Broken memories

Oh, look: I found a picture of a bed, 

Like that old four-poster bed, 

The one both Mom and I 

Had been conceived in; 

The one I lay in many nights, 

Waiting for you to come home 

From whatever gig you played 

And whatever woman caught your fancy 

Once your sax was packed away; 

The one that you tossed off our deck 

So many years ago in fury, 

When I finally chose 

Myself instead of pain, and left you,

Taking the one thing that was clearly mine; 

The one whose headboard’s finial 

(So lightly curved, and topped, 

Like the four others on the posts 

With that three-dimensional fleur-de-lis) 

Broke like your venom upon landing

Where you threw it.

That bed I kept, though broken, 

Now shelters in my daughter’s home — 

The daughter I had later 

With the man who loves me still — 

And holds from time to time, 

Our granddaughter when she comes to stay. 

And though she’s not my daughter’s child, 

And my daughter isn’t yours, 

That broken bed still wraps her 

In the memories of love 

From my grandmother, who bought it, 

Through four more generations 

To the granddaughter who sometimes leaves 

The home so far away she wasn’t born in 

To sleep in this old bed that she — 

Unlike my daughter, me, and mom — 

Was not conceived in.

Imagining benevolence

Sitting in the Thai restaurant, 

Waiting for our food in that brief interval 

 While the vets subject our cat to various tests,

 I watch the sleeping Buddha’s face 

On the wall at the end of the room, 

Imagining that benevolence 

Extending to our cat, and to the dogs 

 Gathered in the waiting room at the vet’s office, 

Their stomachs full of socks, or toys, or underwear 

They’ve eaten in their hunger for exotic flavors…

Reading the yard

Sitting here, behind the window, 

A sick and sedated cat sleeping on my lap, 

I look out, through the reflections, 

At the gray of clouds, the tawny grass, 

The lavender, the Buddha, 

 And the sea that lies beyond 

 The shrub-infested cliff 

As a squirrel creeps by, pausing at every step 

To scrabble at the lawn and then sit up, 

White belly flashing as he nibbles 

What’s been found 

Until another squirrel streaks across the yard 

With some urgent message 

And the two of them speed off into the bushes, 

Tails lifted, flying in the breeze. 

Who needs a book? I’m reading the yard today.

Pet concerns

We spent all day yesterday 

At the emergency vet’s office with this little guy — 

Some sort of urinary tract issue 

Which still doesn’t seem resolved: 

He spends much of his time 

Sitting in his litter box 

With occasional breaks for water, 

Or to watch the birds.

We just have to trust that he’s on the mend.

 I ache today for all the other humans — 

Those we saw yesterday, and all the others 

Who must deal with sick or dying pets: 

 So much easier to focus on that 

Than all the larger challenges folks are facing…

Adaptability

I marvel at the ingenuity of nature;

How readily plants adapt to their habitats —

 Like these lovely golden irises, 

Thriving in the mud at the edge of a pond, 

Able to deal with both 

 The presence and absence of water, 

And the inevitability of change. 

I wish we humans could be more accepting 

Of the ups and downs of life.

Spreading tenderness

How can we extrapolate 

 From the tenderness we feel 

For these creatures; 

Extend that tenderness 

 To ALL living beings?

When opposites unite

Glimpsed through the trees, 

The colors of the sunset remind us once again 

That opposites, held in tension with each other,

Can enhance one another,

 Swirling through the heart 

Like a magical chord of notes, 

Giving pleasure to all.