbreak,
passed like days.
And I struggle to say goodbye.
Maternity Leave
When exhaustion settled into my limbs like concrete,
I would think about how every human
was once a newborn taken care of by another.
Yet I cherished those weeks
when it was only the two of us…
we'd listen to the stillness of the night,
and watch the moon through the window,
cheek to cheek.
Grandparents
Mémère
I see you in the blossoms that brighten the spring trees.
Grandma
I try to open my heart to others, as you did.
Pépère
I salute whenever I watch an eagle take flight.
Grandpa
I hear your laugh as though we joked only yesterday.
The time without you lengthens,
but you are always near.
On the Verge
A small blade of time
is all that separates
life from afterlife,
a kind heart from a jaded one.
A bit of genetics
is all that separates
a clover with three leaves or four,
a cell which functions
and one that doesn’t.
A slight twist of circumstance
can be all that separates
joy from sorrow.
Cockroach Rodeo
Flashbacks of a 4th Grade insect lesson
as I peered through my otoscope:
head, thorax, abdomen.
A few drops of alcohol to the patient’s ear.
The critter ran out, down the side of her face,
and onto the floor.
Her mom and sisters shrieked.
I squashed it with my heel.
Not my first cockroach rodeo.
The Final Cut
The Final Cut
Her last wish was donation, in the form of teaching.
Would he be so selfless, at his end?
They cut her skin,
examined her muscles,
followed the delicate threads of her nerves,
so that one day they might understand, investigate, diagnosis.
He turned away from her filed nails and curled hair,
to honor her sacrifice.
Peanut M&Ms
I successfully extracted the peanut M&M from his 4-year-old nose.
It was green.
“Thank you!” Mom said. The patient giggled.
I stood to leave.
Dad stared at his hands. “I didn’t believe it would fit,” he said. “So I tried, too.”
The second extraction of the night? A green peanut M&M.
Like son, like father.
Week-End
Air cool, coffee cold, walking up hill.
Thinking of sick babies and tearful parents
I pick apart my decisions, one by one.
Saturday afternoon awaits: carpools, laundry, school projects.
In-between: a mountainside covered with yellow grass that flows like ocean water.
I should stop, breathe, watch.
Instead, I hurry from one task, to the next.
