Well that was new – the daughter joined our throng,
and sat by me and talked all dinner through.
She didn’t play the anti-social song.
Well, that was new.
And two days in the dad revealed some true
impressions of his past. With ping and pong
he wavered, painting orange shot with blue.
Both showed respect instead of posing strong
pretension – I felt seen and listened to.
It’s tentative, but we three got along
well. That was new.
I once imagined my ex-husband’s mom,
when she was young and hadn’t been long wed.
The process fused to detonate a bomb
of understanding. Afterwards, instead
of harboring disdain and nursing grief,
I wrote a story as I gave some thought
to motivation. Fiction bore belief;
by plotting probability, I’m taught.
A little earlier but just as good,
I made a mom-tale justifying mine.
Imagining a heedless childhood,
I plumbed the shoulds that cluttered every line.
Perhaps the time’s now come when I’ll pretend,
and comprehend the trends of my old friend.
Three times in recent weeks, what seemed at first
an inconvenience, after plans were made,
resulted in some awkwardness reversed,
or eased at least. Improvement was obtained.
What rattled me initially I cursed,
but that was wasted vehemence indeed;
it wasn’t worth the discontent I nursed.
My indignation was by time betrayed,
and needs reserve until by facts coerced.
How discombobulating, when I lose
an item from my careful custody.
I seldom carry much – I check and choose
the minimum I need sustaining me,
and check again almost obsessively.
It wasn’t key, misplaced when shifting homes,
but half-denying mediocrity,
I can’t forget that paper with three poems.
We walked the cemetery’s length to find
the namesake fir that doesn’t stand alone.
One hundred eighty years have intertwined
the view above with legion leaves and tone.
An almost-arboretum now, a kind
of shelter for the beds of dust and bone,
we wandered grateful for the quiet shade
amidst old monuments that strangers made.
We had to talk about the money stuff.
The simple fact is more is going out
than coming in. The revenue’s enough
to pay for most but extra costs? We doubt
the value in small luxuries. It’s tough
to cut this fun and leave those pleasures out.
The gym is worth whatever you invest.
But others? Less is more and none is best.
I overhydrated on Tuesday last.
I had a blood draw per the doc’s demand.
Instructions said to undergo a fast
– not even tea or coffee their command.
I drank hot water as the hours passed
till I could bare my arm. That’s how I planned.
And yes, the draw was easy that I gave.
But after, I was micturition’s slave.
I start each day with mugs of coffee still.
I’m old, but it does not upset my gut.
My hand may quiver some, but I don’t spill
the liquids I convey. I’m happy, but
three times a year or so I have to still
the caffeine habit. I don’t get the what
or why, but fasting draw’s the protocol,
and headache brews to stymie morning scrawl.
The neighbor hung a feeder from his eave,
two storeys up and half a yard away.
He’s thoughtful and had reason to believe
no quadrupeds would dine on the array
of seeds and millet, yet our critters thieve
gymnastically. I heard the skritch today,
and looked up from my pruning task to view
a vandal snacking upside down, mid-chew.
I’m not sure that they loved the end result –
my rugelach is rich instead of sweet,
appealing more to taste that’s grown adult.
But kneading dough together was a treat,
their cream cheese butter fingers almost neat,
their questions and their consciousness employed.
The parents took in more than we could eat,
but true success is process well-enjoyed.
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