Category Archives: Gratitude

I would have been wearing black,
In the traditions of a traditional 
Mourning, a widow decked head
To toe in the colors of loss. Months
Would pass like that, and my grief
Would be symbolized by my attire.
Without widow's weeds, the black
Of mourning is all on the inside, my
Inner self. Oh, nobody mourns all 
The time. I know that. I did not, I
Don't know, deserve the guilt I feel
For not being sad at this moment.
At every moment that passes, all
The moments in which I miss you,
Burt, but I am not mourning you 
All the time, full-time that is, I am 
But I am not sad as every moment
Passes, and I have all those great
Memories you gifted, you left me,
You bequeathed me. In them, I  
Miss you, but I am not sad, not in 
My widow's weeds as I might in 
The tradition of mourning have
Expected to be, I am remembering
You. I am remembering us.

Affirming

I am okay. I sleep.
This uttered in the
Middle of the night
Does not reassure
But perhaps affirms.
I am awake but I will
Find my way back to
Snoozing soon. This
Uttered in the middle
Of the night doesn't
Reassure but affirms.
I am okay. I sleep.
I slept. I did. This
Uttered in the light 
Of dawn reassures
And confirms I am
Okay. I welcome the
Light, as the dark is
Fading, has faded. I
Am awake to the joy
Of a new day. I am 
Okay and I miss him.

Through the years

Who was I as all my years
Accumulated? The time is
Not a continuum. It breaks
Into small scenes, acts as
Distinct as if each were a
Life encompassed in 15 
Minute skits, not all funny.
Many poignantly true to
Life. So much time passed,
Passes unnoticed, goes 
Into a compartment, a
Memory perhaps not always
Remembered as it should
Be. I do know  my last acts,
The 35 years I spent by your
Side are vivid, not blurred 
By slippery recollections. I
Know who I am every moment
Of these years, the years 
That are my longest acts,
Not broken into bits, solid
And happy in reminiscence
As they were in real time, 
True to life.

Today and always

For Burton P.

I know nothing about love,
Its chemistry, its molecular
Substrata, I know only the
Feelings of joy that linger
In its shadow, in its aura, in
The smile, and in the soul.
I know nothing of its physics,
Its reasoning, its intricate
Deliberations. I know only
My joy at your touch, a joy
That lingered through the
Years when the physicality
Of love-making vanished as
If vaporized by the changes
In your mind and body. I know
That love stayed in your heart.
I know it remains in mine.

Mom cake

A mother’s day poem

Is it possible that someone
More capable than I will bake
Or,
Take the recipe I share among
My friends to remaster, make
Again my mother's famous 
Cake, the one we defrosted a
Year after her passing, and 
Passed among our friends who
Gathered to witness the year
Anniversary of her death? The
Cake one of her many gifts 
By which we could remember
Her then. The famous cake,
Made with a flour ground from
Nuts, walnuts but we, actually
She, substituted almonds to
Make the roulade and a rich
Sweet frosting, rich and sweet
As was she. A flourless cake
She baked before every high-
Minded pastry chef in our
County offered one up on a
Dessert menu that topped a
Pricey tasting menu, elegant
As was she.

Dawn

The morning light entices me.
Is it later or earlier than I can 
Ever anticipate it to be? This
Morning I am awakened by
It's early appearance.Shouldn't 
I know if it is just dawning or if
It has been bright for hours or
If it is just first light? Shouldn't 
I know just by the quality of the 
Day as it peaks into my room 
What time it really is?

Naming the rose

Chapter 3

They see the devil in their desires
The serpent lurks, swallowing at
Their humanity, strangling their 
Natural impulses and sometimes
Their basic needs. It's a version of
The devil made me do it that is so
Deadly serious that it makes good
Men murderous in defense of their
Piety, thinking that that sin is less
An offense to their God than the
One their hearts and bodies desire

Sweet. Clear.

Our passion is shared and
Divided up by memory into
Little bits of what once was.
Remembered, stored away
For safekeeping, it lives as
It once did but hazy as faded
Pictures in a sundrenched
Album. Not as safely kept as
Our treasured love once was.
We would not have let the
Edges curl or the color drain.
Pleasures once tangible now
Are distant, and dreamlike, 
Played out in the flashes of
Uncertain memory, slipping 
Out of focus, but sweet and
Clear.

Daylight

There is no rush to get up.
Shapes emerge as I gather
The light coming in from my
Window. Dawn is a revelation
It is that, revelatory, by nature.
The gathering daylight reveals
What every new dawn reveals-
The surprise and delight of the
Beauty that is in the world and
Ready to greet me as I gather
The light as it emerges. Dawn