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Since I have been home have spent time with fall chores.
They are needed and I do as I can. It isn't enough to keep
It all up.
Not up and looking great and I do like that, but it is too much
To do that and other chores and paint and consequently none gets
Done very well.
A friend said, what was it? Oh: We can do what
We want. Not only what others want, expect of us.
Whoa, what really?
I have spent a lifetime doing what I have been
Expected to do. Female, maybe, you do thus always.
And I did.
I did...but now? Why? Only if it settles for me.
For me, will it do? If not why do it. This is another
Country to learn.
A front overhead, deep lavender clouds
Obscure the evening star but not the blaze
Along the horizon.
Back on this land, the last home we shared,
Back still considering next steps. My mom
Only gets older.
Is it wrong to know I will miss this pine I lean on
As much as many of the people met? Ah, what gives
Sense of place?
Frankly, I expected to come up on this trip, have
Questions answered and a direction determined
With solid conviction.
Ah well, instead it was one of my more ambivalent
Messy trips, oozing quandries, doube and yet I know
On one level
Being near my mother would be so good for her, and me.
As a widowed friend said: DOn't count on anything but death
To be final.
On this Saturday after Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the company
Of my mother, my aunt. Widows all, we put together leftovers and I
Light three candles:
One for my Dear, who graces my memory.
One for all on this journey, may peace light their path.
One for all
Who have gone before. To my aunt I say: We remember
Them in our hearts. A glass of wine raised to all in grief,
Prayers sent, godspeed.
A day spent with a dear friend, driving the roads where
We came of age, wondering where will we now age,
How, with whom?
Thanksgiving once again as someone else's holiday.
Don't get me wrong, I was glad to be there, just, still,
Miss our traditions.
A sweet interlude at a friends' creek side home where
The room I enjoy is called by their son's name
And by mine.
A kindness and welcome, I also bestow on certain guests
Hoping that they are as pleased, warmed as am I
By such recognition.
Sometimes I need just to cry, cry, cry
You are gone, and I do not really know how
To go on.
As time moves, as time moves, really
It does little to assuage the loss. How I miss you,
A constant always.
I do my best, Dear, I do, and mostly do well.
Until I remember the sweet moments that so
Filled our days.
In a beautiful DC synagog, a perfect hall
For music, with two friends I was transported
In marvelous sound.
Amongst the many things we are required to have,
Licenses for this and that guarded by government,
But not healthcare.
Until now, and much as I welcome it finally coming,
Why oh why, did those in power allow it to be botched
So irritatingly completely?
The sky overhead is a rainbow bowl, a garlanding band
Reds on the horizon, slipping through yellowy oranges to greeny
Blues, veridian, manganese.
Read today words by Guillaume Denoix de Saint Marc, president
de l'Association des familles des victimes de l'attentat
du DC10 d'UTA:
"On est forcement marque a vie par ce type d'histoire, donc on
Ne peut pas la fermer, mais on passe a une autre phase; une phase
Sereine, de reconstruction."
"We are out of necessity marked for life by this type of history,
Therefore we cannot close it, but pass to another phase; a more serene
phase, of reconstruction.
"I will wait for you as long as I need to."
Is a phrase past due for you and me.
Where are you
Now? Yours is a different now than is
Mine now. I fear here is no longer
Waiting for us.
If I knew, I would allow in this vast cosmos if
We could meet, yes, but if not? To keep you waiting
Is not fair.
I am here, once again, seated on that bench
You built so I could breathe easier in the
Off river breeze.
But not for sunset, I missed it. For the rising
Of the evening star. Falling back has not been
A change embraced.
I am on the cusp of change, my choice now. Stay,
Go, you have my heart. Mine? Wherever, I have me.
All that is.
