I think of Life as a river
That begins from its source
Somewhere unknown to me
Flowing around me flowing over
Any obstacle that lies in its
Path
A large boulder fallen timber
Always moving to follow its
Course
With twists with turns
Changing as landscape it flows past
Changes
To widen to narrow
Continuing the journey
Until it joins another river
Or flows on its own
To the sea
… I see I feel
Morning sun
Touching the life of the
Sycamore’s new leaves
A hyacinth not yet in
Bloom
From my window
I see other windows
On a hill across
The Riparian Way
Like tiny lighthouses
They shine beacons of light
To me
As night closes day
From my window
I hear sirens on El Camino Real
Their sound grows fainter
As they move farther away
Then one abruptly stops
Called here
To the community
Where I live
From my window
I send a prayer
Too often
Someone I know
Someone I don’t know
Passes away
Death is no stranger here
But life is far more familiar
I feel the void
When faces go missing
I never get used to it
Life lives with death
Two parts of the whole
Every fall
From my window
I watch the sycamore’s leaves
Dry out
Their color green changing into
Old gold
Falling to the ground
In graceful slow motion
Then welcoming her new leaves
Every spring
The sun rises
Over the distant hill
Goes down over the distant
Ocean
Moon rises
Over the distant hill
Sets in her own time
Over the distant ocean
It is an orderly Universe
I closely observe
Closely observe
From my window
Mother
When he went away and left you
He left me too
And we lived together
You and I
One woman one child
And I wanted to grow up
To love you both
But you’d come home
From a job that drained you
That made you curl up tight
Inside yourself
I knocked and I know
You tried to let me in
While he went away
And sent letters of love to me
And I cried to live with him
I didn’t understand
My best friend told me this
People say your mother
Has a chip on her shoulder
I didn’t understand
Believe me Mother
When I tell you
I don’t remember
That time in your life
When you were ill
When your legs were weak
And you used a cane
When your eyes saw double
And the threat of disease
That would waste you
Hung over us
A girl of fourteen
Awake awake whose eyes
Could see whose brain
Could think
But Mother I don’t remember
I just don’t remember
Mother
We are healed now
And the years between
Have made us friends
I need you Mother
When you die
No one else can care as much
—1975
I open wide
A special door
To a special room
In my heart
For children
I do not know
But whom I love
Children abused
Abandoned
Ones made to
Disappear
Children caught
In war
Innocents maimed
Innocents dying
Bless their souls
Oh bless them
They are like a field
Of flowers
Scattered in the wind
Some survive
To grow again
Others never return
Leaving their presence
Their beauty
To remain in my
Mind
Live in my heart
Never
To forget them
—2011
Midnight for me is
Mysterious unattainable
For Mother has me in bed
By eight o’clock always
Eight o’clock
Hard as I try
When my eyes open again
Morning shines into my
Window
I want to know midnight
What it feels like
Who is there what do they do
In midnight
I would like to see
Winged horses
White like Pegasus
Unicorns dancing bears
I want animals that speak
My language
To have conversation
Be friends
Colors swirling around us
Rainbows even angels
With halos with wings
Oh will I never know
Will I ever know
What it feels like
To be awake in
Midnight
Years pass
My beloveds sleep
In their beds
Here I am
Notebook open pen in
Hand
It is quiet so quiet
My sanctuary of peace
And the clock strikes
midnight
—February 7, 2017
My years are like my days
Passing quickly so quickly
The four little children
I escorted through childhood
With devoted love
With hope for wisdom
Are now in their fifties
When I think of this
I am grateful for them
Grateful
And amazed
This past year is now
The new year
I feel deep relief
Welcome New Year
You began with rain
Serious rain
On our drought laden
Land
And I made this vow
No resolution a vow
My attention my energies
Will reside with what is
Good
What is kind
With love for All That Is
No exceptions
And forgiveness
For what the old year
