Mass Card

Somewhere a stranger holds me In the Light of her thoughts. She has bundled all my sorrows Set them on her shoulders, told me My load should be lighter, by and by. She has stitched my name in her prayer circle Of love. A handful of old women In some square western state touch it … Continue reading “Mass Card”

Somewhere a stranger holds me
In the Light of her thoughts.
She has bundled all my sorrows
Set them on her shoulders, told me
My load should be lighter, by and by.

She has stitched my name in her prayer circle
Of love. A handful of old women
In some square western state touch it
With their wise hands
And feel my pain for their own.

She has written to my grandmother
Via ExpressMail to God, and asked
That she repeat old prayers in my name.
She has taken down a crystal rosary
Fingered its beaded prayers all night
And emails me that one day,
Any day now, I shall be released.

I can see her at a kitchen table
Or propped in bed, like me, middle
Of some dark night, where even the form
Beside you gives no comfort.

While the pained world gathers round
The dull light of a laptop screen,
She pulls my name from an electronic hat
Takes my name from some eternal dark
Puffs air into my wings
And watches me take flight.

 

Key words: poetry, prayer, support groups, prayer circles, online prayer, online support groups

Conversation in poetry

~Sakura (cherry blossom)~ centennial trees longing to see the motherland they bloom —From a Japanese friend, physician Yukari ban-Hatori Galileo saw Our anchors in the blue sky Great heaven of stars –A response by Janice Lynch Schuster Key words: Japan, cherry blossoms, homesickness, Galileo, depression      

~Sakura (cherry blossom)~

centennial trees
longing to see the motherland
they bloom

—From a Japanese friend, physician Yukari ban-Hatori

Galileo saw
Our anchors in the blue sky
Great heaven of stars

–A response by Janice Lynch Schuster

Key words: Japan, cherry blossoms, homesickness, Galileo, depression

 

 

 

Grandmom In Alaska, Part 2

She has a window of memories. Some days, it slams shut. She cannot open the damn idea On the edge of awareness. It’s stuck. The constancy of daylight fools her Who was no man’s fool.  Now the darkness Settles in, her own thoughts are shadows. Snow lifts on the horizon. If you are fifty, she … Continue reading “Grandmom In Alaska, Part 2”

She has a window of memories.
Some days, it slams shut.
She cannot open the damn idea
On the edge of awareness.
It’s stuck.
The constancy of daylight fools her
Who was no man’s fool.  Now the darkness
Settles in, her own thoughts are shadows.
Snow lifts on the horizon.

If you are fifty, she tells me,
Then I have become an old woman.
I was there the night you were born.
No one remembers seeing me
But I remember you, just arrived,
Last week, or last year. How did we
Find our way from there to here?

Fifteen great-grandchildren
Whose names flutter like sleepy bats
In the loft of her thoughts.
No way to tell them apart.

When she tells me there are giraffes
In her yard, I know not to disagree.
I can see them, too, the wondrous light
Of their long necks, huge eyes lifted
To what’s left of the sun.
If Grandmom says giraffes have drifted
From the snow,
I ask how many, and what they eat.
Geography is a thing of the past.

Her world grows fainter every day
No matter how she adjusts
Her hearing aids.
Who am I to question any song
That comes to mind? My job
Is to sing along.

 

Key words: dementia, senility, Alaska, giraffes

Study Hall

What did we need of lectures and books? I had the syllabus of your body The blackboard of your skin. You contained everything I wanted to know. From you, the periodic table of the heart and the mysterious language of love. From you, the formula to calculate distance and longing, volume and force. You were … Continue reading “Study Hall”

What did we need of lectures and books?

I had the syllabus of your body

The blackboard of your skin.

You contained everything I wanted to know.

From you, the periodic table of the heart

and the mysterious language of love.

From you, the formula to calculate

distance and longing, volume and force.

You were a canon of experience

an encyclopedia of the unknown.

All night, I studied you.

By day, we slept and dreamt,

Wrote papers of our connection

Typed a universe with our hands.

Grandmom Moves to Alaska

She longs for trees and night Both left behind for the land Of midnight sun. She had not expected To live out a century on the cusp of America. Born in the nation’s capital This place so foreign to her. She misses the long walks from Brentwood To shops on H Street, she misses Her … Continue reading “Grandmom Moves to Alaska”

She longs for trees and night

Both left behind for the land

Of midnight sun. She had not expected

To live out a century on the cusp of America.

Born in the nation’s capital

This place so foreign to her.

She misses the long walks from Brentwood

To shops on H Street, she misses

Her childhood, her brother, the bed

They shared in the crowded living room.

She remembers the wind, the day

A tornado ripped Bladensburg

And she and Billy huddled in a ditch

While fences blew skyward above them.

Here she is so far from her own life.

Loneliness has carved a space

Beside her, and behind. She prays

And sometimes God whispers in her ear.

Memories fill her time. There is little else

Except a corner for her crossword puzzle

And her books. Her great-grandchildren,

15 of them, congregate in her thoughts.

She cannot keep them straight.

She is bent 90 degrees to the ground

Which one day will take her old bones

And heart and send them home.

Key words: aging, Alaska, moving, grandmother, love