sandals at an event

I looked so elegant,  my ankles slender

standing tall, my dress swishing against my calves.

it was a wedding, I recall, my brother and his wife,

my hair was brown and shiny in the sun,

the guests delicately put champagne flutes to their lips

when the minister proclaimed them man and wife.

he wanted to be married, he told me, the wedding

was a necessary annoyance.

I'm glad for annoyances such as these,

a chance to be beautiful, to sparkle 

in the sun.

What day is it

All I know is that Costco is open - 

I think it's daylight and someone drove me here

I don't know where she is, but my task is 

to evaluate the couch

she'll come back soon, the cart laden with 

Manchego and Petit Basque, organic chicken

and double walled vacuum mugs.

She loves those.

The couch passes my criteria, no matter where it is,

I can rest and relax, no matter whether day

or night.

So many choices in life

This was serious business, with long term consequences,

at least five bottles of alcohol, no six, since four

are small, 

arrayed on a checkered table

(I painted that to decide if my marriage was over,

a ouiji board of sorts, with pink and blue colliding

and not matching, in the middle),

I stopped watching them, the two men and reflected

on failed marriages

then turned to my own glass of syrah.

Turning 65

Today I am 65 and it seems big, to be 65,

it is, now officially in the last phase of life,

on Medicare, permanent dimples, or are they wrinkles,

a few wiggly parts that won't ever firm, my job

is winding down, and men don't look at me anymore.

I think it's ok, mostly, but there is no going back

to youth, and I know that age will creep up,

a little harder to balance, my children are getting 

old - one approaching 40

I used to wonder at women I knew whose children

were 40 and wonder how on earth.

I can ramble in my head, but listen, mostly.

It's ok being 65.

I still love, and am loved. 

Losing Philip

Philip, you're 

a tiny baby fitting in one hand,

after weeks of promising life, a beating heart,

all of us praying and hoping for you to arrive so we

could hold you in our arms.

Yet, not to be, you arrived early, breaking our hearts.

Instead, you are wrapped in a small cloth,

your heart no longer beats and your body goes cold.

Our hearts will never stop beating for you, with you

no matter where you may reside, in the wind,

the trees, with Owen, who will greet you

and welcome you.

Grief too deep to bear

 I sit here at the dinette, alone.

Tonight the baby will slip between her thighs

away, never to be held in our arms

this grief is too deep to bear.

I hear the hum of the dishwasher,

listening to Owen's playlist, Owen,

my grandson, who slipped out between her 

thighs, and passed away being held in their arms

I sat alone, frozen in grief, for them, for me,

for us, for the future that won't be.

This grief is too deep to bear, their dreams

slipped between her thighs in an unrealized

dream that leaves us cold and bereft.

I sit here at the dinette, alone, listening

to the dishwasher hum, the dog going to

the front door to greet my husband

no one can erase this grief

we travel together and alone.

Polishing away the tarnish

Somehow polishing silverware that is never used

freshens me, removes some of the tiredness I feel,

the grief that is hovering, not yet realized, but hovering

it is true

I do things that make no real sense, leaving tasks that

should be done, but are left undone,

like the children that should arrive, but do not.

The silverware sits on a hard bed of baking soda

waiting for a second soak to

clean away the rest of this tarnish

even then, it never truly disappeared.