Loons

My beloved grew up on Long Island. I spent summers in Northern Minnesota. Loons are different creatures to both of us.

Every summer

We listened to loons

Eerie calls

Watched them dive,

Carry babies

On their backs

Until it was time

To return to the ocean.

They were silent there.

Their feathers changed

So my beloved

Never knew

It was the same bird

I knew

When I grew up.

No eerie calls

No black and white

Feathers

But dull brown.

Somewhat

Winter light is dark.

It’s dark.

So dark.

Even though everyone says

Even though

Calendars say

It’s getting lighter.

I somewhat

Believe all of them.

But only

Somewhat.

Not a children's story

It is known that on Christmas Eve all the animals speak. This is for Richard Adams, aged 96, who died on Christmas Eve, R.I.P. Watership Down is not a children's book. There's something there for all of us, rather like The Velveteen Rabbit. Rabbits, rabbits, everywhere.

He died the night

All animals speak

The dogs

The cats

The armadillos

The rabbits

Especially the rabbits.

Perhaps they called him

To the Other Side

Somehow.

He is there now

Speaking in a place

Where everything

And every one

Has Voice.

Each one listens

To the other.

It is as it should be.

This is not

A children’s story.

Tick tock

With the disappearing snow, I have disappeared the braces which do not allow me to exercise my feet and ankles. I do not like the walker either, but imagine that will be with me for awhile longer.

The snow

Has disappeared.

I abandon

My braces

For the moment.

I walk around the house

With my walker

Alone.

Up and down

The stairs

With the railing.

When I sit

I exercise

My feet

Tick tock

Tick tock

Tick tock.

The right ankle

Has it pretty much

Down.

The left

Needs a lot more

Practice.

Tick tock

Tick tock

Tick tock.

Great grandfather Roberts

We all have relatives who leave questions behind.

He sat in bird blinds

He built

Up in trees.

My mother

Always described him

As so large

He needed a driver

Because he did not fit

Behind the wheel.

How he sat in bird blinds,

Much less built them,

I have no idea.

How he sat in trees,

Shot birds,

Prepared bird skins,

I have no idea

There

Either.

Perhaps he hired

A driver.

Perhaps not.

Ruth, 100

For Ruth Hammersmith, a lady of grace and gumption

She has reached

100

Ruth

Outlived two sisters.

I remember our visits.

I loved

Our visits.

Probably

My favorite part

Of parish ministry.

Each sister belonged

To a different parish.

She holds the house

To herself.

The college has waited

For the house

For more years

Than they ever expected,

With some grace

For Ruth

Now 100.

I loved

Our visits.

Dangerous reindeer

The tweed reindeer has been found. It is difficult keeping him upright, particularly when the cats are attracted to use him for a scratching post, and he falls on them. This is an exciting season.

I arrived home

To the reindeer

Found.

It has fallen

On the cats

Twice.

They are now

In another room.

The reindeer is asleep

On its side.

We still won’t decorate

Until Christmas Eve.

Everyone will then

Be upright

Even the reindeer.

Particular things

Each Christmas tree ornament has its own particular story.

Collections

Are not the same

As particular things,

One at a time.

It’s almost Christmas.

The tree goes up

On Christmas Eve

With particular decorations,

Each one

With its own story.

Collections

Are not the same

As particular things.

Tweed reindeer

Waiting to decorate on Christmas Eve.

We still haven’t found

The tweed reindeer

Though I’m sure

He will appear

By Christmas.

He stuck around

For two months

After Christmas

Last year.

The tree

Will take a new spot

In the corner

Of the family room.

Who knows how long

It will stay

Before Lent.

It often depends

Upon feline behavior

Or

Our energy.

We may store the reindeer,

Tweed,

With the tree

So we can find him

Easily
Next year.

Present

Sometimes I order things I promptly forget about. I am proud of any person who would have thought of this. And to think it came in time for Christmas!

It arrived in the mail.

I forgot

What I had ordered.

Yet

Here it is

Just in time

For Christmas.

I can’t say

What it is

Except

It has two wings,

Two feet.

It can live

Both inside,

And outside 

in the garden.

I remember

When I ordered it

Now.

I have absolutely no idea

How to wrap it.

Enneagram

I am a three-winged creature. I never would have known if I didn't take the Enneagram.

I have managed
To avoid
The Enneagram
For the whole
Of my professional life.
Now I find
I am a five
With wings
Of four, seven, and eight;
Three wings.
No creature
Has three wings.
I do.
I just finished
My application
To the Pension Fund.
It’s a good thing to do
Before they find out
I have three wings.

