Thank God for that

This is for Becky's family, in this difficult time.

Sometimes.

Often.

The choices we think

We have to make

Aren’t really our choices.

They are our things

To live with.

They are our life

To live through.

They are.

They are.

They are.

And

Here we are

Together.

Thank God for that:

Together.

How could we not?

What counts as an exotic animal? One that has lived thirty years in an old fish tank? One that is next going to live in a plastic sweater box from Walmart? One that goes to an exotic animal vet?

The tortoise

Is at the vet

For exotic animals.

He is thirty years old

And going strong.

The overnight visit

Is for nasal draining

And a blood culture.

The vet recommends

We get a plastic sweater box

From Walmart

To keep him in.

What is an exotic animal?

He has outlived

Two cats

Who were long lived

In themselves.

We now have two more

Cats.

Our trainer wonders

How we keep animals

For so long.

How could we not?

How could we not?

Tuna fish

I can still taste the tuna fish.

Some days

The poems arrive

In my in-box,

They seem more poignant

Than other days.

Some days

Like today

I didn’t hear

The alarm

Which went off

Three times.

I never heard it.

It did wake up

My beloved

He informed me

You can have another

Ten minutes

That’s my line

I thought.

I was having a dream

About making a tuna fish sandwich

For a woman I was visiting

In a nursing home

Somewhere

And then eating half of it.

This is when I missed

Three alarms

Only to arise

Eat breakfast

Realize the tuna fish

Didn’t count.

Soon enough

When order comes undone, I miss it. This week one of the things which brings order to my life will be missing. It will most likely be back next week. 

When order

Comes undone

And I must create

New order

In my dreams

Ask the cats

Ask the tortoise

Ask the sun

Ask the moon

Even ask my feet

Where new order

Resides

I know it all resides

Somewhere

Ah order

You live somewhere.

Soon enough

I will find you

Or you

Will find me

Maybe even

Shake my hand.

Soon enough

Rose

I was a Classics major in college. My senior thesis was comparing two translations of Homer's Odyssey. Lattimore and Fitzgerald. I chose Fitzgerald. His rosy-fingered dawn has always stayed with me. This is Rose Sunday, the Sunday those churches with money for pink vestments wear rose and maybe add a flower or two around the altar.

Forty years ago

I wrote a thesis

On the rosy-fingered dawn,

Which translation

Said it best:

The literal

The poetic.

I chose poetry.

I continue to choose poetry

Nigh on

Forty years later.

The thesis is gone.

The poetry remains

Rosy-fingered dawn

I hold up my hands

Picture the sun

Rising

A poem

In itself.

Schedule

It's amazing what a long long sleep will do. It's amazing the number of excuses we can make. It's Saturday. It's gray. The cats are furry. We will order pizza for dinner.

We slept

Way too long

Now we have to plan

Dinner

Oh Saturday

The schedule is all

Out of whack

This is not the first Saturday

This has happened

This one though

Takes the cake

Here we are

Here I am

Confessing this

To the world

I blame it on the rain

The hard hard rain

This morning

The cats snuggled in

I did not have

To compose a sermon

Though it’s been years

Since I have preached.

There

This is my sermon

For today.

Dinner

Has yet

To be planned.

We will eat

Late.

Happenstance man

Growing my community...one happenstance person at a time.

I work my way
Down the list.
I am not good
At asking for help.
I made a list
To begin with.
It started
With the logical folk
Soon
I hope
I pray
It will include
The happenstance.
I am not quite ready
For happenstance.
Yet
I met a happenstance man
At the gym
Yesterday.
He called me Ma'am
He thanked people he knew
For being there.
He was amazing
Muscle-bound
Tattooed
Shaved head.
Yes
Happenstance man
I want to be
like him.

Wise people

In over thirty years of Nativity pageants I have experienced the range.

One year the wise men
Played by the parish triplets
Were joined at the manger
By their best friend
Herod.
Another year
In a parish
With no children
The wise folk
Came down the aisle
In feathers and bells
As Native American dancers.
One couple was so disturbed
They left the parish
Took their gourmet cookware
From the parish kitchen.
This meant
Parish dinners were potlucks
from then on.
Wisdom comes
In many forms.

Mayonnaise

Once, in parish ministry, I launched a program called Adventures with Catharine. I invited people to teach me something. One parishioner tried to teach me to make mayonnaise. She was a chef. I, not so much. We had lunch afterwards, with mayonnaise she had made. We laughed a lot. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.

Years ago I learned
I am not good
At making mayonnaise
From scratch.
It was dreadful.

Loveable

Kelly Flanagan's new book Loveable  has now hit the shelves. I recommend it...highly. We all need people to pick us up, swing us around, say How's my girl? or How's my boy? Nothing compares.

Growing up
I would visit Janet's house
Her father would greet me
At the door
Grab me
Swing me around
say
How's my girl?
That's all it took
For me
To know
I was seen
Janet's house had a kitchen clock
They kept it an hour ahead
So they wouldn't
Be late for things.
At my house
We were always early.
Early did not mean
Being seen.

Catharine Phillips
March 21, 2017

vernal equinox 2

Still waiting for the quarterly seizure. Spring does not seem to be my time. Expectations come in surprises.

Not long ago

I poised for a seizure

On the vernal equinox.

It never came.

Here it is again.

I have ceased

The expectation.

Of course this means

It may not come.

Of course this means

It may.

This is the way

Of expectations

Surprise

They say

Live with it

They say

Live without it

They say

Keep living

They say

Then move on

To the next thing.

I learn to let go

So many things. I had a guest who determined to "help" me clean up. She "cleaned up" things we never thought to get rid of. I will not go through the list. The intentions were good, I know. Still.

