September 30th (for Dad)

The park is shedding

its tree debris--

nuts and leaves,

twigs and seeds,

crunching under

our feet.

Sky keeps sweeping

the sun away

under its endless

tarp of gray.

But around the bend,

in a low swath

of grass, sea-lavender

crocus  stand—

so sweetening

Autumn’s big plans.

Day Two Without You

Usually, when I am just about halfway

through my breakfast, you approach

the kitchen table, stop, look at me,

but before I can scoop you up and

set you in my lap, or offer you the

other chair, you scamp off toward

the living room—glance back,

scamp, glance, scamp.  This

is your not-so-subtle way

of telling me I have had ample

time with my bagel, and that I

should bring my coffee with me

to Mystie’s Coffee Shop, a section

of the living room, which boasts a

Tiffany blue square ceramic water

bowl, as well as a six by six inch flat

wood table, on which I can place my mug.

This area is conveniently located in front of

the stereo,  so I will remember to turn on your

favorite blues station.  It happens to be the place

where your kitty blanket and all your brushes are

stored, under the stereo cabinet. The weight of your
absence made the sunless thundering sky -- soaking
fallen leaves on the ground outside almost go unnoticed.

Big Trip to Ithaca

The Big Trip to Ithaca

We take Mystie to Cornell tomorrow for radioactive iodine treatment for her thyroid. I have told her the plan, over and over, but with our cat - human language barrier, I am not sure if I am making myself clear. It is unlike anything we have ever done together in the last fourteen years.  Yet, all day I told her: At 10:00 PM, we have to take your food bowl away.  She went right to it at 9:58 PM, then downstairs to bed.  Does she know she will be staying at Cornell for awhile, maybe a whole week, alone in a cage with only one other  cat in the room? The anticipation of this separation is sapping me like a bad cold on a dank day. But I must remind myself that if all goes well, it will be a cure! She should add some flesh back to her thin little frame, gain weight and live longer than she would otherwise. The vet assured me she will visit Mystie two or three times a day, that she’ll leave her with a radio on. I told her Mystie likes Jazz and Blues.  I forgot to tell her that she hates ads and news or too much commotion.) 

          We have already packed the GPS, the cat food, the X-rays, the medical records, our rain jackets and some kind of breakfast snack to make for a quick departure. I will hold her in the the cage in my lap for two hours, and reassure her, best as I can.  If she rubs her face against my reaching, needy fingers, I will know she is trying to reassure me too.

Photo of Grandma

Photo of Grandma

Because it’s almost

the only photo I have

of her, my grandmother

is always holding a teacup,

always wearing a light colored

dress with a thin black belt, always

standing to the right of her larger

shadow and the shadow of a ladder-

back chair on the muted wallpaper.

Was she about to fill the teacup,

or put the teacup away?  She has

stopped to look at the camera,

with a smile that balances the

sadness in her eyes, as perfectly

as the porcelain cup in her hand.

I could always see my Dad and

three uncles in her face, but now

I can see my cousin Kim, too—

whom I once barely knew,

but now I call my own.

Say A Little Prayer

Say A Little Prayer

Sirens wailing past remind

me of our mother’s words—

Say a prayer for whomever

is in the back of that ambulance.

We were young, absorbed in our

playing, or riding in a car on the way

to the lake, or visiting cousins, or

somewhere fun, and she would call

our attention to suffering—it did not

matter whose suffering.  It mattered

that we had a relationship with God. 

Decades later, I still pause, at least

for a quick thought—a moment of

compassion for a stranger passing

by.  God bless whomever is on that

unplanned trip.  It might even be

their last ride.  There, but for the

grace of God. . . There, but for

timing . . .There, but for the fact

that it’s just not your turn yet—

goes someone in an ambulance,

lying alone, or lying next to a

frightened helpless loved one.

So say a little prayer now.

Before Dawn/Before Midnight

Before Dawn/Before Midnight

September 20^th, 2011

Before dawn, my husband

leaves me with a beautiful

poem he has posted today

on his blog for all to see. 

It is our 8^th anniversary,

which, sadly, he is spending

with co-workers in New York. 

Before dusk, he sends me

an invitation to dine with him

at Rooneys, our favorite high-

end restaurant, on Friday night.

Before this day ends, I have a little

surprise for him too—a DVD that

neither of us has ever seen, filmed

by John, my brother, on our wedding

day.  It’s now cued up, ready to play—

a recording of the vows we made to each

other, the words we wrote to give meaning

to our commitment to each other for that

which was to come, in a future we were yet

to see—a future with more happiness

than we could have imagined that day—

yet, looking back now from here—

there it is, brimming right out

of the screen—like a beacon—

so bright, so full, rich and bright.

Is This Time Travel Too?

The AC on the airplane is blowing

short stray hairs across my face,

triggering a memory of my Dad, asking

me to pull back my hair—when I leaned

over to kiss him goodbye those last days

we shared.  I feel bad he had to ask me

more than once.  It must have been

annoying.  Is this memory surfacing

here and now a form of time travel? 

Was there something else? 

Something beyond the surface of

that request that day back then?

The stewardess with blue eyes and

deep cheek dimples—is holding a phone

to her ear.  The tone of the plane is changing. 

Soon the descent will be announced, but will

take forever.  She is older, maybe my age, thin

and firm.  This triggers for me the one interview

I had with United Airlines—how I had to walk

back and forth, then turn around, as someone

looked me up and down.  I weighed 125 pounds

at five foot seven.  Not quite good enough.  I’m

glad I didn’t get that job, but wonder— if I had,

would I have learned to travel light, with ease?

Maybe I would have been laid-off, as so many

were--then what?  Leaving my questions

up in the air, I fasten my seat belt, anxious

for a smooth landing, my life on the ground.

(c) elaine heveron