Too late to have effect, too soon to grieve,
I move about in limbo as we wait.
Erect I stand and bend to pack to leave,
but when I land will she recuperate?
Or does descent to death precipitate,
and will she now be tethered to a line
embedded, not at home, a site she’d hate,
if she were well enough to wake to whine?
We’re glad he’s opened up. It’s good to see
him acting genuine (authentic, too).
As vulnerably as he recently
behaves, the tendency to overdo
is not surprising. Still, the snits he threw,
protective of his weekly shopping list,
were off-the-wall emotional. The stew
was served. That avocado won’t be missed.
I thought I knew the plans for several days
ahead, but recent circumstances threw
a curve I can’t avoid, to skew my ways.
I thought I knew.
I’ll travel home. The acts that then ensue
depend on what a hospital conveys.
Already I detect a different view
of Tuesday, maybe Wednesday, with displays
of alternate environments. I’ll do
what needs, with turn of mind to reappraise.
I thought I knew.
My resolutions tend to flow top-down,
but this snuck up and now surprises me.
What bubbles from my belly to my crown,
and there takes root and grows emphatically,
is wishful learning from proximity.
I will receipt from neither film nor book.
A fact from someone whom today I see,
is what I listen for, and where I look.
I seldom catch a ride above the bay.
My normal route is underneath, on BART.
But recently, I rode the bridge. The day
was bright and as the sun began to start
to sink among a planar cloud array,
the solar underlighting mimicked smart
design of UFO, it seemed to me,
that’s poorly caught in this photography.
I ought to be a pessimist, and yet
my serotonin levels must be high.
I’ve never been depressed, and blue moods get
brief tenancy in me. Oh I can cry
at tragedy, and worries may beset
that loved ones won’t prevail at what they try.
But hopefulness in me won’t dim or quit,
perhaps impelled to be Mom’s opposite.
An office day and then a meal with Mom,
succeeded by this trek across the bay
(with three legs), now I’m stretching to stay calm –
for after travel, there’s a cost to pay
above the fare and food, in timing’s flay.
I’ll follow with exquisite City meal –
one I don’t wish to cancel or delay.
Along with tax on vigor, there’s appeal.
No sooner am I home than I depart –
a scanty sixteen hours, half in bed,
are all I get before engagements start,
and what ensues are five days out instead
of that for which I yearn. But I won’t dread
the interruptions – they’re for love and food.
I’ll gird my mind, align my spine and head,
and gather to regain my solitude.
Today I travel home, by car to plane
to train to bus, and then a little more –
I’ll walk perhaps two blocks and I’ll obtain
the sanctuary that’s inside my door.
I’ll carry dirty clothes and the refrain
of fellowship with family, before
I settle into privacy and peace,
and let my pace for half a day decrease.
This daily poetry can’t all be great,
though I condition for integrity.
More often than a piece to celebrate,
it’s used to store minutia about me.
My current mood or some activity
I wish to recollect will float this boat.
I’m quietly enjoying victory,
implying, lest these lines appear to gloat.
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