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Weather Change (Poem)
before I open my eyes I know
the hot sky will be overcast with gray
my head so full of clouds heavy with their pressing need
that I cannot lift it from the bed
eventually I find surcease
having become a parched field for any rain that might fall
a bit of thanks, my handhold
the memory of kindness received, a sturdy stick
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The Scent Of A Freshly Picked Tomato (Poem)
rich with earth and sun and rain
life itself as it ran through seed and vine
heady enough to make one dream
not just of meals laden with bounty
but even of future ambition
other crops sown in dirt raised to harvest
generations that farm and forage
wisdom once lost regained and put to use
in last delicate balance with new
and in our waning perhaps we say
at the end finally we understand how to live
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The Front Door Too Is Crumbling (Poem)
though I would keep forgetting, everything-everything!-is friable
a tea cup shatters but also bones
I fractured a rib in a paroxysmal coughing fit
the bedroom wall now shows a ceiling to floor crack
also my immune system despite good care
I enter into a crowded space, I leave with a chance of sickness
my recoveries slower, more incomplete
the walking stick’s bark is beginning to flake off
but it holds me upright in the steep yard
we’re both still serviceable but showing our age
one day it will break
one day I will die
perhaps we’ll do so together, companions in the bardo