I learn to let go
So many things
I learn to let go
Cotton cloth
Prepared for quilting
It seemed necessary
For a whole life
But now
No
I learn
Then I learn again
It seems to take
Forever.

Much shorter

Years before the blog I wrote a poem with an elephant with an antimacassar on its head and  hippopotamus. Then I buried it in one of the volumes of poetry I had written. This morning Sam Portaro, a good friend, emailed it back to me. I still like the poem but realize I write a lot shorter these days. I also use punctuation. Gifts: they're everywhere.

Gifts

Come everywhere

All the time.

When the next one

Will turn up

Well

It’s hard to know.

That’s why

They’re gifts.

Today I found

An elephant, a hippo

In my in-box.

I learned.

I write poems a lot shorter

These days.

Much shorter.

Missing poem

I went to a poetry workshop once in Santa Fe. We all brought ten poems. One of mine included an elephant with an antimacassar on its head and the lady who lived behind me who kept a water feature in her living room with a hippopotamus. I remember being told the elephant was a cliche by one of the workshop members.It is still a favorite poem...except now I can't find it...

A poem has gone missing.

I may find it again.

It hides in one of the volumes

Stacked in the bedroom.

Of course

There are ten volumes

Stacked

In the guest room

Un-indexed.

I write one poem

A day

I liked that one.

Maybe its day

Is gone.

Maybe it will appear

Again

In some form.

Or not.

More books

I admit it. We are book people. Still... I am the one who decided to take on a new profession...sort of...at age 50. Then I had my first seizure. Now I work at figuring things out again. Hmmm. I love the new profession. I am good at it... still it looks different than I expected...Hmm. 

We have more books

Than we can handle

Professional degrees

Interests

All fill the shelves

Including the room

We have left

For years.

Now we speak

Of the next move

Where we will go

Which shelves

We will clear.

They are many.

Many

Many.

Not a surprise

Really

I am the one

Who decided

To take on

A new career

At age 50.

Time for a new start.

More books.

Feeding frenzy

I know the lady in red puts out corn for the ducks. I think she may spread bird seed as well, but I'm not exactly sure

Feeding frenzy

The ducks

The grackles

Battle through the snow

Mine

Mine

Mine

There may not

Be enough

For us all.

Snow flies

Everywhere

Squirrels

Get in the picture

Knock snow

Off branches

The grackles

Take them on

Small feathered

Versus

Large furred.

It’s hard to tell

Who’s winning.

The ducks

Hold their own.

They don’t care

Whatsoever.

Forty dollars

I like the idea of people leaving funerals and giving money to those in need. Maybe five dollars at a time.

He does not want flowers

At his funeral

He says

Rather

Take forty dollars

From your pocket

Give it to the next person

You see

Who needs it.

Don’t worry how

They’ll spend it,

How

They’ll squander it.

Squandering is in the eye

Of the giver.

Please

No flowers at my funeral.

Dribble forty dollars

Through your fingers

To the next person

In need.

I will be remembered

Enough.

Felix

Waiting to see whether Felix needs to be hospitalized.

We consider the tortoise.

He is thirty years old

The same age

As our son.

He has now had

His Vitamin A and K

Shots.

The vet is concerned.

The tortoise

Is getting a full work-up.

He may need

To be hospitalized.

We do not know

What a turtle hospital

Looks like

Will he get his own room?

Hunch

Do hawks hunch? It seems they do.

We passed

A hawk

Hunching

On the telephone wire.

He was almost

Unrecognizable

As a hawk,

Hunching the way

He was.

I have never seen

A hawk hunch.

Now it seems

I have.

Caught

I'd like to say I do writing instead  but I'm not sure this is true either. I have a wonderful conversation with a friend about the different chapters in our lives. I am trying to figure out whether this is the writing chapter of my life.

So

Do you

ever play

Your guitar anymore?

He asks

In the middle

Of the 30^th birthday dinner.

I think of one guitar

In the corner

Of the family room,

One guitar

Next to the bed

Upstairs.

I think of singing

Wee baby moon

Lying in the sky

With its little silvery toes

In the air

I think of singing

A six year old

To sleep.

No

No

No

I don’t.

I am caught.

Why not?

He asks.

Why not?

I don’t know

I say.

He says

Okay

We move on

To the next subject.

Two cats

 Two cats, two personalities

Thank goodness

We have two cats.

The first one escaped

The carrier.

My beloved is bloodied.

The second cat

Is older,

Never knew

What was coming,

Walked right in

To the carrier

Realized on his way

Out the front door.

He will be home

Asleep

In no time.

The younger one

May be traumatized

Until her turn

Comes

In two days.

Then again

She may have forgotten.

At least

We hope so.

Lonely cotton

I used to make doll quilts. I tried a whole bed quilt once. I got about half-way through. Now I have a massive box filled with wonderful cotton. We are talking about moving. It's time for the cotton to go.

It’s time to clear out

The cotton

From the box

At the end of the bed.

I have a taker

Who sews every Wednesday.

The cotton has been lonely,

Stuffed in that box.

It calls out to me:

Let me be used

For good

Some good.

It’s time.

Time.

It’s time.

Fish, fish, more fish

I wonder if some people's Lenten discipline may be a Lenten celebration and if that's ok, after all. Hmm.

Our favorite neighborhood restaurant

Is filled

Every Friday

In Lent.

All-you-can-eat

Battered cod

Is simply too much

To resist.

We have learned

Our usual table

Next to the window

Will be unavailable.

We will return

In Easter.

Goodbye job

My feet are on their way back.

Now that I am receiving my pension
The job appears,
The one I always thought
I wanted.
Goodbye job.
I no longer drive.
My feet
Have begun their way
Home.
Still
No job.
Goodbye job.
Hello feet.