March 16, 2025

Dear cup of tea,
I mean this sincerely,
I need you now
in this short bit of time
early in the day
if you wouldn’t mind
just removing this little piece
of detritus lodged in my forehead
a small corner of headache
and this tiny wave of sadness
that I just don’t want to live with.
I know life isn’t supposed to be
a bowl of cherries
and I should be able to bear up
but honestly
I know how beautifully
you can take care of these things
when you have a mind to it.
One thing I ask:
please do your small task
and then begone.
Evaporate, erase,
as if we had never met
so that hours from now
when it is dark
I can be as a small child
closing my eyes
with no effort at all
no reminder
that we ever even
had this conversation.
 
January 30, 2025

I don’t have to catch every single thought
nor every feeling I have had of late
I wait
for a flash
some small crystal
in the dark
and try to catch it
with a wave
and a swish
of my butterfly net
 

January 17, 2025

Where I live
the wind blows from the west
sometimes fiercely
sometimes so cold
it’s like walking into
liquid icicles

I hear it in the mornings sometimes
it rattles the thin plastic sheet
with which I have covered
a small eastern window
here in the room where I sit
in the early morning dark

I know the wind comes from the west
but it rattles my eastern window
I can hear it out there
not always going in one direction
one moment sucking the thin plastic sheet
against the old panes
then relaxing its hold
and blowing hard.

Perhaps it is breathing.
 

January 10, 2025

I had not come to see you for a long time.
There were always good reasons.
Yesterday
without planning
I went.

The building smelled different
a different cleaning fluid.
The Christmas tree
in the lobby
half dismantled
its decorations gone
the bottom make-believe branches
also gone.

I turned the corner
down the long straight corridor.
Dimly, at the far end,
was a figure that
as I got closer
I saw was you
in your chair
facing me
and becoming aware
that I was me
your hands coming together
slow motion clapping
a smile on your face.

You were happy to see me
up and alert
not what I had expected
though you appeared neglected
your hair messy
teeth disintegrating
white speckles of something
over your black shirt.

You never wore black
in your real life
but now a clean shirt
becomes almost instantly stained
and I have resorted to the practical

You were still wearing the bootie slippers
I gave you for Christmas
Hurray! a useful present.
Your first new footwear
in ten years.
Your stained old shoes
finally retired to the bottom shelf
worn so long
they’d become almost part
of your body.

We went back to the room.
I put the flowers in a vase
watered the plants
and then we went out to tour the hallways.
There isn’t of course
anywhere to go
but we went anyway
and I paused us in front of a big window
floor to ceiling
kneeling down
beside your chair
so we were on the same level
and I said,
Which of us will be the first
to see a bird?
And so we looked
across the browning grass
where nothing stirred
but then
quick
a black flash.
All the birds were like that
that morning
more like apparitions
shooting past.
You were watching the fir tree’s branches
dancing with the wind.
And when it seemed enough
I said, “Okay, darling,
say good-bye to the tree,”
and you raised your arm in salutation.

We paused in the library
where you looked through an LL Bean catalog
something you have always scorned
but perhaps now it is
at least familiar.

Back in the room
your lunch had been set on the table
I lay down and slept
while you sat in your chair
with the newspaper
and when I woke up
you were still with the paper
looking like you were really reading it.

“Did you eat something?” I asked.
You glanced over at the tray.
“A little,” you said.
And for a few more moments I watched you
again with the paper
reaching out your hand now and then
to pull something off your plate and pop it in your mouth
It all looked so natural
as if you were well and fine
and maybe even at home.

You did not complain when I said I had to go
so I could leave you gently
without a fight
At the door I turned back
You were facing away from me
both arms raised in your good-bye salute.
 

December 24, 2024

Mama is doing things differently this morning
we watch her
trying to figure it out.
She didn’t, for instance,
sit at the fire in the dark
as long as she could have.
She kept resting her forehead
in her hand
even though we had nicely
crowded onto her lap
and only put our claws
into her thigh
once or twice.
Then she got up
so we came over to the radiator
which was already nice and hot
and comfy too
with these towels
one for each
that she put down on either side of it.
From here we have a very good view.
Then she did something
very strange.
Even though it was still dark out
she made toast
and put butter on it
and sat down as if it were breakfast time
and then she went to the medicine cabinet
and got two white pills
and swallowed them
and then quite quickly
started bustling around.
She did dishes
she made the bed
she put things away
that had been in the wrong place for days
even though she and Bird
haven’t even gone out yet,
and Bird is not even asking to go out
even though it is starting to get light
though Patrick says
that’s because Bird made Mama
take her out
in the middle of the night.

