Something Good

Maybe I did some good today,
minuscule perhaps,
but still
I caused two women
in a faraway land
to smile.

It started simply…
I lifted their suitcases
up the rickety bus steps.

They sat near me
and we talked

ages
children
grandchildren
families

universal truths
in unknown languages

I understood every word.

Mom, on January 1, 2005

My brother
dead for thirty years
I scream at him
still.

My father dead almost as long
I often smile
touching his tools
thinking of him.

My mother
dying beside me
how will I remember her?

I never knew my old brother
dead at twenty-one
or my old father
dead at fifty-six
(although I didn't think
fifty-six so young
then).

But I know my old mother,
eighty four
last birthday.
Tomorrow
how will I dream of her?

Young like my brother
my father
or old like today?

Young I hope
just
sometimes old
as a warning
of what not to become.

Chinese New Year, in China

It's not the same here
no lawn chairs scattered on a big field
Boom Boom
No roped off section for the professionals
to demonstrate their expertise
Boom
No cotton candy to melt in your mouth
No hot dogs

Everyone carries huge bags
filled with explosives
while hurrying to favorite places
between buildings
on the beach
in the courtyard
even on balconies

No bands
No melodies
Just the staccato rhythm
Boom Boom Boom
all day
all night
all day again

Deafening booms
brilliant lights
Boom
the old year exploding
into the new year
a better year
dancing lightly toward us

New Year's Eve, 2004 Midnight

My mother did not see the ball drop
this year.

She did not hear me whisper
Happy New Year.

I'm here with her,
but there's no joy.
No renewal
no wishes
no promises
no kisses.

One of us is dying
and one of us will live,
but
both of us are changing.

One life stopping
no time left for living.
One life continuing
no strength left for fighting.

Are we any different?

Were we ever.

The Tipping Point

I peel an orange beside her hospital bed.
Does she smell it?
Does it bring a thought
of sun
of life
of sadness?

Is my mother's brain
processing still?
Does she feel herself drifting,
life floating further and further away,
unable to grab it
to hold it
to keep it here awhile longer?

I feel her gasping breaths,
one terrible awful
inhalation at a time,
every single one making me wonder

Will another breath follow?
I wait.
I hope.
Please breathe.
Please stop.

The last of life for which the first was made, with apologies to Robert Browning

I used to be you...

smart

beautiful

young

crazy.

In a flash

I was old.

Don't follow.

As the flesh weakens

stay young.

As the mind hardens

stay young.

Make them grin

when you pass,

wondering how to become

just like you

when they're old

or even now,

while they're still

young.

I Don't See My Brother Much Anymore

I don't see my brother much anymore...
Not like thirty-five years ago
when I was much younger,
and he seemed much clearer.

Those days he'd barge
into my life hourly,
often even more,
whether or not
I could tolerate his arrival.

Sometimes I longed to talk,
but other times
I hated his ruining my life that way,
making me remember
things better forgotten.

He'd show up all unconcerned,
giving me that younger brother smile of his,
looking up at me
questioning me
destroying what little sanity
I had managed to knit together.

Twenty years ago
his visits grew less frequent...
I got too involved
with my own living
to spare much time for his interruptions.

Still, he'd arrive unannounced
when I'd least expect,
hammering into my life,
shattering the peace
I had somehow plastered together
since his last visit.

I don't see my brother much anymore.
But even now,
I'd return every day
of the thirty-six years
since he killed himself
just to touch his hand again.

Or maybe
just to scream at him.

Koby

One of the dogs who owns me
somehow learned that a growl
means love...
he came to me that way.

Big and powerful
growling fiercely
wagging his tail
showing his huge canines
licking my face
all at the same time.

Sometimes,
just once in a while
even less lately,
he grins
showing those long canines
and
growls that deep tiger growl
waiting to see if I still love him
or
if I believe the worst.

It's just your inner tiger
I confide in him.
So he relaxes when
I, showing no fear,
kiss him
right above those
terrifying teeth.

Though I wonder
if he knows
deep down inside
he scares me still.

Perhaps that's
the point.

Rosemary

The house just down the wooded path
erupted in flames last week,
the inferno set by the brother
the arsonist
the murderer
who visited Rosemary there
for the first time
in nearly ten years.

He knocked on the door,
I imagine,
said hello sister
how you doin',
then killed her
and her loyal dogs
with his brand new
purchased-for-the-occasion
shotgun.

I walk there everyday now
along that pristine wooded path
linking our two homes,
feeding her fish as they rise
in the pond she built,
picking the vegetables
from her raised beds,
adding flowers to the vase,
and checking her hummer feeder.

But that's not really why.

I wander
soundlessly
along that path
to feel the air
to taste the pain
to drown in the terror
of that night

all alone

as she was

as he most certainly was.

The Snake

I nearly stepped on a snake today.
He was so obvious
yet so unnoticed.
A black rat snake.
Beautiful.
Shiny.
Unafraid.

Stretched out in the sun
across my path.
He saw me long before
I saw him.
But then,
he sees everything
and I see nothing at all.

Still
he didn't move.
The sun was too warm.
His flesh too comfortable.
His fear,
I like to think,
diminished
from studying me before.

So I talked to him.
Told him to remain there
as long as he liked.
I would not hurt him.

He didn't answer.
Just turned his head
and gazed through me.
A look from faraway.
Across worlds.
Across eons.
Across species.
With knowledge
I will never know.

Thus we carried on a conversation
of sorts.
I hope he understood
some of it.
I, who did nearly all the talking,
understood the silences.

Many have said they
intended no harm
to my kind
and then
in the very next breath
destroyed us.
I have learned
to be wary.

I carried my groceries
and dog food
and library books
around him.
Kept the dogs inside
to keep him safe.

He watched as I came out again.
Maybe trusting me
just a bit more.
Slowly rippled that
beautiful body
across the grass,
pausing in the perennials
Debra loves so
and then
finally,
simply appeared
in the fringes
of the woodland.

He didn't look back.
I don't suppose
I merited it.
After all,
I was neither supper
nor predator.

We both understood that.
Maybe it was enough.

I've been loved by dogs

I've been loved by dogs.

Drowning once, breathing water,

Abigail appeared, uncalled,

brushed me

offered her tail

swam me to safety

sat beside me while I gulped

wondrous dry air.

Licked me one wet kiss…

you'd do it for me you know.

And I would.

I've been loved by dogs.

Molly, who loved both

children and turtles,

crossed a river with me

in deep cold winter water.

She caught on a submerged tree,

unable to go forward,

unable to go backward.

Only treading water

tiring.

I swam into that coldness.

Lifted her up.

Buoyed her to shore.

Kissed her once.

You'd do the same for me you know.

And she would.

I've been loved by dogs.

Cinders, that wonderful Chihuahua.

Two German Shepherds

stalking me,

ready to teach me

their alphaness.

That tiny black blur attacked

retreated

attacked

retreated

over and over

and over again.

With their blood

taught them all about

loyalty

sacrifice

bravery.

Looked at me with those straight-up ears.

that smart face,

You'd do the same for me.

And I would.

Much later in her life...

and mine...

a speeding car

on a windy mountain road

at dusk

headed for her unseen.

So tiny

so smart

so loyal.

A dive.

Scooped into my arms.

Not thinking,

a roll into the briars.

Screeching brakes.

A close miss,

but safety.

I told you you'd do it for me.

And I did.

A dog is not a dog

is not a dog

or, maybe,

a dog is a dog is a dog

is a dog.

Nothing truer lives.

I've learned

loyalty

kindness

friendship love

from

Abigail

from Molly

from

Cinders.

I've loved dogs.

I have touched purity.