Elephants bumble through the jungle
of my sleepy brain elephants and polka dots
my two small nieces one a baby wrapped
up in stars her sister’s head a pouf of curl, eyes agaze.
When my boys were little
I liked to drift into the fancy lands
of books as I read to them
three warm bodies pressed
close as ever close
four blue and two brown eyes
intent on the colorful pictures
their own fierce imaginings
carrying them wherever they went
as the words marched forth.
If I could whistle up a charm
for us I’d make my mouth
into a small perfect oh
and then fingers crossed
toes firmly planted
eyes closed (for conjuring)
put my whole soul and heart
behind one long breath blown
evenly through that oh
and then you and I
would stand hushed
as the pretty little
goodnesses sprinkled down
all over us like pink sugar
on two happy cupcakes.
Friday the thirteenth
came and went
brought no particular
good or bad luck with
its coming and going
no ill will in the woods
or elsewhere
just rain rain rain
just two wet dogs
the bringing out of
a striped sweater
a rawhide bone
the scattered stuffed toys
lying soaked in the muddy yard
as if fallen in battle.
This time this moment this now
of deluxe wild blissful contentment
I can put down to nothing in particular:
the unquestionable isness of it
the unabashed mmmm of it humming
warmly in my festooned heart
waltzing its way down to my toes
jiving up and out to the ends
of each grey and brown hair
on my one and only head
not to mention along the way
sparking up a plethora
of sweet little cells pockets
molecules neurons and protons
all smooshed delicately together
through choo-choo train tunnels of
veins and arteries carrying all
manner of whatnot to where
it once and for all belongs
smack dab squarely
in this luscious time
this delightful moment
this yummy
scrumptious
exquisite
now.
God or Nature has given us
a cloudy wet morning and I
will take that happily today
I’ll take it all happily even
the painful catch in my neck
the awful smells of my two dogs
the ache in my elbow
the roof that persistently leaks
for whatever reason I cannot know
for I have climbed over a hump
a hillock really that once seemed
a cliff with only a jumping-off
place on the other side
climbed over it to find of all things
bluebells! violets purple and white
(and even yellow) two box turtles
one large one half grown
a flutter of chickadees
a merry creek rolling on and on
never giving up never saying
Oh I have so had it with these rocks
this fallen tree that bend those two ducks!
but going on as a creek will do
just because that is what
a creek will do and so
if you please
will I.
A couple of pieces of luck jingle
like two coins tossed into my hand
foretelling I believe yet more for
I see my own life bouncing
comfortably in God’s pocket
a sighing extravagance of spirit
wide awake with quiet wonder.
Lent begins today, forty days of sacrifice.
On Ash Wednesday as uniformed girls in
Catholic school we were given
boxes with forty pockets meant
to hold forty nickels. If we managed
to fill all of the pockets with nickels
we were entitled to purchase and name
a pagan baby! What an extravagant prize!
A child a human being (even a pagan)
is by any measurement quite a prize.
My sister dutifully gave up her nickels
in exchange for a document
certifying that she had indeed
purchased and named a pagan baby.
She named the pagan baby Kathleen Marie
after me. Handily, all of us schoolchildren
had also learned to baptize any hapless
pagans in the unlikely event we
encountered one in Real Life.
My own nickels likely went the way
of Hershey’s semi-sweet chocolate bars.
I was never much good at Lent.
to its end another day a week
more days more weeks
but not this one so full
not this one ever again
though even this not truly gone
but tucked away in the dark folds
of our brains in bits and pieces
surrendering to the soft patchwork
of memory
Miles lies head in my lap
gazing up at me
love beaming from his eyes
into mine beaming love
back into his lusciously
lolling here of a morning
still and heavy
completely given over to
the luxury of loving and
being loved as only a
gentle-souled dog can do.
Pair of hawks circling over our yards
which means they are likely planning
to nest in the pine tree again which
is all well and good but which also
means that the barred owls will not
which is something of a disappointment
as owls are more mysterious less
common which makes them more
exciting and also easier to place into
a nice story in which they attend tea parties
wearing neckties and spectacles
speak in deep soothing voices of
books and letters and philosophical
ideas about life love and language
and their babies do not screech
all day long to be fed like
the unruly children of
red-tailed hawks.