The Family Visit

Down the road the dogs

Are yipping in the heat that finally

Gives in to dusk's respite, and above in

The great dome of heaven another

Jet heads towards Europe, across the

Maritimes, and then the vast Atlantic.

There's little traffic, though,

Here in these skies. Long ago

Someone taught me to read 

The angle of ascent, hear

The singular whirs of engines,

Watch the swoop of direction as 

Taking off, the pilots 

Change the headings, all 

Clues to destination.

Now in these days they made 

To come in the United States, 

This cauldron of unrest and strife,

Fear covering the land like nettles

And neighbor against neighbor, all

Common sense jettisoned to

The uncertainties that heat and dust 

And drought and apocalyptic rains call

From the unsettled knit of elements,

And after all, we're imperfect beings,

Which means we should be scared. 

Now in these days I make to prepare 

The home in the United States

For the ancestors' children's children

Who come because from the homeland

Long ago this is the place that called 

To some of them:

Opportunity, love, adventure,

Solace or escape. 

And there were those who stayed behind; 

I dare say some of these are stories 

We may never really know.

And anyway, 

What a gift they're bringing,

Our family, from across the roiled Atlantic,

They come because somewhere abroad

This place is beacon still. 

They come to bond with us and share 

Ourselves. 

They come with fresh eyes open,

They come because there still is time 

To have some impact  

In the slim shallows of what in life is 

Unexpected and unknown.

The way it's always been,

The way this story goes.

 

Adjusting Attitude

My old friend's old dog is dying.

The world beyond my small dirt patch

Spins so wildly I don't care 

To try to understand,

For now, and 

I forgot a special task,

Neglected to pay a past due bill, 

And sometimes sit, bewildered,

Wondering if it's just me

Or if the axis tilts a bit

In search of beauty's balance. 

A few spots of rain have greened 

The sere view outside my doors, while

Down the road my neighbor hays

His fields, and soon he will be baling.

There is respite in small moments.

I sit outside and listen to the bullfrogs,

And my old dog of fifteen years

Lopes across the straggly lawn to the 

Pond where bullfrogs call. I 

Watch an ordinary sunset start to slip 

And glow golden, fiery, 

Down behind the spruces that screen

My neighbor's fields, and 

Hummingbirds arrive with their little 

Motors revving at the 

Feeder Peter's tied with red ribbon.

In this minute, two, five or more,

I am aware of homeostasis, 

And in this moment I can say I'm 

Thankful:

All is well.

Birthday in a Drought Year

Night dry as ancestors' bones

Parched back into earth,

They return, the ancestors,

We all return in time,

After our sliver of shining light

Flickers and we go to stars.

I step outside to sniff the scent

Of linden, perfuming a thirsty 

Landscape; it comforts me and

In the velvet night I can't see 

The brown, once-green stretch now lit

By fireflies out towards the pond, 

It's very low.

But linden never fails to arrive with

Its reminder that for a few short weeks,

No matter what, 

I will be transported by its heady smell,

Balance in a world sometimes careening,

A few short weeks of balance 

And perfection.

In the nighttime sky the moon hangs 

Sceptered, and there's a hint of

Rain. Far across the rolling

Western miles,

My friend, dear of my teenaged heart,

Pinches herself and

Wonders how it can be

That this is the eve of her 

Seventieth birthday. 

It doesn't do that I tell her

That she's beautiful

And wise, that her gifts enrich 

Each soul whose path she crosses,

And she's struggling a little, though

I know she will arrive at her resolve and

Bloom into new glory 

In her own sweet time, just

As linden's gifts reappear and remind

That while roots go earth-bound deep, 

When seen through branches redolent of

Lime, berry and ambrosia, 

The sky glows ravishing anew.

I wonder when we start returning,

And when the body, rich and pulsing,

Flesh and blood, fears and dreams

Starts to turn to face a brighter light? 

For some of us, we've decades left; 

I think my wondrous friend 

Has decades left, and

No matter what, I am joyful for her,

Grateful for long years,

Our long connection.