meanwhile,
summer is not
ours

it is not
a celebration,
it is teddy bears

on street corners,
bodega flowers
on makeshift graves,

distorted faces of
home-printed memorials
on t-shirts

the same color and
texture as what
the dead boy was selling,

meanwhile,
summer is nothing more
than closed houses,

decks with grandmothers
scowling down at the teenagers
who are not sure

if
they
are even real

Tonight I couldn't sleep,
just like I couldn't sleep the last 5 nights in a row.
Despite physically exhausting myself during the day,
and brief calls of slumber come midnight,
I never quite succumb.

But that is beside the point.

Tonight I couldn't sleep,
so I made myself some tea
chamomile and spearmint
(ironically I hate spearmint, but in this particular tea it is good)
hot water, and honey.

And I was reminded of my grandmother's rose tea,
the kind she bought in big boxes when I was little,
with ceramic animal figurines inside
and how I wished so dearly for the dog or the cat
only ever getting a pony and a sleek grey goldfish

I wonder what happened to those little dolls
or those big boxes of rose tea
have they passed with age,
or remained strong, like I, lying in wait

At the time
Only a sing-song of words
A small poem
By a grandma

Could not have been more loved
By a young girl who got a ribee

‘A ribee
A ribee
Melissa got a ribee’

The poem chanted from the stands
Of the small softball field
A fleck in the eye of nature
And the world in the eye
of a young girl

A young girl who had the love that
Middle aged men wake up
In the middle of the night
Crying out
For

But all Melissa knew
Was that she had
a ribee
And a few verses to praise such a small feat
Which watered it into a moment of glory

In this way
Life’s moments of glory
Are only so
Because of great strokes of love
Painted on their grain

So a few years later
And a few moments wiser
And a few words more thoughtful

A young girl thanks you
For your great stokes of love
Which have turned her life from a ribee
Into a homerun

For I hope you know
How your soft curls and kind blue eyes
Tell the story of a self-less love

The kind of love
So gentle that it sneaks up behind you
And warms you up

Like socks after ice skating
and laughter after dinner
and holding hands after a long day
and a poem after a ribee

the kind of love that tingles
not burns
and is steady
not infrequent

For you, my lovely grandma,
Are fluent in a language
That breathes in every country

A language many labor for lifetimes to comprehend
And for centuries to speak

But, you speak this language
In natural whispers
A stream to a pond
A horse to a field
A chime to a summer’s afternoon

You speak this language through
Small actions and fluid motions
Easing the stress of the world
With yet another moment of love

For even in a hospital bed
You ask about my bed
And my adventures

My foolish problems of a young heart
Running around the world
Running into pretend issues
Running into new nouns

And wanting so much to run into your arms
So you can welcome me home

And so I can thank you
For your thousands of moments
With one small moment

And I think of that moment

A kiss on the cheek
An ear for your words
A moment with your love

Because I love you
And because I want to love
Like you do

In her rocking chair she sits,
While she hums to herself and knits.
She’s knitting a shawl to fend off the cold,
For now she’s wrinkled, gray-haired and old.

She used to run and have lots of fun,
But that was way back when she was young.
Now her arthritis is really bad,
And she’s feeling very lonely and sad.

Now she lives in a nursing home,
Most of the time, she’s all alone.
Her children don’t come to visit much,
‘Cause they’re always so busy with work and such.

She stares out the window and she sighs,
She watches the road with watery eyes.
And wonders if they’ll come today,
But they don’t; she knew they wouldn’t anyway.

She lays her knitting on her lap,
Then closes her eyes and has a nap.
Down her cheek, there rolls a tear,
As she dreams of yesteryear.

