The tube of cinnamon goodness beckons
as I walk by slowly
hoping it falls into my cart
hoping I don’t notice it at check-out
as I plan how best to act surprised
when I unpack the groceries

I almost stop
to let it know I yearn yearn yearn
for its warm rolls with melty icing

but I don’t actually stop

moving like a glacier to the dairy section
where, with a heavy sigh,
I pick out a bland tub of plain yogurt
with nothing to offer but spoonfuls of sadness

with yogurt in tow
I nonchalantly walk back from dairy
the same way I came
for a second glance

cinnamon and I meet again
and the he winks as I nestle him
next to my bag of carrots
I lose this round

the tube holds two rolls for me
and two for my beloved
with one extra to use
for a rousing game of
“no, honey, you have it”

my victory was even sweeter
because I let him think he won
then POW!

morning coffee came with a surprise
a little love note on Cinny-Roll #5

I humbly accepted the honors for
“Most Selfless and Loving Spouse”
and realized smugness always
pairs well with fudge brownies
(I need to run to the store)

I am bounded on both sides of life
by oblivion
but in this sliver of being
I’ve sought many things

of them all
only one mattered

I am tingling with anticipation
I feel as though I am on my way
to the other side of the world
for an archaeological dig
but it’s really just to the garage

today I launched a project
because my niece died
because it’s a new year
because we feel memories slipping away
because we feel life slipping away

generations of letters
family memorabilia
thousands of photos
and cherished objects
waiting in totes and boxes
to be gently brushed clean

memorialized in archival photos
registered in our heirloom catalog
assigned to a loving heir
prepared for dispatch
with an account of its special role
in the history of our family

countless threads of memories
faded from our minds
waiting for gentle prompts
to tug them loose
and weave them into
a memoir of our life together

the strata of ancient treasures
to be unearthed
uncharted territories
and lost mysteries
layers of existence
waiting to be excavated

echoes and whispers
shadowy footprints leading us
to forgotten journeys
artifacts that will bring us to tears
buried deep in the sediment of our past

but it’s really just to the garage

What parochial limits
will we assign to
the marvels we find
on moons that hide their oceans
under ice coverings
on planets that long ago
boasted rich atmospheres
and streaming water

when we find alien life
will we remember
what Martin* said:
we are caught
in an inescapable network
of mutuality,
tied in a single garment
of destiny
whatever affects one directly,
affects all indirectly

we will not remember his words

so when we recognize you
listen carefully to our question
it belies your fate

if we ask who you are
we seek a friend

if we ask what you are
we seek a meal

*written for Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday

I grew up on 50’s television
I knew how families worked
father knew best
mother always wore an apron
the kids played too loud
so they had to go outside
and everyone loved the dog

most of all
no matter what
your family loved you
and they’d love you forever

even as a child
I knew TV was pretend
so I was devoid of expectations
to be homecoming queen
or head cheerleader 
but I believed the last part
I expected my family to love me
forever

after a lifetime, I can attest TV lied
father is an idiot like the rest of us
I don’t wear an apron
kids online are very quiet
they prefer to be in their rooms
I don’t have a dog

next week it will be 73 years
sharing life with these
brothers and sisters
and most of all 
no matter what
we’ve loved each other
and will forever

The children held back tears 
as they read the sign

you must be this tall to ride the roller coaster

what they didn’t 
and couldn’t know
invisible versions 
of the same sign 
would reroute their life

there are some roller coasters 
they will never get to ride
no matter how tall they are

but there are other ways to roll
there are other ways to coast
finding them is where
the real thrill resides

If I could draw you from every angle
capture your profile from all sides
paint all of you upside down
sideways and inside out
I think you would
become a 
poem

I met her this morning
in the bathroom at the library
young thirties
pleasant looking
a whirlwind of energy
bundled for the weather
chapped red cheeks
rearranging her backpack 
blocking my access to the sink

a few weeks before christmas
she’d been hit by a car
couldn’t work
lost her job
couldn’t pay rent
wouldn’t put out for the landlord
is “temporarily homeless”
they won’t let her in the shelter
because she was robbed
and has no I.D. 

when I asked if someone
was helping her with all that
she said: the St. Vinnie people
are hooking me up
with vouchers and stuff

I think it will be okay
I feel very blessed
the sun is shining
it’s a beautiful day

and tomorrow’s my birthday!

she shook my hand
nice to meet you, mary
then she rode off on her bike
on the snow covered streets

for a few mad moments
I was enveloped in 
her Dickens novel of a life
knowing whatever the truth
of her story may be
no one should have to live there

tomorrow is her birthday

snow ice wind cold as weather tries to kill me I laugh in its face

howling drifting rage
is its savage fierce response
brutal and cruel

I lay down to warm ice
while wind and snow blanket me
and cold yields to sun

these ancient friends
remember me at last

At some point
you start to wonder
how life will be without you
and you start to watch

you yield your part in 
this existence play
to be assured it carries on
in your absence

you wait and trust
and you wish you’d done this
decades ago
because this way of yielding
bears many precious gifts

you find certainty absurd
egotistical
and even dangerous

you find yourself falling in love
with absolutely everything
and everyone

you find yourself
embracing paradox
rather than pretending to solve it

you find yourself
finding your self

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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