The first snowfall never loses its magic
for a few hours, the world is pristine
caressed by nature in silent splendor

but soon an engine hums from down the street
the first snowblower announces
mankind is reclaiming its domain

like ants after a rainstorm
we rush to restore the noise and ugliness
we retake the roads 
with scraping plows and grinding salt trucks

we sweep the snow from cars and stoops
as stray flakes float past on gusts of wind
remnants of the earth’s magic

the first snow is God’s whisper to us
a reminder
there is always a clean slate
always a way to start fresh
and maybe next time
the beauty will endure

Einstein, Picasso, Ali, and Jobs
could have been more except for the snobs

those snooty designers who snub homely fonts
that help a dyslexic read what he wants

the most hated ugly one’s called Comic Sans
the one they read best — no ifs, buts, or ands

so stop all the hating and use it all right?
at least tell us maybe or swear that you might

or make one that’s pretty but easy to read
graphic designers please step up and lead

780 million dyslexic people will thank you

Read more about Comic Sans

Yesterday
by the light of the street lamps
the grandkids made a snowman
in our backyard

they had to leave for home
before they could finish adding the face
so they asked their grandfather
to finish him

I fetched a pirate hat from the basement
we cut some eyes 
shaped a carrot for a nose
and sent photos 

Presley named him Captain Snowball

I’m sure similar scenes 
play out in similar ways
each day
across the planet

a mundane hour out of
a lifetime of the ordinary
not the trip to Disney World
not the first place track trophy
just a snowman

the ordinary 
holds the moments 
most worthy of poems and paintings
it’s where our deepest love lives

Children are like water
you need an open palm
to hold them lightly
gently cupping them
to prevent spills

if you squeeze too hard
you end up with
a bruised child
and an empty hand 

There are about 100 billion dead people
who did all this before us

in a few breaths we will join them

I read the ratio* — 14 dead to 1 living*
it got me wondering
who are my 14 dead people?
what were their lives like?
what would they teach me?
what a magnificent thing it would be
to hear their stories

it choked me up a little
imagining the lady with the yellow homespun bonnet
the man in the toga on that ancient porch
I pictured Jesus and Buddha 
(I think we all get to count them in our 14 if we want)
there is a man on a ship in a dark storm
and a little skeleton of a boy crying of hunger

what would my fourteen tell me?

and just when I was about to fall off that cliff
where all those voices are silenced forever
I remembered
HISTORY

that precious link
where I can settle in 
and listen to 100 billion stories

*Historian Niall Ferguson

Nuns taught me only Catholics could go to heaven
teachers taught our school was the best
television taught being white meant a nicer life

tribes were nurtured meticulously 
to keep society’s lines clear

ah, the seductive safety of belonging to a group
it’s so comforting to be with people like me
it feels like a secure way to live
nothing to be learned except obedience

it’s why we hate each other
it’s why, when they’re told they came from Dems,
so many Democrats support Republican proposals 

Republicans do the same
and neither realizes it — party over policy

tribes foster group think
pressure mindless conformity
demand undeserved loyalty
justify cheating
cause unnecessary suffering 

but for all their failings 
tribes work
they protect the groups’ self-interest
but at a cost no person with a conscience would pay

if you’re compelled to join a tribe
at the very least 
pick the tribe where everyone is a member

Read more about the Republican/Democrat study

She asked us to come late
so she’d have time to light all the candles

we rapped on the door and waited
as she scurried from room to room 

when she finally appeared with her Cheshire grin
she took the oversized poinsettia from my arms
too excited to fuss over it

these moments shared no space for anything else
just her treasured Christmas decorations

she guided us from room to room
the docent of her perfectly curated wonderland

it took our breath away
hundreds of ornaments, figurines, curios
room after room of holiday magic

every inch was imbued with her love
tenderly waiting to delight someone
whose eyes would widen
whose mouth would gape
whose heart would overflow with awe

we did not disappoint her

she didn’t want us to leave
so we lingered
listening to stories about the Christmas quilt on her bed
the miniature Santa on her rocker
the new twinkle lights with the phone app

as we were leaving she revealed
why this was so important

My children and grandchildren are just too busy this year
You are the only visitors I will have  

I can’t stop thinking about that
wondering how much love is hiding 
in people’s homes
waiting patiently to be shared

love that no one comes to claim

how many beautiful souls  
with their gifts in hand are waiting
to make our eyes widen
and our hearts overflow?

how much we miss
if we’re just too busy this year

There are days when life takes a turn
so tragic
I fear I will break into a million pieces
but I never do

I just keep breaking open

He’s a chit-chat friend
we’ve talked for decades
in tiny snippets
in the same old coffee shops
never for more than a few minutes each time

I know so little about him
I don’t even know if he has a family
where he lives
where he worked before retirement

yesterday we found ourselves
at the soda machine together
How ya doin’  I asked while filling my diet coke

not so good, Mary 
I found out I have some health problems 
and I don’t have long to live

I was devastated
completely upended 
by the momentous gravity 
of this fateful revelation

it felt too weighty to share 
standing in McDonald’s 
on a normal Tuesday
with someone like me
who is a mere acquaintance

but in that moment 
I realized I was mistaken

though I don’t know his biography
I know him deeply
his gentleness
his kindness
his goodness

years and years of chit chat
have woven us together
in trust and friendship

as a terrible hole ripped through my chest
I felt how much I loved him
and if nothing else
in the time we have left
I want to make sure he feels it too

One day, I found my old woman self
sitting on the edge of existence

when it might be your last Christmas
the decorations feel more beautiful
the gifts more inconsequential
the people more precious

instead of chasing after joy
you sit by the glow of your tree
sipping a warm cup of cider
stirring fond memories 

instead of pushing through stores
guilty, stressed, and shamed
you have some hot cocoa
and listen to carols 
as the aroma of ginger wafts from the oven

one day, when you find yourself
sitting on the edge of existence
you will realize the truth:

you were always on the edge
but were running too fast to notice

to be here now is the gift  

you need only be still 
and give the moment your attention
and you will see
when you sit on the edge
it’s always Christmas

“The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” ― Franz Kafka —

If you’re wondering what got me started writing poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read the past issues of Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240.

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