Happy Memories

Halfway to May

Wendy W. Blumberg

It is the middle of April
Michael
Nearing the month of
May
The memory I hold
Has us on the beach
Sand under our bare
Feet
Watching the sun descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glory of
Sundown

Now
Is the middle of April
Again
Fifty some years have
Passed
Michael is gone
My children    themselves
Are grandparents
My Beloved and I
In a place
Michael never visited
Never had been

Yet
When April is halfway to
May
Michael     my childhood
Friend      returns
With sand under our
Bare feet
As we stand watching the sun
Descend
Behind the Santa Monica
Mountains
Clothing all we see
In the glorious colors of
Sundown

Is There a Poem?

Wendy W. Blumberg

Is there a poem

Hiding in one of my
Books
Or
Is this a memory
Of hearing
In the distance
Sounds
The Wild Geese
Create     migrating
To their winter
Home

I Love them

Waited
Every fall
To see them
Waited
To hear their
Voices
Waited
On the wooden
Deck
Outside my bedroom
For them to arrive
With their familiar
Honking
As I stood
Gazing
My head raised to the
Sky
My eyes following them
As they flew
One by one
In a straight line
Over the Eucalyptus
The Mountain Ash
Away   away
From my sight

I would call to
Them
Bless you     Bless you
Be safe on your
Way
Wild Geese
Safe on your
Way
While their honking
Voices
Grew fainter    fainter
Until the silence of the
Day
Wrapped around me
Again

 

With Nana

Wendy W. Blumberg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a memory of childhood

She leans over my bed

She lifts the blanket cover

And puts her hand between the sheets

Then

Flutters her fingers in the darkness

Where I sleep at the bottom

 

It is Wednesday

The nurse has half-day out

Nana comes to wake me from

My nap

Pulls up the window shades

Sees the place near my pillow

Where I tear the wallpaper

Off the wall

Says nothing

 

The peacocks

At the Lincoln Park Zoo

Wail

I cover my ears with my hands

To muffle the noise

She takes peanuts from a paper bag

Holds one in her fingers

Between the iron bars

And waits

The ducks come to snap the peanut

From her fingers

Like the cook jabs potatoes

With a fork for baking

 

She says I may have a peanut

To feed the ducks

Holds the paper bag open for me

But I am afraid to put my fingers through

The iron rails of the fence

She laughs

Says

Don’t be a goosie

They won’t bite

 

It is Wednesday afternoon

At the Lincoln Park Zoo

She wears a woolen suit

And ruffled blouse

Her gray hair under a feathered hat

I remember the feel of her cotton glove

In my hand

And the sound of her shoes

On the pavement

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Written 1982, from 2001’s Poet’s are the bravest.

In Memory of Love on the Road * Stephen’s 86th Birthday

Wendy W. Blumberg

August 6, 2021

Stephen’s 86th Birthday Donut

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For me

Our drive from home

In California

To our home in

Santa Fe New Mexico

Was magical

I had you     my beloved

All to myself

No telephone ringing

With calls for you

From anyone

No TV voices

To turn off

Only us     just us

In the quiet of our

Car

Driving at times

Many miles

In intimate silence

 

Do you remember

My very dear

The Italian restaurant

In Holbrook Arizona

Where for years

We spent the night

This restaurant

On the outskirts of town

Served astonishingly delicious

Food

 

Motels crowded the area

A gas station

Close to the entrance

Of the Interstate

Where you would

Fill our tank

Before dinner

So we could leave

Again

While still dark

To drive east

Toward Albuquerque

The sky growing lighter

Lighter

Eating peanut butter

Sandwiches

As the sun rose

Over the Interstate

Day had begun

 

Of course

Fall always arrived

Aspen leaves

Turned the mountains

To gold

Time for us

To drive home again

To California

 

My favorite place

To stop

As we drove west

Into the setting sun

Was Casa Grande

Arizona again

A friendly man

How we met     a mystery

I do not remember

 

He told us

He and his family

Owned a restaurant

We should come for

Dinner

And we did

It had a cozy

Atmosphere

And delicious food

A huge old tree

That has stood

For at least a

Hundred years

Was the guardian

Of the front yard

And the family’s

Pride

We went back and

Back

At least four years

On the way home

And then

The tree fell down

The restaurant lost its

Spirit

Closed

And us

We grieved the loss

Knew it wouldn’t be

Replaced

Drove up and down

The road that led into

Casa Grande

Among the motels

Gas stations

McDonald’s and other

Fast food places

Until we found “Millie’s”

It didn’t have a

Huge old tree

It wasn’t very cozy

The food was OK

But as the saying goes

We made do

 

My dear Love

For twenty-five years

You drove 900 miles

Each way

From California

To New Mexico

From New Mexico

Back

To California

It was a magical time

For me

Being together with

You

I thank you     thank you

For the ride

 

I love you forever and ever

Happy Birthday

Santa Fe, 1986

 

Only Love

Wendy W. Blumberg

Only Love

Enfolds this memory

Nothing else needed

Just the fields

With the rows of ripened

Wheat

Fields of gold

 

