Counting moments

These days I am considering my life as a child, remembering in my bones, remembering in my sinews.  As I watch blue jays in the back yard, I remember my first or second blue jay, a wonder of a bird.  There are wonders still to be unpacked from my past.  I return to counting my age in days.

I return to counting my age

The way every small child does.

I am

Fifty-nine and a third

Plus two days.

Each moment counts,

Doncha know,

Each moment counts.

I count mine.

If I were you

There's something about keeping a long-standing appointment, even when it has been cancelled, even when it has morphed into a cup of coffee in my favorite chair.

If I were you,

Which of course I’m not,

If I were you

These are the questions

I would ask me.

If I were you.

Instead

I sit in this hour

In the blue chair.

I do not sit

With you.

I ask my own questions,

Even have an answer or two.

I watch the birds

In the backyard.

The cat prowls

The living room.

Soon I leave to meet

With the client I told

I have a long-standing appointment

At 9 A.M.

Every Wednesday morning.

I will see him

At 11.

Soft blanket, blue

I had my first known seizure before Christmas 2010.  When the family asked what I wanted for Christmas I asked for "soft things."  They gave me a soft navy blue blanket and a soft hippo puppet.  My therapist has soft red pillows.  It's amazing to discover such anchors, to realize "soft things" bring me home.

Perhaps I have done enough

Of looking back

For now,

Integrated enough

To move on

To the one next thing.

There is always

The soft blanket,

Blue.

It will bring me back

Any time I need

Any time I want

Any time

I lose track

Of who I was

The soft blanket

Blue

It can carry me home

Only then to move on

To the one next thing.

I still look to see

It is rather odd to post things to a daily blog, to an unseen, mostly unheard from, audience.  Some days I am most popular in Russia.

I still look to see

How many hits I got

Today,

Whether I am more popular

In the US

Russia

Or the Ukraine

As if it really matters

Even though

It doesn’t really matter.

Still I am curious

Who is looking

And from where.

Waxwings

Maybe I should have called this Airplanes or O'Hare.  Or Homage to Bensenville.  Still... I'd rather pay attention to the waxwings, even if they're only in the distance, between airplanes.

We hear the waxwings

In the distance.

They mingle with the airplanes

Coming in to land

On the runway built

On the O’Hare expansion.

It demolished an entire neighborhood.

We saw it die

One house uninhabited

At a time,

Until the neighborhood

Went completely dark.

Now the airplanes

Begin their braking

Over our house.

We still hear the waxwings

In between airplanes.

Blue jays

I remembered blue jays as primarily grey-blue.  With their disappearance due to the West Nile virus, I had forgotten what stunning birds they really are: grey-blue, yes, but light blue too, with white and black.  Up close they offer much more contrast than I remember.  A pair landed in the backyard, picking seeds next to the garage bushes.  Are those a male and female? I asked my beloved.  To us they look the same, he said, but probably they can tell the difference.

We assumed they left

Down the West Nile… but no.

Or maybe they merely

Took a very long trip.

Sometimes the best therapy

Enough said.

Sometimes the best therapy

Happens at night

Under covers

Of sheet and blanket,

My beloved, sound asleep,

Next to me,

And the large grey cat:

He sometimes deigns

To grace our bed,

Occasionally speaks

In the words of his people.

Sometimes the best therapy

Happens at night.