While the other children were content
To play jacks and skip rope
She preffered the company of the old oak tree
Towering in the back corner lot of the schoolyard
She rested against it's mighty trunk
Basking in the cool shade she loosened her bonnet
Only the toes of her patent leather shoes
Catching beams of wavering sunlight
As they arched through the rustling leaves
A sweet song of a robin whistled amongst the branches
As she smoothed the pleats of her dress
A leather bound book at rest on her thighs
It's jacket so familiar and a comfort to the touch
The scent of it's brown and curling pages
Reminding her of late winter nights by the fire
When her grandmother's kind smile shone so brightly
As the flames from the hearth danced in her eyes
While she spun the girl one of her many stories
As deftly as her fingers could pull stitches
From a mountain of patchwork piled on her lap
The chiming of the bell marked the end of play
And she shook herself from her daydream
Dusting off the errant leaves and grasses
She lined up at the entrance to the courtyard
A sweet smile forming on her lips
Though a measure of sorrow still lingered in her heart
A bittersweet mix both of pleasure and mourning
Her spirit pining for the solace of those precious days; of her past

Nana's house is on the market,
Perfect location beside the woods,
And a few hundred feet from the water.
I can hear the patter of feet,
The closing of doors,
The squealing of feral animals
Nana fed with peanuts,
The condo bird houses
And broken blue eggs.
The cries and sirens and confusion.
When Nana died,
She was sealed in the wall of a mausoleum,
But continues to escape
In the eeriest of ways.

I used to be about your age,
and actually read words on a page.
I would go climb hills and trees,
and sometimes skin my elbows and knees.
I would go outside and play,
not sit around inside all day.
I would have fun with friends,
not text them until the day ends.
If I wanted to tell something to my family far away,
I'd write it down, it would get to them in a week and a day.
Though that may be a sad thing about that life,
the rest didn't have any strife.
I was almost never bored,
that will always be adored.
So my child what would you rather choose?
To sit inside and have the blues?
Or to go outside and play,
then come in side at the end of the day,
and say,
that you had fun for once,
instead of sitting around like a dunce.

"Begin to work with the Net of Light,"* they say, "by thinking of a vast lighted fishing net spread over the earth and stretching into the distance, as far as your eyes can see. This is the great Net of Light that will support the earth and all life on this planet during the times of change that have come. The Net of Life covers the earth from above, it covers it from below, and it bisects the earth like a great grid-penetrating, holding, and touching everything. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth while the energies of yin and yang shift. And they *will shift," the Grandmothers say; "the change has already begun.

     "Walk forward and take your place on the Net of Light. Somewhere where two of the strands come together forming an 'x' or a 't' is a place that will feel just right for you. Walk forward and take your place there. Here you can rest and allow the Net of Light to hold and support you while at the same time you support it.

     "We have many times told you that the Net of Light is lit by the jewel of the heart. This is true," the Grandmothers say. "Experience now as the radiant jewel of your own heart begins to open and broadcast its light along the strands of the Net. Every person who works with the Net of Light is linked in light with others who also work with it. Experience your union with people all over the glove who are now connected by the Net of Light. Some of them call it a Web of Light, some call it a lighted grid, some call it Indra's net, but whatever they call it, it is the same construct. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth steady during these times of change that are upon you.

     "As you call on the Net and find your place on it," they say, "think of receiving and sending light throughout this vast network. And as you think this thought, instantly your energy will follow it, and you will feel the Net of Light working in you and through you.

     "Experience your union with us and with all those who work with us. There are thousands of you all over the earth. Also experience your union with the sacred and holy places on this planet and the sacred and holy beings that have come at this time to avert the catastrophe that looms over the earth-the great saints, sages and avatars that have come now and gladly give their lives in service. Experience your union also with those of good heart who seek the highest good for life on earth. Know and feel the power of this union and let your body experience this force of and for good.

     "Once you have strongly felt this power, begin to cast the Net of Light to those who do not know about it. Cast wherever there is suffering on earth," the say, "to human beings, to animals, to conditions of every kind, to all forms of life, and to Mother Earth herself. Cast also to people who are longing to serve, but have not yet found a way to access the Divine and as you cast the Net of Light, many who have until this moment been asleep to the fundamental connection we all share, will begin to awaken and feel the spark of divinity within themselves coming to life. Now ask the radiant Net of Light to hold all life in its embrace and know that each time you work like this, you are adding to the reach and power of the great Net.

     "Cast the Net to all women and men everywhere," they say. "Cast to the leaders of this world to remind them that they are a precious part of the Net of Light that holds and supports life. Cast to the animal kingdom, asking that every animal receive what it most needs. Cast to the plant kingdom and to the mineral kingdom as well. Cast to everything that lives," the Grandmothers say, **"and when you have done this, ask, 'May everyone in all the worlds be happy.'