It is early afternoon

We are on a drive

Into what we call

The county

My little boy

Sits next to me

In his car seat

Looking out the

Window

I see fields

With rows of ripened

Wheat

Fields of gold

I look at my little boy’s

Head

His hair

The same color gold

As the gold of ripened

Wheat

I take the sight

Into my heart

To keep

As the years will

Surely pass

 

Yes

Only Love     only Love

Enfolds this memory

Nothing else

Nothing

Museum Hill

Wendy W. Blumberg

Do you remember

The night

We drove up Museum

Hill

To gaze into the night

Sky

Crowded with stars

An overwhelmed feeling

Of absolute awe

In our hearts

Starlight still so much

Brighter

Than light from the city

Below

City lights that would

Multiply

In years still to come

Dimming starry brilliance

From the night sky

 

Museum Hill

The Museum of Indian Arts

And Culture

The Lab of Anthropology

The Folk Art Museum

As tho asleep

Their doors locked

The silence of night

Wrapped around them

We know them well

Each with its own

Unique reason for

Existing

 

How many hours

Over twenty-seven years

Did we spend in one

Or the other

 

I don’t remember     now

How long we stayed

Looking up into that

Infinite world of stars

Maybe until our necks

Began to ache

I only remember

It was hard to leave

Ignorant astronomers

Were we

Excited to spot

Numerous shooting stars

The Big and Little Dippers

Then red Mars

And a satellite

Streaming across the sky

Amazed with the stars

Slow move of their

Positions

As the night

Moved

On

 

We left as we came

Driving down and around

The winding road

That led us around

And up

Museum Hill

Do you remember

Do you remember

I do

*starry night photo credit: Cliford Mervil

The Visit

Wendy W. Blumberg
Joan “Tall Rabbit” Katz

He and I

Come to knock

On your door

Our monthly visit

To you

To laugh to talk

To enjoy our special

Companionship

But your daughter Elly

Opens the door

Comes out in the hall

Tears on her face

Says the words

Heart attack

You suffered a heart attack

Are not expected to live

Much longer much longer






Her words slam through me





An electrical bolt jolts





My entire body





Renders me glued to the seat





Of my scooter





I cannot move     cannot catch





My breath










Honestly     I thought you’d live





Forever





Even tho you told me





Told everyone who’d listen





You are ready to go





Ready to go





It is not that I didn’t





Believe you





I know the authentic Joan





Speaks only her truth





But my truth is this





I don’t want to let you





Go     let you go





But a soul’s choice





Is not for me to deny





And so     I tell you again





I love you Joan





I love you










Goodbye






			

	
	



			
				


	

		
A Silent Encounter


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		
 




The day is overcast


Sunless


Not unusual for Arcata


A town in Northern California


Blessed with Redwood Trees


Twenty miles south


Of the Oregon border


Where we walk the path


Around the lagoon


Of the Arcata Marsh


Looking for herons


Ducks     egrets


And other birds


That come and go


With seasons of the


Year


 


Tall reeds wave in the breeze


From the water


Bushes     small trees


Grow everywhere we walk


Framing the gravel path


That now leads us


Almost full circle to where


We began


And there     in the middle


Of the path


Stands a giant white egret


Like a spotlight


Its brilliant white


Shines in our eyes


Still as a statue


It signals


Come no closer


We wait


Still as the egret


But take our fill of observation


Never before so close to


Perfection


 


The egret turns around


The giant wings reach out


Fold in again


Then making an obvious decision


It walks regally into the waiting


Water


 


We remain motionless


In wonder


With gratitude


Then walk the rest of the way


To our car


Drive home in the gray light


With the memory of a brilliant


White blessing


“Arcata Marsh” by Brian McQueen www.McQueenArt.com


 


 


 

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
Spring


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		


My dear


Spring is come


The sycamore    the Crepe Myrtle


Both birthing their new leaves


Roses in their garden


Bloom again


Recovered from their pruning


 


I miss mating of the


Mockingbirds


Scolding squawks claiming


Territories


Music of their calls


Resounding down the canyon walls


Around us


They have disappeared from my


Life


 


My dear


Do you remember spring


In Illinois


The ancient lilac bush


We transplanted


From the farm


Across from us on McCree


Road


Its house torn down


Making way


For a crop of new houses


Remember


We let the hose drip water


Two whole days     two whole nights


Around her roots


Praying she’d survive


She did     bloomed so faithfully


Sending the delicious scent


Of her blooms


Into our bedroom window


 


Oh     I welcome spring


In California


But mourn the ancient


Lilac bush


No flowered fragrance


Will ever fill her place


 


 


 

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
Fishing


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		


He runs down the sand dune


Slipping sliding down


Flings his fishing line over his head


A school of dolphin near the shore


Dive in and out of the water


I can’t believe it


Father wants to catch


One


 


He runs down the beach


Races with the dolphins


They play with him


Tease him


Never losing pace


His feet


Pound the shoreline


Keeping up


Until


Far down the beach


He loses breath


Falls back


And they swim


Away


 


—1981




(under)Painting by Brian McQueen