Voice

And now here I am, writing and listening. Voice comes in many forms.

When I went to seminary

The only thing

That scared the pants

Off me

Was preaching.

Truly

My voice got stuck

Long about

Age 4 or 5

So I chose

A profession

Or a profession chose me

To unstick it.

An odd thing

This vocation.

Or maybe a blessed thing

This vocation.

Claiming an hour

There are all kinds of ways to claim an hour.

When a client

Doesn’t show,

I claim the hour

For myself,

Listen to the organist

Upstairs.

I have no idea

What he is playing

I assume it’s good

Even though I don’t particularly

Enjoy organ music

Never have

Still

This is an hour

In my office.

When a client doesn’t show

The hour

Is mine.

Spirit animal

Rosemary is my companion, not my spirit animal.

I often carry

My stuffed sloth

In the pocket

Of my walker.

Her name

Is Rosemary.

She keeps me company.

The last time

In the hospital

A woman asked

If she

Was my spirit animal.

No

I said

She is my company,

My spirit animal

Is a black panther.

The woman nodded

As if this was

Perfectly

Understandable.

Sameness

One last step

To apply

For the pension

Tuesday

I think

Yes Tuesday

As the crows fly

As the mallards eat the corn

The lady in red

Has thrown

On her back lawn

Snow-covered

I watch them

Fly in

As they do

Every year

As she does

Every year.

There is comfort

In sameness

Even when so much else

Is not
The same.

The chef

I do wonder what happened to certain people and the stories they carry with them.

Years ago now

I had parishioners leave

The parish

Because the wise men

Were played

By Native American dancers.

One parishioner left

Took all his chef

Pots and pans,

His chef utensils

With him.

This meant our parish meals

Were potluck.

I do wonder what happened

To the chef.

In the pageant

I always

Wanted to play

The star

Who led the way.

Of course the chef

Would not have approved of that

Either.

Brown rag sweater

We all have our preferences.

I wear the sweater

The kitten loves

Cotton brown rag

She may

Just may

See the opportunity

To nestle

Later in the morning

But still

Only after

The right number

Of mitten games.

Only she

Can determine.

Polar bears

Always learning.

Polar bears

Do not hibernate.

I’m not sure

Why I thought

They did.

It is not a surprise

To my friends.

I figured bear

Means hibernation.

No.

No.

No.

Now I wonder

What else hibernates.

Who else hibernates.

So Late

I am still not used to the beginning winter light. I am also not used to people rolling their trash cans to the curb when it is still light out,

So late.

We woke up

So late.

Now I hear the neighbors

Readying

For Wednesday morning.

They roll their trash cans

To the street

While I drink

My morning coffee,

Think about late lunch,

And maybe even later dinner.

This is one more reason

To wonder

About my neighbors.

Really neighbors?

Really?

Do you need to consider

Garbage

On Tuesday afternoon?

Really?

Opinions

I'm not sure we completely get over the opinions of our childhood. Then again, there are always new neighbors.

My beloved grew up

On Long Island.

He has opinions

About New Jersey.

I grew up

In Minnesota

I still have opinions

About Wisconsin

And Iowa

And,

Heavens yes,

North and South Dakota,

Even though I now live

In Illinois.

It’s always the neighbors.

Yes

It’s always

The neighbors.

Opinions.

It’s always

The neighbors.

Water

The Dakota Pipeline is now, finally, in question. I am glad. When I was in the hospital in the spring, there was a speech therapist who asked me where fish lived. I was "out of it" and do not remember that speech therapist. The family did, however. It is a family joke now. Where do fish live? Apparently she asked it over and over. Where do fish live? 

Water

So many forms

Of water.

We’re in the season

Of ice

And snow.

Still

It’s water.

It bears protection.

It asks to be available.

It flows.

It allows life.

It holds

The fish.

Water.

What am I?

So what am I?

And who

Gets to decide?

I know a mother

A wife

A priest

A counselor

A writer

Of some sort

But a poet?

A reflectionist?

And what is that

Anyway?

Does it matter

As long as I keep writing?

Will it come clear

Eventually?

I understand people

With epilepsy

Are often more creative.

This sounds good.

Maybe I am a creative

Writer

Reflectionist

Making up words

As I go along.

Normal

My beloved says I keep looking for the positive in everything.  This is true. I am grateful for the positive. I also know my neuropathy remains. My brain has bright spots. I overdid it yesterday, so I am toning it down a little today.

My feet and ankles

Are numb.

