Expect beautiful things: she runs to me and laughs with her usual pink furry sweater. we combine “my mãe” with some English “let’s go” and head to the door
“my mãe, let’s go!”. We try to make out the door to downtown to meet her divorce lawyer.
for my mãe, mãe
I finished filling out a declaration and 5 other legal documents. Did her laundry, folded her hospital uniforms and cleaned the yard.
She laughs and smiles and sometimes looks off into the distance, my mãe
everyday we try to find something to smile about
dear life, dear long stretched yarn, I am no longer at your sweet beginning
If you were to have a four hand width from beginning to end, I would be be placing the the second hand over your yarn
I always assumed you were a skein
but your paths are simpler but far more intricate than coiled yarn
dear life, use me
one more humble string to weave beauty
cut across the community center and walked quickly with eyes on the light
I have timed these lights. I know it takes a minute and thirty seconds from when the light on the other side of block turns green until this light ahead of me turns green. And I know they go clockwise.
So, I lift my left hand and tighten my grip on a bag of muffins and a roll aiming to participate in the upcoming race against the street-light clock. I exert a faster pace than I have in days because tomorrow is a monumental day and I have yet to pack.
I have yet to pack a suitcase to board my flight tomorrow. Yet to pack with the sincerest of reasons as to why I haven’t yet done so, so darling are these reasons that they carry my friend’s name. She came to my town and we talked as we always do for hours of her childhood in Ukraine and mine in the states, of dreams, of joy, of both falling the bathroom. We stir the banter until it’s ready to be cooked, and then we cannot part until sundown. It is true I walked to the station and the chatter became daily bread. The kind only a good friend can share with you.
Although I carried muffins, I was already happy. I was full.
My dear friend came over before my trip. We said hello and I hurried back to pack.
I am a late minute packer.
You are already a poem
that I love—
Like all great poetry
it is to be shared with the world
Look at the very edges of yourself
the wall studs that have always been sturdy
from corner stud to corner stud you have been built well you are made to fit
each end joist, brace and girder right where they must be
you are harmony and beauty just as you are
Look at yourself every edge constructed with purpose and the space left in
between purposeful, too