Held
For what the New Year
May bring
–January 2017
Lord
I too ask
Make me an Instrument of Your
Peace
I too would sow love
Where there is hatred
Anger
Where intolerance
Lurks
Where doubt keeps some
Awake
In night’s darkest
Hours
I would sow Faith
Where despair brings some
To their knees
I would sow Hope
Oh Lord
I will do my best
For those who are inconsolable
To lead them to You
To be consoled
To ask my spirit for understanding
So that I understand in depth
Their need for understanding
Above all
To love unconditionally
Al Your children everywhere
No exceptions
And not ask to be loved
Myself Amen
As a little girl
I hear disparaging comments
Made by the adults
In my life
Judgments of people
Even people unknown
Walking down a street
In a store
Though these words do not consume
Sunday dinner conversation
Around Grandmother’s mahogany
Dining table
They are spoken often enough
To create in me
Aversion to judgmental words
Criticism
I hear them shrink into myself
Sadness moves into a corner
Of my heart
Doesn’t move out
My childhood is a patchwork quilt
Of remembering
Scenes of places faces voices
Yes voices
For I have come to understand
It is not words alone
That cause pain
Even more
It is the tone of voice
I hear it
Clench constrict
Hold my breath
It has always been so
Mother seldom speaks of father
Who leaves their marriage
When I am seven years old
But her tone of voice
When she does speak of him
Lets me know the depth
Of her bitterness
I feel devastated
Helpless
Now I understand accept
My reactions my despair
Surrounding this election cycle
I am witness to
Words never heard before
As they hang in the consciousness
Of everyone who hears them
Vocal tones of ridicule
Scorn
Project the words into the atmosphere
And the feelings they create
Invade like toxic fumes
From the tragedy of
9/11
Now at 84
Words tones of voice
May still sting
Bring distress
But it is my voice
My words
And what they do
To others
That matter more
I praise
I bless
I forgive
I breathe
Look back down the years
My childhood years
Am I that little girl
Wearing braids with nails bitten
Down to the quick
Yes it is I yes
Feeling I am from another
Place
A planet far far away
Perhaps a star
A bright star it’d be
Shining brighter than other
Stars
I came from there
I don’t belong here
My family sits around
Grandmother’s table
Gathers every Sunday
One o’clock sharp
For Sunday dinner
Dare not be late
My family talks expresses opinions
Don’t often agree seldom laugh
They love me
I know this I know this
They love me but do not
Know me
They love me but cannot feel
Who I am
I feel who I am
I am different inside
Myself
I have tantrums
Want what cannot be
Given
Want the warmth
Of hugs of arms around me
Words
I love you you’re okay
My family loves me
Love that needs to learn
To express itself
Some generations grow up
With silent love
Silent love unexpressed
Silent
I need love expressed
In words in demonstrative
Ways
So I cry I scream
Bite a crystal glass
Of water
Mother holds to my lips
No one can understand
This child
Forty years go by
We talk on the phone
Long distance now
I am here they are there
My love for them
Needs expression
I begin to say
As our conversations
End
I love you I love you
Many months go by
Then
I hear it
I love you
It becomes the way we say
Goodbye
(written: June 29, 2015)
*photo credit
Mourning dove I hear you calling
You call you call call again
But no utterance of sound of words
From me in answer to you
Could fill the silence of your solitude
An unseen woodpecker
Sends a rapid staccato
Of tap tap tapping
From some nearby tree
My ears try to direct
My eyes
To discover its location
I listen look listen look
Finally give up my anticipation
That ends in disappointment
Pure frustration
My children’s childhood
Rebounds in remembering
Snippets of scenes
Tho the sound of their childhood
Voices
Have faded
Like shadows from a forgotten
Dream
I imagine myriad
Sounds voices
That enter the portal of my
Consciousness
Year unto year
Some leave many remain
Becoming part of me
Of who I am
But if I have a choice
I will carry into forever
The sound I love most
Your voice your voice
*photo credit