My brain shows

Bright spots

Which need to be watched.

But

But

But

For the first time ever

My BMI

Is normal

I tell you

Normal.

I rejoice in normal.

One thing

Normal.

Loose clothes

Waiting for the lady in red, My beloved says he saw her last week, out back, waiting for the ducks.

The trees

Have finally loosed

Their clothes

To the ground.

Not to anthropomorphize

Them

But still

Their naked branches

Somehow

Now

Allow

More life

To be detected

More birds identified

More squirrels

And

Of course

The lady in red

Out back

Waiting to feed the ducks

When the snow

Finally comes.

Travel mug

Maybe next time I'll remember

Every travel coffee mug

Has a different device

To make it

Non-spill.

I learn

Every single one

By spilling it
Down my front.

Oh yes

I say

It’s that one.

Maybe next time

I’ll remember.

Maybe

Next time.

Thanksgiving 2016

When your mom is a priest it's rather shocking when she forgets to pray at Thanksgiving.

I hate to admit it

But

On Thanksgiving

We forgot to pray.

The presence of our son

Seemed prayer enough.

He was the one

Who noted the absence

Of prayer.

Don’t you pray

Anymore?

He asked.

We do.

We do.

We do.

So we prayed

Over turkey

Over cranberry sauce

Over mashed potatoes

Over sweet potatoes

Over salad with pomegranate

And grapefruit

And two kinds

Of dessert

With two kinds

Of whipped cream.

We prayed

For our daughter

Creating Thanksgiving

In Scotland.

Turkey soup

While the ginkgoes have gotten the idea, and dropped all their leaves, so many of the other trees around here have not gotten the idea.  Maybe the turkey soup will do it.

In two days

Another year begins.

I make turkey soup

In celebration

From Thanksgiving leftovers,

Figure out

Where we stored

The Advent wreath

Last year.

The trees have yet

To figure out

A new year is coming.

They may not be on

The church calendar.

I will open the doors

So the trees smell

Turkey soup.

Turkey soup is the aroma

Of a new year.

Ginkgo central

This was the week...just in time for Thanksgiving.

The road we take to church

Is filled with gold

Every spring,

Every fall.

Spring

It’s forsythia.

Fall

It’s ginkgo.

Almost as if

Everyone on Main Street

Got together

Decided

What to plant

Years and years and years

Ago.

Ginkgoes drop

All their leaves

At once.

Ginkgoes everywhere.

My beloved says

There’s a ginkgo central

In the air

Underground.

It says Now

Do it now.

Gold leaves dropped

Now

All at once.

No more gold

On Main Street

Until forsythia

In the spring.

Smart phone

More and more things are finding their voices these days

My cellphone

Spoke with no prompting

This morning.

Serves me right

For skipping church.

Voices have to come

From somewhere.

In truth

It wanted me

To speak

So it could recognize

My voice.

I’m not sure

I want to start a conversation

With a phone

No matter how smart

It is.

Some nights

Possibility of joy.

Weeping may spend the night

And some nights

Are really really long.

Dawn is mentioned

As a possibility,

A glimmer

Of joy.

We look

And look

And look

For the sun

To rise

So our vision

May return

So joy

Is once again

A possibility.

how many times

Sitting in my blue chair reflecting on a whole series of things, in the Church, in the world, in our country. Seventy times seven, Catharine, seventy times seven. More fatted calves.

I want to understand

Oh

Any number of things

But

I want to understand

How many times

After someone has left

And returned

Left and returned

That the welcome home

Means killing

One more fatted calf.

How many times

Before

World-weariness

Settles in

And enough

Is enough.

Oh

I know the right answer

Is seventy times seven

But still

How many fatted calves

Are too many?

Collapsed

This was the year we had an Ethiopian guest. We aimed to show her an American Thanksgiving. She brought a side dish made with teff. The turkey, well, the turkey, was not a hit; The teff, on the other hand, was fine.

One year

The turkey collapsed

In the oven.

I have never seen

A turkey collapse.

We picked pieces

Off of it

Dry.

To tell the truth

We had started eating

Everything else

Then remembered

The turkey.

Poor thing.

Poor us.

The only recourse

Was soup.

Tremors

Wow. Tremors everywhere...here. there, everywhere

The side effect

Of the newest medication

Helps me realize

Everything

Has a tremor

Even me.

We think

We’re immune

To such things.

Side effects.

Most times

We don’t notice.

Even the earth

Shakes.

Tremors

Sometimes so minute

We miss them.

Still they’re

Side effects

Even the earth

Even me.