Am I secure? My daughter asked last week,
who runs and bikes and hikes alone, for pure
unsullied pleasure, smart and never meek.
Am I secure?
Her path was barricaded then, for sure
there’d been a random stabbing near the creek.
A homicide dictated a detour.
I sympathized, for circumstance can wreak.
Yet one can’t stay at home. I said – Endure,
and be alert. But waste no words to speak,
“Am I secure?”
I rode BART after sunset Wednesday night,
my body tired and my brain adrift,
and realized I was feeling quite all right.
I gazed at others, and I sensed a lift
of love for everyone within my sight.
Sensation washed inside me like a gift,
and though I didn’t understand the source,
I seek to keep the memory, of course.
I’m old enough to laugh in lieu of blush,
but I just learned the proper way to flush
a toilet I have owned for seven years.
I understood the tank, and how no gears
assist in operating the device,
but no installer gave me some advice
or manual I’d probably ignore.
I didn’t know that when I needed more
of force to push the waste the place it’s meant,
I must depress the lever with intent.
I didn’t want the picture-frame device.
I never would have bought it for myself.
I hinted my reluctance, once or twice,
but someone sent it to me anyway
(who’s spent a lifetime deaf to my advice).
Regifting wouldn’t work – he might have felt
like I’d burned sibling love in sacrifice.
I let it load and homed it on a shelf,
and now I find its presence very nice.
The wood above the fence of brick was old.
Some slats were sprung, and ivy compromised
its verticality and too its hold,
but still the trellis partially disguised
the low part of the house I recognized
as rightful building in a neighbor’s yard.
With that in mind, today I was surprised
to see it gone. Its absence hit me hard.
I should have been away but must delay
a journey north, while loved ones’ viral load
diminishes. Those five will be okay,
but I’d be risking much in their abode,
and company would likely discommode
the ill, as much as they are used to me.
For love and health I won’t yet hit the road –
a fortnight’s pause allows recovery.
Although we’ve changed the clocks, and daffodils
amid new tulips spice the yards nearby,
and morning birds greet sunrise with their trills,
and former dormant insects start to fly,
the sight that tokens springtime to my eye,
impressing and engendering belief
renewal isn’t dead, is how I spy
my own persimmon tree begin to leaf.
Between my room and office spans a deck.
Above it looms a eucalyptus tree
that often drops its leaves and leaves a wreck
at times with sap and seeds or twig debris.
But not till last week did I ever see
a limb so large befall that redwood floor.
I wasn’t out or under, luckily.
The winds of March were not this strong, before.
If we review our early history,
and recollect survival modes that you
and I deployed, we’ll witness strategy.
If we review…
And when we isolate the chosen clue
to navigate young trauma, mystery
is shallow – diagnosis is see-through.
We understand what worked for you and me.
But wisdom begs refinement. Black-and-blue
once faded is a step toward clarity,
if we review.
I ate a friendly early lunch, downtown,
and then explored the campus boundary
to find the set-back entrance and lay down
the facts and circumstances curbing me.
And after five-plus months of senselessly
pursuing bureaucratic paths of grief,
I found intelligence that practically
provided forms that seem to form relief.
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