I art, therefore I am…
For all my years on the planet, 52, there are still times when experience is no teacher—or when futility seems to be my master. Nowhere is this more true than in my annual list of New Year’s resolutions. (It is a relief to know that I am not alone in this one.) Many of us … Continue reading “This Year’s Resolution? Create Healing”
For all my years on the planet, 52, there are still times when experience is no teacher—or when futility seems to be my master. Nowhere is this more true than in my annual list of New Year’s resolutions. (It is a relief to know that I am not alone in this one.) Many of us share the idea that with an annual tick-tock-bank, we can fashion ourselves anew by resolving to achieve certain goals.
Full text of the article, which originally ran via Disruptive Women in Healthcare, is here.
To tell this story is to tell its end first. On Sept. 1, 2012, Makenna, the only child of Heather Thompson and Geoff Duff of Alexandria, Va., was born dead. She had been alive in her mother’s womb on Aug. 30, but no heartbeat could be found the next day. Her umbilical cord had knotted, … Continue reading “Stillbirths: All Too Common, Too Much Unknown”
To tell this story is to tell its end first. On Sept. 1, 2012, Makenna, the only child of Heather Thompson and Geoff Duff of Alexandria, Va., was born dead. She had been alive in her mother’s womb on Aug. 30, but no heartbeat could be found the next day. Her umbilical cord had knotted, then wrapped around her neck, and, at 39 weeks, she was stillborn. Until her baby’s heartbeat could not be found, Thompson says, the pregnancy had been medically uneventful.
for Meme, 1920-2015 Birds flew, like checkmarks in the sky marking off the clouds. Where I stand, I can close one eye and squint. I find your face, drifting in the light. Birds travel so quickly and far, to a place I can only imagine, not know. Where I stand in the snow it is … Continue reading “ANGELS PASSING TIME”
for Meme, 1920-2015
Birds flew, like checkmarks in the sky
marking off the clouds. Where I stand,
I can close one eye and squint.
I find your face, drifting
in the light. Birds travel
so quickly and far, to a place
I can only imagine, not know.
Where I stand in the snow
it is cold. We once stood here,
together, eyes lifted to the sky
as it darkened for a storm.
You told me I had nothing to fear,
you were near and would not leave me.
Anyway, you added, thunder is only angels
bowling, and lightning, the devil’s anger.
He is a poor sport, you said.
And what about the rain, I demanded.
“Just rain,” you said,
so much magic could only go so far.
Have faith, you told me,
though you cannot see.
We were on a balcony
full of last summer’s flowers,
their dried heads nodding
in the wind.
KEY WORDS: grandmother, heaven, faith, angels, poetry
for Grandmom Because she believed, I did, all those Sundays she filled me with forbidden fruits, a grandmother’s reward for having persevered. Everything tastes better with sugar, even oranges and secrets kept from home. In old St. Jerome’s church, we’d kneel for communion, long after my parish priest had dispensed with being an intermediary … Continue reading “LAST WALTZ”
for Grandmom
Because she believed, I did,
all those Sundays she filled me
with forbidden fruits,
a grandmother’s reward
for having persevered. Everything
tastes better with sugar,
even oranges and secrets
kept from home.
In old St. Jerome’s church,
we’d kneel for communion,
long after my parish priest
had dispensed with being
an intermediary for God,
and handed me a wafer
All that was holy
flourished in my palm.
The years sped by so fast,
time invisible as angels.
Now, though belief is less rote,
I mouth her prayers
to lift her journey
to its end. If there were candles
I would blaze a trail.
I smell her Noxzema kisses
and count pennies won
at gin rummy, and remember
how I danced on her toes
and she laughed.
“Step lively,” she’d say.
“Here’s your hat,
what’s your hurry?”
Surely, now, some light-
footed prince has freed
a card for her and swept
her away in a drift
of stars, a cascade of ‘wow’
a mystery that sets
her free.
Key words: poetry, end-of-life, vigil, grandmothers, family, grief
The gardening catalogues land with their beautiful images of what you could pull from the dirt if only you had the latest tools in this year’s Pantone colors, and sand delivered from some Holy Land. If only you outfitted the place with brilliant bottle trees in primary colors to remind you of an African sun … Continue reading “GARDEN IN WINTER”
The gardening catalogues land
with their beautiful images
of what you could pull
from the dirt if only you had
the latest tools in this year’s
Pantone colors, and sand
delivered from some Holy Land.
If only you outfitted the place
with brilliant bottle trees
in primary colors to remind
you of an African sun
you have never glimpsed.
If only your beds
were smoothly made in boxes,
deer proofed. If only your kitchen
garden grew herbs fit
for the mouths of queens.
As it is, just promises
of summer, empty as your head
that night in the bar
when the married man
tied his gold ring to his shoe
laces and told you he knew
how to make love grow.
key words: Gardeners Supply Outlet, Audobon Society, Homestead Gardens, Riva Gardens, gardening, flowers, love