Pushing out the daughters of older woman words...

~
it's almost May Day,
and the only niece,
husband towed,
all to a springtime glorious
drop by, dinner come,
......and there is poetry in their expectant eyes

a pronouncement,
predecessor to an announcement,
spring blessings uttered over melting smoked mozzarella pasta,
sweet balsamic fruited salad dressings of
of the unripened fruit of newer life,
seeded, deeded and coming,
soon enough

we act not shocked,
shocking them

oh yeah,
we figured dropping in sudden,
needed a really good excuse,
and a good one,
a new life,
a **** good one

old man granddad and now sooner
to be dubbed grand uncle'd,
children bejeweled cherry garnet carbuncle'd,
decorating his
red cheeked face,
redden a happy heart,
duly recorded, his thoughts,
twine cord wrapped and delivered,
4am punctual

we toast with three wine glasses Spanish Malbec,
one just air-filled, sorry Charlie

we all review the rules,
garnered from our
personal histories,
lore and the gore and the endless more
of raising children,
stanzas that never rhyme quite the way you planned,
and blessed is that good enough is
plenty good enough

am I excited, they inquire?

long pause, no, not excited,
thoughts quiet, paused,
words needed,
and in time,
drafted, recruited

something different,
more pleased in a way,
that comes so rarefied,
a distancing sense from the normalcy of life,
the taste
when life's hard work.
is justified,
yes,
justified

~~~
may first four and twenty ante merry-diem

If I could only place my heart
in the right hands before it stops beating.

•••

"on some days, I love you more than others,"
an early morning uh oh
IROLO
(instantly regretted out loud observation),
of the potentially ruinous kind,
spoken with malice towards none,
and obviously,
no forethought,
firmly but modestly muttered
over the modestly rumpled
courtroom battlefield
of sheets, newsprint, mugs
and Bocelli on low

smockingly,
(a slow spreading smile of mock),
she turns her gaze upon
the presumed guilty, querulous,
soon-to-be-ruined ruminator (me),
and asks with
disdainful derisive decisiveness

is your first cuppa too hot darling?
has your uncommon sense of non-sense been burnt?

t'is true I reply,
I feel the burn!

for am I not sworn
to tell the whole heated truth
and nothing but?

my love for you is simply
a mathematical additive,
progression series

every new day I love you
is forever
a mighty mite more
than the prior,
a smudged smidge of a penciled line,
taller than the
higher higher notated
upon ancient yesterday's doorpost

ergo,
ip so factoid,
and therefore,
by definition

on some days I love you more than others
    •••


p.s. never have conversations like this in the presence of within-reach newspapers,
for they be
easy rolled and revised
into fearsome weaponry,
suitably for handy smacking"

h i m
no hints
no words
no pictures
no gestures
but his face popped into my mind
just the mere thought of  him
and my insides go crazy
the way he smiles
his laugh
him.