Rachel at Nine

Freckles and sunshine,
Laughter and snuggles,
Unselfconscious
Dancing and singing;
Forest Monkey,
Jumping and screeching.
Scattered tears,
Occasional storm clouds,
Chance of pajama girl,
Love unconditional,
Freckles and sunshine.

“Grandpa,” My Father

Grandpa moves slowly
At 84, like an artsy movie,
Meticulous and careful,
Hard to comprehend.
Old bones showing through,
Tight and shiny skin,
Pale eyes that don’t disclose
Much but acceptance and joy,
A little tiredness, and
The occasional frustration
That technology brings.
A body determined to continue,
A life lived well.
But to what end?
I watch and I am amazed.
He never utters a desire,
A wish or a want,
Always helping,
Always serving,
No tomorrow, only today.
Surely if there is a heaven,
There must be a place
For someone like that.

New Day

Sometimes,
Early morning,
I sit on my front porch.

Faithful,
The sun does come,
Not hurried,
Not all at once,
But artfully,
Delicately,
Rock ledge to tree,
Illuminating mist,
Aspens shimmering,
Pink over emerald,
Lavender kisses.

I wrap my hands around
A warm cup of coffee
Bury myself, deep in my robe,
Pet the dog and surrender.

Remembering

Growing up
There was a tree
In my backyard
A redoak tree
With leaves
Scarlet,
Brown,
Green,
And in spring,
A color that reminded
For all the world,
Of turtles.
Rough multicolored bark
Branches
Right for climbing.
My tree.

I knew my tree.
Remember it still
Every aspect.
And so,
I know
I will remember you.

Sarah at 3 Months

You slept, twitching only slightly,
Damp hair against my breast.
In a small room that smelled slightly
Of plaster and tomato vines
Moths humming,
And us—rocking, rocking.
I slept too, and together we dreamed,
A farmhouse on a dirt road,
A dark branch and a woman,
A beautiful woman standing guard,
Her eyes, my eyes standing guard
Under the eaves as women do.

Tiger

I am young and hungry.
My love is an eerie snow
On the hillside, a tiger
In the eerie snow, crouching,
Emerald and amber.
Fierce and afraid.

Chukchi Hunter (National Geographic – February 1983)

Photograph:
A man,
In a fur hat,
Breathing smoke
Into a freeze
That came last August,
Under a spineless sun.
His eyes are dark;
Unmoving,
Believing,
Summer will come,
Knowing,
It will not
Come soon;
Last long.