Rain is soaking Into my muscles, My skin, My bones. Clammy air is in My house. I wait for the furnace To start blowing warmth, And look for a sweater. I think I should put on socks. My mistake, It is too early for sandals. But the grass is greening, Buds are opening. One of these days My mind will turn to yardwork, And I will feel you Watching me as I Take care of your patch Of Earth and strive for Your idea of how it Should be. I'll ask out loud, “Am I doing okay?” I expect that somehow You will let me know I’m doing just fine.
I remember my dad picking me up from school at lunchtime I would ride home and he would make me a lunch Maybe a soup and sandwich Tomato and grilled cheese or Chicken and rice and baloney Then I would be driven back to school And dropped off outside the classroom door That's when that feeling would hit me I really didn't want to go back Once I had been home already As I stood in the hallway Outside my kindergarten room I wondered if I was in the right place Mostly because I was 5 and it was nap time And the room had been darkened And all the cots were out And I couldn't read Miss Murphy’s name yet So I didn't know my dad had left me At the correct classroom door It was all so confusing That horrible feeling like a slowly swelling Buzz from my gut and a frozen feeling Of a heart pounding sense of just how small I really was And just how big the world was Sometimes I feel that now Alone in my house after a busy noisy day Caring for little children It starts as a slightly painful tickle in my abdomen That grows up toward my diaphragm And into my chest, my jaw My ears filled with the electrical Hum of the silence
I ironed the shirts, The collars and the cuffs. I was careful around the buttons. I was a woman standing At the ironing board, No matter who fell from the sky, No matter how many wars were happening. I hurried and sweated under My night gown. I cooked and cleaned and loved No matter what the politics. I was a woman. Here I folded laundry, Held the sleeves together, Smoothing them down. The tenderness of care, for love No matter what happened Out there. The babies came. I pulled a plan for a thousand Suppers from my brain, And little girls stood by me To see how it was done.
In the quiet of the evening's embrace, Where shadows dance and day gives way, A cardinal sings with tender grace, Its song a beacon in the fading day.
Oh cardinal, in the twilight's hue, Your melody, a bridge to skies above, A whisper of the love I once knew, Reminding me of my lost love.
Your notes, like tears, fall soft and true, Echoes of memories that linger still, Each sound, a touch of what we knew, In the quiet night, my heart you fill.
Though he has passed beyond the veil, His spirit in your song does soar, A guardian near, as shadows pale, Watching, guiding, forevermore.
Your evening hymn, a sacred plea, A testament that love remains, Unbroken by life's transient sea, An anchor through its joy and pains.
Oh cardinal, your song is balm, A solace in the evening's gloom, With every note, a healing calm, In your melody, love finds room.
Sing, dear cardinal, sing for me, For in your song, my love does dwell, A presence near, though I can't see, In your twilight song, my heart does swell.
In the depth of night's embrace, Your tune, a beacon, bright and clear, My love, though lost, I still trace, In your song, he is ever near.
Down the street the daffodils are blooming Most folks have picked up the sticks And broken branches from their yard. The flags are hung out on nice days. Down the street a Murmuration of Starlings and a worm of robins bounce Along, tweaking at grass and poking at dirt. Just before sunset A gentle spring breeze is passing. To close your eyes And listen to the quiet street And hear the birds after a long winter Is delicious. This time between six and sundown is sacred. Down the street The church will be filled For Easter Vigil, But I will hear the quiet And watch the cars go past my house and Down the street.
Sunlight hangs from branches, Cedar and Maple, Just before the sun sets. New buds decorate the tips In red hues, While some trees stand like smoke Frozen into icicles and Stiff as boney fingers Clutching the last Breath from the throat of winter. And time moves on. Blue-black sky is the backdrop Of silhouettes darkening Ever more, As the sun has slidden Beyond the horizon. Beings are moving in the dark, Ghosts nibbling at the cedars, And the robins and jays have gone to bed.
Marble Hill Press 