Many the bedtime this has seen
and one day might see again
but who knows how the tucking-in
will be technified by then?
Category Archives: Family
Connections: May 21.17
What’s in a back yard?
A little grass, a little sun
a little bit of garden
a little bit of fun
a haven for the rabbits
where dandelions bloom
the fresh-aired open-concept
original family room
where games and make-believe
work and play combine
but victim of aesthetics:
I miss the old clothesline.
Connections: May 14.17
Mothers’ Day
ruins May
makes everybody loony.
The malls’ barnyards
Hallmark cards
make every mom cartoony.
Pressure’s on!
Don’t diss your mom!
It’s no time for ambivalence!
It’s worse than December
we forget to remember
our moms taught us common sense.
It’s supposed to be fun
not a grueling run
a marathon test of endurance
it’s not what’s bought
is what was taught
by maternal jurisprudence.
Yes, dear reader, this portrait of ebullient motherhood is my family, circa 1943.
The photo is a bit off-kilter, but then so were we.
Connections: May 9.17
My grandma had a tiny house
if you take a yardstick measure
but it was huge in other ways:
curiosity and treasure.
The coolest stuff was hid away
but I knew where to find it
and she would let me hold it
and tell the tale behind it.
Now I’m packing up my house
which means, I’m sure you know,
packing up my family
striving to let go.
Memories sneak in everywhere
in closet and in drawer
one thing leads to another
as I’m sorting on the floor.
You will understand, I’m sure,
I hyperventilate
when I note the Christmas card box:
45 for $1.98!
And thus do different eras
re-tell themselves to me
as I wrap the family flotsam
as if crown jewelry.
Connections: April 29.17
I have been in an alternate universe
a place I have been before
where perpetual motion is rampant
and parents a mere twoscore.
There’s soccer and softball and homework
lives lived digitally
two kids, two cats, two dogs,
and Grandma (that would be me).
Mom in a sling and Dad far away
a convergence of planning and chance
with non-stop pre-teen rhythm
and flying by the seat of our pants.
I lived in a place such as this
in a dim and distant past
when I had an abundance of pep
and my hormones hadn’t lapsed
but now my creaky bones
move far less supplely
and I don’t know when I’ll recover
from the onslaught of energy.
Connections: April 20.17
Cold recurring thought
from which there’s no escape:
is this what it all comes down to —
bubble wrap and tape?
Is this how I preserve
bits of family lore?
I must insist on NO:
that’s what my words are for.
Wrapping family hand-me-downs
in paragraphs and pages
is how we bubble-wrap
our stories for the ages.
Who cares? you ask. Who’s going to read?
Oh, someone will, somewhere —
a curious, amused
incredulous distant heir.
The unknown genealogist
no matter he or she
doubtless brilliant, charming
in fact, a lot like me.
And thus my thoughts run on
unburdening shelves and drawers
caught between the memories
and the unknowable encores.
Connections: April 13.17
The moment of truth will come
whether house keys or iPad or gum
though we mutter and swear
“It’s in here somewhere”
we only come up with alluvium.
