cloud puzzle by author

On Turning Seventy-four

Clouds assemble and pull apart,

puzzle pieces against a sharp blue sky.

Clattering leaves shed yellow ones,

introducing this year’s Leaf Ballet.

September weather in August.

Cicadas and crickets are slowing down.

Only yesterday they strummed the air.

September babies like me relish

dew drenched mornings, jackets in the shade,

afternoon sunny spots breaking through.

This will be a good year to stretch my heart

wider and wider with sadder and sadder news.

Love, I believe, has no beginning and no end,

despite human appearances to the contrary.

The fall weather in NE Ohio began a couple of weeks ago, much to my delight. It is a treasure of deep blue sky (a poet friend wrote of “Dresden blue”) with interwoven sun and shade as the clouds drift and stretch like we do at the end of summer. I do not pay much attention to my birthdays as they inevitably pile up but it is a time to see visiting relatives which is a treat I look forward to.

The state of country and world affairs seem to keep pushing us towards a crisis, and as my chiropractor suggested today, perhaps it could be “a small catastrophe”. May it be enough to make real changes, yet not enough to totally derail human infrastructures. It will not be easy to weather nor to repair, whatever forms it will take.

Our personal dramas unfold against the polarizing tensions and the world keeps turning and our lives go on. My five and a half-year-old grandson started pubic school kindergarten and so far, he loves it. His younger brother continues on in his local small Montessori school and so they are getting in on the best ground floor of education that their community has to offer, even as the future of education is under reconstruction from AI to our national governmental deconstruction. The boys are a source of joy with which I am blessed.

I wrote this poem after my Dutch friend, Johan Kos died. He was a principal dancer in our small dance company in the 1970’s and I will never forget the duet that he and my husband choreographed for themselves. To see very strong men move together with grace and power stays with me today.

Misericordia is from the Latin “misericors,” meaning “merciful,” –“misereri” (to pity) and “cor” (heart)- the act of extending one’s heart to another’s suffering.” 

Misericordia

The planet turns.

The sun appears to rise.

Branches bowed with rain touch the ground.

The day lies down before me.

Birds shimmer the dawn.

Yesterday, my friend of 50 years suddenly died.

Last night, more bombs were dropped and, I cried.

What losses we inflict. What pain we suffer.

The cat rolls over, asking for love.

The day is belly up and my fingers touch innocence and peace.

May we have mercy this day, mercy.