Yellow Jackets

How did these items

become part of my life’s

clutter to begin with?

On my desk are two

copies of the book,

Yoga for Pregnancy,

though I’ve never

been pregnant.

Both copies have

been borrowed

numerous times, always

returned with a one-line

Thank You scribbled

on a square sticky note.

Inside a long plastic storage

box of fabric remnants, snaps,

needles, thread, pins, bobbins,

Velcro and shoulder pads, I find a

saved Yoga Journal, whose feature

article is “Be Happier Than You Ever

Thought Possible.” Did I read it?

I can’t recall. I put it back.

Inside a red and black pocket

journal, there is only one – full

moon – entry reminding me that,

after chanting in the Kanon Room

with Cynthia and Maria Elena,

and with Dad’s photo on the altar,

I returned to the parking lot to find

my car’s windshield stunningly

covered with yellow jackets.

What did this mean?

Did Dad caution me

about yellow jackets?

Get stung by one?

Respect them?

Kill one? Wear one?

It felt like a good omen –

that mass yellow gathering

on my windshield – yellow

the color of sunshine, happiness,

joy, intellect and energy –

But the space between my

grief and tears came undone

in that private chanting

service that day. It was

both healing and unbearable.

As it is to recall.

That journal, with its

only entry, was tucked in

with all the mending

materials that I own.

Ahh –Yellow Jack – ets!

how did I not get this

until now?

Jack – is my Dad.