This is all the garden that I want

He says that I would be bored, but what does he know

about gardening, about finding help that actually knows what a weed is

(in spite of their enthusiastic proclamations of knowing all about weeds),

and what does he know about drip irrigation, busted lines, water in the basement.  

He says that I would be bored, but I think I would be perfectly happy with a tiny garden.

Like this one, with Saint Francis holding some water for birds next to a couple clumps

of beautiful yellow blooms.  

I threaten that I want to move away from this house with this big garden, 

and I see him cringe, visibly.  

So, I'll whittle away at this garden, cover it with hardscape and mulch, get rid of

all those places that simply grow weeds, that become a jungle in the back corner.

I'll get rid of the attempt at a compost pile, which invites pack rats,

how they love the warmth and the food.  

He says that I would be bored, but I'm going to do all that I can to get bored by

whittling away at this overwhelming mess of a garden, little by little,

with the help of people who know nothing, but are maybe willing to learn. 

 

The family

I never used to go to these things, preferring to avoid the potentially unpleasant conversations,

Like the one that was a monologue about how he was making the world a better place as I sat there

Silently mulling how to find some more money to build boats in impoverished Senegal, across the world.

Like the one about the underlying personality problems of my son due to my inadequate mothering,

Or maybe the long drone about financial instruments and how to save money, how to keep your pennies firmly within your grasp,

Such things as that.

But now we are old, one stumbling over words after another stroke, another's heart racing wildly from 

One moment to the next, our backs are hurting but we all have time.

And now that we are old, perhaps we understand the need to listen to one another a bit better,

And maybe not go on endlessly about our point of view.

We celebrated the twin's 70th, ate and drank together, walked the dogs and chatted over coffee.

It was actually pretty nice and as I look at this photo, I cannot avoid the fact that we sure look alike.  

 

We were there - Denver No Kings March

 

We marched with the throngs in the heat, 

the American flag unfurled, our flag, our grey hair peeking 

Out from our hats, yes, we were there.

We boarded the bus and went to the Big City 

To march in the heat, the sun, to sing and chant,

To repeat the words of Democracy.

This is OUR country, No Kings since 1776.

and when a young lady at the party confided that she and her

Husband decided not go for safety reasons, I urged her

Not to be afraid, that she would be among 

All of us who hoped for a better future. 

And that now is not the time to be afraid. 

Being a dog

She looked at me for the photo, on request.

She knows her name, and the couch is a promising location

For access to treats and pets, even if I don't sit there very often.

She may be telling me in this moment that she had a long day following

Me around the garden as I patiently instructed the young man on how to

Pull a weed, knowing that he'll learn with time.

This is the labor of mentorship, the old must help the young.

And Bella, well, she is old now, with her grey muzzle and I 

Wonder how many puppies have learned to pull worms from the earth,

Roll so joyfully on them, legs swinging in the air and back gyrating

On grass so happily as to make me laugh no matter my mood.

Yes, the life of Bella is sublime, every dog deserves it

As does every person, in fact.

 

The most wonderful weekend with my son

My son, his smile, the conversations

The most amazing conversations about so many things

His full attention, a bike ride up alongside the river

And a belated Mother's Day Brunch

Complete with mimosa and latte

A tuna tartine and a brownie to finish it off.

A deep happiness and yet wanting so many more

Of these moments, these shared experiences

Ah, the complex layers of emotion! 

The loss of years gone by, opportunities 

Missed, conversations that never happened,

Misunderstandings next to the Joy

That today this man is fully here with me

His mother, who did her best

What else can one do

 

A blueberry tart and some blueberry bread

It was the second time 

That I pulled out my phone, Apple Pay to be exact

In that crowded hall on some Island in Vancouver.

This time my companion was not timid about eating her share, 

No, "Oh, that's so nice of you but I've had enough", no

This woman wolfed down all that I left her, with enthusiasm

My hope to nibble the leftovers a bit later evaporated, 

And I wondered whether my previous companion, with all her politeness

Was the better to travel with so that I could gorge myself,

Or this one here, who unabashedly took her place in the world

Claiming all her rights to eat the rest of the 

Blueberry delights.  

 

The glass dome with the trees inside

 

Through the raindrops

I could see trees, the green canopy brushing

Against the glass dome above and I wondered

Were there monkeys inside, bounding from limb to limb

Or was there a sleek black panther winding amongst the trunks

But as I approached the door, I saw men in black ties

And women in gowns, holding their cocktails.

They were all white people and then I noticed 

A man standing in the rain, bent over 

As if to create his own dome of safety

From the stares of those of us who

Have decent rain gear and who are just passing

By on our way to somewhere else, 

Dry and safe.