So everything is topsy turvy
but at least
Mama doesn’t have her forehead
in her hand anymore.

 

December 13, 2024

So
yesterday was different.

I bought flowers
remembering that the carnations
had pretty much played themselves out
last time I was there.
I chose three stems of orange
and one yellow
asking the lady
to add some greens
and to tell me the name
of this flower again
I have never been able to remember it.
It begins with A and is several syllables long
Everyone else is able to remember it
and although I left repeating it,
determined this time to remember it,
I have already forgotten.

Rita is in the hallway
in her wheelchair
near Fred’s room.
I remember when she first came
about a year or two ago.
She moved in next door
after Dorothy died.
I was used to going into that room
because of Dorothy
and so I visited Rita
at first.
She showed me the photos of her husband
and I could see the woman
she once had been.
Now I cannot see it.
The skin around her eyes
is red.
I don’t know if it’s rouge
or just her skin
but she looks like
a scary Halloween mask.
“You look so pretty,”
is what she likes to say,
over and over.

Fred is not in his room
so I go to the day room
the gathering place
for people who are lost.
Each sits silent
some with eyes closed
some with eyes open
some with mouth open,
this happy family scene
presided over by Barbara
who stands near the entrance of the room
at a computer
measuring out meds.

Fred is there
at the far end of the room
his back towards me as I approach
his head down
his eyes closed.
“Hi darling,” I say
leaning over him
holding the flowers.
“What?” he says
startled
raising his head
opening his eyes
looking away somewhere.
“What are you doing?”
he says angrily
to someone invisible,
not me.

I try again
showing you the flowers
and now you turn
in my direction
see the flowers and say
“Very nice,” almost in
your regular voice.
“Shall we go back to the room?”
I ask, thinking
okay, now our visit can begin.
“No,” you say, almost shuddering
as if the room is the last place
on earth you ever want to see again.
Your head sinks back down.

“I’ll be right back,” I say
and go to the room
put the flowers in water
and lay out the two magazines
I brought for you.
The man I just saw
will never read them.
I guess I can leave, I think,
shocked,
and write a note saying
that I will visit soon
and that I love you.

I go back to the day room.
“Fred,” calls Donna, who still has most of her mind.
“Your wife’s here,” but I raise a finger
indicating that I need a moment first
and Barbara bustles over.

“Barbara,” I say,
“I just want to make sure
that when Fred does die
that the body is not removed
before I get here.”

She looks at me
with those big sincere brown eyes.
“Oh yes,” she says,
“we will call you either in advance
or afterwards
and give you time to get here.”

She looks over at Fred
and smiles
as if one of her unruly children
has finally quieted down.

I can almost see blood dripping
from the smile,
nice Barbara
the ghoul in charge of suffering and death.

Fred is as he was
when I arrived.
For the first time
I have not been able to reach him.
I kiss the top of his head
and walk away.

 

November 28, 2024

There is a place I want to take you to
a small quiet building
old
in a corner of the city
~ New York City ~
that no one notices anymore.
The staircase and the floors
are made of polished wood,
the walls hung with paintings
that you walk amongst
as if amongst holy things.
Vivid blues
other strong colors
but the blues are the ones
you can’t forget.
The paintings
take you into huge barren mountainscapes
where the wind howls
and you are alone to make of the world
what you will.
.

November 15, 2024

Yesterday
I had a hard time
making up my mind
A tenacious struggle
between two options
of what was the right thing to do.
And when it became clear
towards the end of the afternoon
it was like the sun had come out
my burden lifted
and I went outside into the last of the light
because I was happy now, light and free
and wanted to investigate
that new Antiques sign that had just gone up
almost next door.

The front door
of the big Victorian house was open
so I walked up the steps
and called out into
the first room
a call answered by a bright man
stepping out promptly from the back
in about his fifties
a little shorter than me,
a little stout,
but with a happy welcoming look.
“I’m Steven,” he said
extending his hand.

