Posts for June 9, 2026 (page 14)

Today I finally washed my fancy black top—
lacy with sequins—that’s been on my night table
for a shameful length of time. I used to
dress up for my husband’s concerts, leave
the house with him after a quick supper
and end up in a concert hall painted 
in broad, masterful strokes by Brahms,
Debussy, Elgar. If I admit he’s been retired
for two years, my procrastination shows
like a slip a bit longer than its skirt. And now 
the sequins, studding a clean top, will hang 
beside his tails even longer.

But there are jewels beyond the glitter
of the musican’s life, like the Towhee
egg I spotted today, cream with brown flecks
and as perfectly smooth as any number 
of Schubert’s tunes.

At the funeral mass. 

I’ve been down this road before
and the old tropes still hold:
magesterial vestments,
paradoxical liturgy,
patronizing patriarchy,
the blanket of cetainty thrown over
          the wild mystery of death.

Yet there is no oblagation
          in my attendance.
I come for the man I loved,
to honor the care he gave,
his warm embrace,
his keeping of the tales told
by the generations of our family.

I hesitate when I kneel then stand
then kneel again
and try to remember
the Liturgy of the Word.
Finally, settling into the comfort
of sitting still,
I begin to realize
how I love this service:
its musical magic of ethereal hymns,
its bread to eat and wine to drink,
its ritual of our common struggle.
The light it brings.

(Title from The Funeral by John Donne)

The scab is a little too
picked at to heal properly.
Even if I forget for a couple
of days, I still go back to it,
start messing with it and, before
you know it, I’m raw and
bleeding all over again.

existence feels lately like
hearing k-pop at a chinese restaurant

close enough

but something feels wrong

Yesterday the driver in my neighborhood
(Rest his soul)
(I don’t think he’s dead but I do think he’s restless)
Picked up the cans with that hook arm
and threw them up to vomit their innards
then threw them down to think about what they’d done.
They lay there in a row of regret
while I looked on from the window, helpless and
feeling about the same – awakened at 2:30 
by restless children with sore throats and having my turn. 
Between the coughing and complaining
I spent the day flopping between distractions –
ordering food delivery, flipping incessant laundry,
inhaling videos of cake decorating,
rug cleaning and card readers who kept saying

someone is coming for you and My God, I thought, 
I hope it’s not the trash man; I’ve been through enough.

Meet with a friend
you’ve known for life
and you’ll find a version
of yourself you may
have forgotten or don’t
want to remember until
something makes you both
laugh, lighting up a spark,
warming your soul, maybe
even cracking open memories
like clouds floating overhead,
obscuring sunshine for a moment,
until blue skies inspire rays
warming your skin tingling
with familiar heat, leaving
sunglasses perched on head
for eyes unmasked to see
yourself reflected in your friend’s
eyes, someone you misplaced,
revised, recreated yet still exists

to loom as the bees must,

Small birds in May have so much to say
they can’t wait for the sun to rise,
before first light defines the horizon
they fill the bedroom window with music
the cat leaps onto the sill to listen.

These birds, I have suspicions, 
are trying to teach me a thing or two
about staying in the moment, awed,
tomorrow’s clean costume
forgotten in the closet.

In time small birds fly away
while I remain rooted listening 
to the sound of morning marching
toward noon, humming along
to what is, after all, my favorite tune.

Backyard canvas protector of all things summer
Ruptured and repaired with patches and pipes
A tad shaky and wind-weathered, still standing

The canopy for all warm weather wing-dings
Family dinners, end-of-birthday cake cuttings
Graduation station for all grazing seniors

You’ve shaded our puzzles, paintings and perler beads
Kept dry our pillows and benches
Saved pansies and petunias from sweltering sun

When your crimson panels rise to your top
The summer swelter has made its way down
And we shelter beneath your cooling shield

So simple a presence, yet so mighty in goal
Standing stalwart midst a gusty gale
You are dual, whimsy and workhorse

Revered, our Red Umbrella