I’m sure you pressed CAPS LOCK by accident,
when you responded emailing to me.
We have no quarrel and you never meant
to mimic ransom-note hostility.
But it looks harsh, no matter your intent.
I think regarding screen, we should agree,
because there’s ambiguity by word,
to read in negativity’s absurd.
On one hand, I have learned to patiently
abide, for change comes slower every year.
But then again each day’s a gem to me,
and I don’t want to spend one passively.
I aim to plumb the puzzle till it’s clear,
by clue amazing, talisman or spear,
the way to balance temporality.
From when I wake at dawn till 2 p.m.,
I’m busy, active, driven to result.
I have at least 10 items, tackle them,
and usually 3 specials. Difficult
it isn’t, habit-formed as an adult
(Mom called me selfish/lazy till I grew).
I’m proud-productive, over that insult,
but good for nearly nothing after 2.
It isn’t that I worry actively
about my kids – they grew up long ago.
But as I survey life, the quality
of their experience – their jobs and health,
their moods, their challenges with family –
is part of what I reckon every day.
This week, one has her best friend’s company.
The other’s group-vacationing, and so
consideration takes a break in me.
I read the Bible years ago, in full.
Although it bored me some, it also made
a deep impression. Not religious pull,
but glimpses at the humor we’ve downplayed.
Creation’s motive also crept on me –
conversion into matter was in there.
I took away the clue our legacy
is obligation to be self-aware.
That’s partly why I hone my memory,
take notes and pictures, tell my stories too.
I walk, and try to focus steadily.
Perhaps should I begin to lose a slew
of recollections, I can notice it,
self-governing while facing loss of wit.
The practice wasn’t hard and didn’t take
much time away from other morning moves.
And nearly every pose she had me make
produced a sense of wellness. It improves
my balance and my attitude to wake
to lengthening; my spine the act behooves.
Infirm or frail I’d feel a sorry wretch.
I’ll not forsake my customary stretch.
A tide of challah-making has beset
the families I foisted on the world.
Inspired by late hate, one kid has let
her mind expand her heritage, and hurled
herself full-tilt. A month ago I made
the first, on Friday kneading, punching down.
She joined for shape and bake and in the shade
of setting sun, her offspring gathered round.
Since then it’s been a weekly treat for those,
and now the younger local nest bakes, too.
They’re into lower carb, but still they chose
to help assemble and enjoy the chew.
The work was great, and what I savored most
was next-night’s avocado challah toast.
I understand the satisfaction felt
in ordering the playing cards from hand
to winning solitaire. I watch. I melt.
I understand.
He’s 5 years old, and softly he’ll demand
no auto-finish. From the moment dealt
he wants array the way the maker planned.
He hosts some chaos underneath his belt,
but shows a mind for order logic-spanned:
creative, drawn to balance, pattern-dwelt.
I understand.
An idiot savant is somewhat wise.
A child can perceive what many won’t.
A moron might be hired to advise.
It’s more a case of wherefore than of don’t.
Cognition comes in any type of form.
Insanity is rarely absolute.
And as for nailing down a useful norm,
the field’s too mobbed – no vision’s that acute.
My father had in his declining years
occasional hallucinating views
that offered a perspective which appears
both then and after kindness. Don’t accuse
divergence, or discard its value now.
Perhaps it holds the recipe for how.
Concluding I had too much on my plate,
on rising I eliminated some.
The temperature was up, I had a date
for lunch, and I was feeling kind of numb.
But 90 minutes later, so much freight
had been cleared off I couldn’t feel a crumb.
Surprised, I gravitated to the mat,
in movement like a morning acrobat.
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