There was a wooden table in
the center of this first room
on which sat a number of smaller items
each clearly from another time,
while on the wall above
a vivid modern painting caught my eye,
but only for a moment.

I reached for a box on the central table
opened it
a unique jagged design
“I just got that today,” said Steven
stooping over it with me
as if he was seeing it for the first time
his interest equal to mine
and then we looked at the old high desk
in the corner.
“I just found a note hidden inside
a few days ago,” he said.
“Look, I’ll show you,” and he opened
a small inner drawer
and pulled out a piece of lined
stenography paper
with the ragged torn top
from the spiral binding.
I read the first few scribbled lines
a note from a girl in 1960
who wanted to leave a surprise
for someone to find,
her lines followed
in later years by the additions
of everyone who came after
and found the surprise.

October 31, 2024

As I leave
you, facing the window,
your back towards me,
raise your hand in a wave.
It is so beautiful
this stirring sign of life
from the pool of pain.
“You never see me wave good-bye,”
you call, “but I always do.”
I don’t care if this is true or not.
“Do it again,” I say,
pulling out my phone because
although I don’t care for staged photos
I must capture this pose
you, your back to me,
your arm straight up and true
giving that wave of yours
full of spirit.

October 26, 2024

Fred in his wheelchair
the last two visits
Saturday and Monday
curled up
like a leaf drying
it is the pain
Saturday he was curled
but not so grimly in the pain
gentle and sweet
we walked a little outside
pausing to face the sun
he thought the large yellow leaves
were golden plates
scattered in the grass.
“I’m seeing things that turn out
not to be there,” he said thoughtfully
then paused.
“For instance, I doubt you saw
the bird on roller skates just now.”
 

Then and Now. Twice. 

October 17, 2024

“I’m sorry to encroach on your space,”

I say with a smile

slithering into the last space

at the counter,

the last space in the house

packed as it is

with festival visitors.

The Woodstock Film Festival

and the streets

and eateries are full

and I am here because

I don’t feel well

and Leah will give me

hot miso soup and a small Caeser salad

without my having to glance

at the menu.

I’ve brought

a volume of poetry.

I wanted something easy

and this book raised its hand

and now I begin to read.

These are Hungarian poems

translated into English

from different writers

and one does not expect much

from translation

but quickly I am drawn in.

The poet is writing to his dying friend

a fellow poet

urging him to remember

the first time they met

conjuring up

images of Gaugin ~

perhaps they had been

in a gallery.

In his poem he calls up

their high moments

when they both swam in their art

a time that is not now

when the dying poet

lies unconscious in his bed

with no thought

of memories such as these.

And my eyes fill

there in the

lunchtime crush

because it could almost be me

writing to Fred

who is not,

I hasten to add,

lying unconcscious anywhere,

but this week has been in grievous pain

and I have visited twice in 3 days

and brought home sadness.

Yesterday we sat in the

campus café

he and I

and by wondrous chance

a poem he had written

7 years ago swam across

my phone screen

and I read it out loud

a long poem

beautiful

and I’m not just saying that.

It was one of his best.

When Fred was at his best

it was breathtaking

and this was one of those.

I read it out loud

and he listened

like a bird

not moving

taking in every single word

I have tried reading other things

to him out loud

and he shakes me off

after a couple of paragraphs

saying, “I can’t follow this.”

his mind unable to make the jumps

you need

to follow someone else’s writing.

But yesterday in the cafe

he caught every word

neatly as in a butterfly net

and afterwards said

yes

that had been good.

 

Mermaid
October 10, 2024

I was so happy
in the darkness
listening to the silence
thinking
this silence
must be here all day long
I could stop anytime
and listen to it
but perhaps it is louder
here in the dark
in this early morning

I was so happy
with the image
that came
of being a mermaid
underwater
in a river
letting the river take me
where it would
smoothly sometimes
sometimes snagged
in eddies
tangles of weeds
then getting free again
I am so sleek
as a mermaid
able to go anywhere
smooth as silk

So,
being so happy,
why did I get up
to get this computer?
I had to.
So many
songs coming up inside
so beautiful
as they appear inside me
It is hard letting them all go
I want to catch them

My chin is pointed up
tilted
I can see the pink cloud
over the mountain
that is a dark shape
against a pale sky
that has just a hint of baby blue
and look
another pink cloud

It’s time to go out
I must go.