Day 215

An Old Woman and Lillies: An Understanding of God @Grace 8/2/2010

Tenderness

The way Mom asked Arthur to sit next to her; stay close;
His delicate precise hands grasping for her
Parkinson gnarled arthritic hands,
once precise
now unable to sew
hold a fork too long.
His eyes still twinkle at her.
Her eyes still drink him in.

Moriah’s steady secure grasp
making sure her children don’t feel shame,
that they see the difference
between a mistake and intention
that they know they are enjoyed

Her father playing with her children
the same way he played with her.

Michael letting the 2 year old
walk the dog.

Paul’s tears

Kora lining the children up
taking them all for a walk around the block
like the Pied Piper or a mother duck.
By the end they all love her
And the adults marvel at her
I feel so lucky

My mother has grace at 90.


Singing Happy Birthday, Annie and Paul
lead. Everyone on key
It was beautiful
Mom said, “Encore.”

@Lindy 6/2009






Mourning The Weight of Stone
For Robert 9/13/04


Saturated in sadness you crawl
out into the early August sunset,
golden light glowing over summer.
You wince as your knees ache
your heart cries out.
“What’s been taken from me?”
Slowly you pull your head up.
Your back begins to roll
forward, upward and your legs,
not wanting to, do accept the weight.
the weight of your pain.
the weight of your soul.
the weight of the lack of time.

Your knees bend slightly
you begin to walk, carrying
stone, digging holes to bury
rock in an old symmetric form.
You sit upon this stone
bench to rest your weary heart.
Your head bows, silent, your fingers touch.
the weight of your pain
the weight of your soul
the weight of the lack of time.


My very good friend, Cynthia, died 6 years ago today. I wrote this poem after watching her husband build a stone bench in her honor. I want to build a stone bench today.




I am so grateful for the amazing loving friends I have. They are my stone bench.





Talking about edges, this certainly is one.