Juicy fruit

How encouraging, at a time 

When the news grows more disturbing every day, 

To watch the plums happily ripening in my garden: 

Even though one tree has fallen, 

The others are still bearing fruit, 

Juicy harbingers of hope 

In a dark dry world.

Infinite reflections

Three boys stand 

 At the edge of the cliff, holding phones. 

One boy photographs his friends, 

One shoots the vibrant sunset,

 And the third turns his back on friends and sun 

While texting someone else: 

A mom, a girlfriend, someone sick at home 

Or stuck in traffic; who knows, 

But the impulse to share or to converse 

Is clearly strong, as here I am: 

Sharing with you, a mirror, infinitely reflecting.

Sadness

I found this picture on Facebook 

 Of three puppies at a shelter, looking sad. 

I’d not have noticed, really, 

 Now that I’m a cat person, 

But my friend turned 80 this year, 

And his elderly dog just died, 

So it resonated, somehow — 

 The sadness, and those huge paws…

 So many kinds of sadness in the world: 

No home, no one to love or be loved by, 

No wagging tail to greet you at the door, 

Each one an ache to echo larger losses: 

The ones we can’t bear to think about, 

Or feel… 

I’m doubly thankful for the cat 

Now sleeping on my lap.

Solace in gardens

Whenever I grow discouraged 

About the state of the world, 

I find solace in the gardens 

Of those who, unlike me, 

Have the time, energy, and passion 

To cultivate perfection 

(And fences high enough to keep out deer).

Resistance

Like ruffles on a young girl’s dress, 

And an artfully exposed belly button, 

The Madrona sends her lavish invitation 

To the weather: bring it on! 

The cold, the heat, the rain, the sun — 

She can and will survive it all 

And shed or gain, flower and fruit 

Despite your machinations, 

Just as artists will continue to make art 

Musicians will continue to make music, 

And dancers will continue to dance 

In spite of and because of 

These political aggravations.

Squid-like

I love the shape these roots have taken, 

As if, beside the sea, they saw 

A squid, and chose to mimic it, 

Menacing all who dare to climb 

These steps and leave 

The surging surf behind…

Quiet time

I always know when life has grown 

 A bit too frantic: 

I’ll be trying to hold a conversation 

And I’ll start losing words.

 I’ll know that these are clouds, 

But the word nimbus will be floating somewhere 

 Slightly out of reach, 

And shoreline might reveal itself as”edges” 

While the word for that resides in some briny deep. Luckily all it takes is sleep to correct the problem, 

But sometimes that’s just one more thing 

 That eludes me: then I’m quite certain 

I need some quiet time 

To resurrect my brain.