I saw
just one
quick flare
of the Geminid
meteor shower
a streak of light
quick and bright
there and gone
like a time-lapsed
cigarette tip lit
and stubbed out
Leonids Meteor Shower (Nov 18 [2014]. NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center. CC BY-NC 2.0.
Eighty-six years ago
they married
during the Great Depression
with war on the rise
they meant for the ceremony
to be in September
but he had the mumps
so the wedding occurred
on the twelfth of December
before the justice of the peace
she wore a blue suit
on the day after Christmas
she turned twenty-one
Every December after
he gave her
a red poinsettia
he knew
how much she loved them
Across the decades
she’d jest about
having nothing
to look forward to
the rest of the year
with her anniversary
Christmas
and birthday all
in the same month
December
for her
was pure delight
celebrations
of Light
and life
In the last years
when he was gone
I gave her
a red poinsettia
during the season
for the sight
of her face alight
blue eyes bright
Someone else gave her
a silk poinsettia
after she went into
the nursing home
once when I visited
she was watering it
We did not know
all those years ago
that their wedding anniversary
would become
National Poinsettia Day
I just learned it
how she’d love it
just another sign
that love is divine
and lives on and on
and on
My grandparents, on my first Christmas.
Love lives on.
Photo: National Day Calendar
First sign of spring? No.
Plump, merry, ever-present
birds of December
American Robin. Dendroica cerulea. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0
Robins symbolize renewal. I see them, undeterred, in every yard, field, and pasture as December grows colder.
Such a magical age
Embracing every new wonder
Valuing every moment
Every day a rich concoction of love
Now and every tomorrow, a gift
My Dear Firstborn,
You were always the Lord’s.
I rejoice
that His divine purposes
cannot be thwarted
that your preacher-father
lived to see this day
that your first daughter
sitting beside me
as you receive your
Master of Divinity
is the same age you were
sitting beside me
when your father
received his
seven,
representing
fullness
and completion
in an endless
spiral of blessing
that flows on
and on
and on.
You have always
been my joy,
baby boy.
With love
and gratitude
and awe
at the divine work
of the Master
always,
Mom
a triolet
with thanks to the heron
Every morning, at the corner of the pond
when I see the huddled heron
it calls my hunkered heart to respond.
Every morning, at the corner of the pond
with a wave of nature’s reflective wand
my muddled spirit is less bleak, less barren…
every morning, at the corner of the pond
when I see the huddled heron.
Grey Heron. PapaPiper. CC BY-ND 2.0.
A heron is, in short, a symbol that all shall be well
Once upon a time
when baby had trouble
going to sleep
we played
soothing songs
on our phones
until she drifted off
and baby grew
(that is what babies do)
so that now
when we put baby down
to sleep
she cries for a minute
and then
she sings
and sings
to her own little self
without any words
a sound purer
than songs of birds
(know that I am outside your door
beloved baby
tears in my eyes
listening
listening
to your own angelic
lullaby)
Someone’s getting sleepy…
For some reason
my blank blog posts
have suddenly started asking
What is one thing you would change about yourself?
My response, O mysterious blog template:
How do I narrow it
to just one thing?
Not sure what triggers it… but for a moment I am a child in my grandparent’s house, in the tiny kitchen with tongue-and-groove walls painted soft yellow, empty dinner dishes on the table, Granddaddy in his plaid shirt pouring coffee in his saucer to cool it, Grandma in her apron serving flaky biscuits from the oven, Granddaddy grasping the thick glass bottle with the dark blue label reading King Po-T-Rik, adorned with a lion’s head, the dark, dark molasses drizzling into pool on my plate, his handing me a buttered biscuit, me sopping molasses with it… it is heaven, it is home, home, home, it is a hundred, a thousand years ago, and right now, in my remembering…the old ways, they stay, forever, forever, forever.
King Po-T-Rik molasses was manufactured from the early 1900s to 2015.
No other molasses compares to it.
As an adult, I once went to a country buffet that had molasses and biscuits.
I poured the brown richness on my plate and sopped it with a biscuit,
just like Granddaddy and I used to do,
One of the old men, watching me, said:
‘That’s old-school…”
and I was proud.
I’d go back and sop with you in a minute, Granddaddy.
There’s much to be said
for the old ways.
