I can't see the red light for the Moon is in my eyes

All the way down the hill, impossibly steep and so slippery, I could only see the Moon.

How did it get so big since last month when I am sure that I hardly noticed it,

And how can it be as large as a red light, the one I can hardly see for the Moon is in my eyes.

I can see the Mare basin, and imagine the dust lofting at the horizon, just like 

The astronauts saw, you know the sketch, the one with lines streaking upwards from the horizon.

It's famous.

The Moon got brighter as I drove home as darkness fell on the City, and by the time 

I drove down the hill, you know the one, the one that has a steep, badly banked curve,

The one with the speed limit of 25, the one that I ride faster on my bike than when I drive.

That hill, the one that gave me final look at the Moon, and I marveled at how beautiful 

It is, that Moon, the Moon that is shining this night, and I wonder when I will see it again

As I descend a hill, any hill, anywhere, in any country.  

I wonder. 

 

And then you were three

 

 

Suddenly you were three, glowing at night with

Your skeleton bones, and yelling for your rights to 

The owl pillow, the one that I “loaned” to you and your sister, not knowing it would be the origin of endless dispute. 

You’re three, having received three flying gifts, two helicopters and a plane, although one looked like an RV with wings.

You’re suddenly three and your sister is five, I’m 67, seeming to rush towards 68, these bones crackling at night,

Rather than glowing, this age does not call for helicopters, 

Rather the comfort of home after a long voyage, as I wave good-bye to my husband who heads home, I am here listening to the family conversation in the next room, remembering those days, not so suddenly gone, seemingly

So long ago. 

Frida Kahlo's message: Keep going!

Polio age 6 

And a bus accident, age 18,  

Why not spend 10 months in bed gazing at yourself in a mirror

That your Mother hung over head, nothing else to see

Why not paint yourself, there's nothing else to see

In Hospital ABC, 

Why not marry someone who is always chasing other skirts,

Another artist, 20 years your senior,

Keep going, keep going, decorate your corset

And paint your shoe that lengthens your right leg

Shortened by polio

Why not paint a watermelon with seeds from your wheelchair

To tell us all to accept the seeds in the sweet fruit of life

Because it's all we have, 

Live every day.  

She did. 

Be my teacher, Frida Kahlo. 

 

Victory!

The ballots were not even all counted, but we all knew.  Our man, Mamdani, 

Raised his right arm in victory to the roar of the crowds, a victory for the

Parents who needed to know their children were cared for while they worked,

The grandmothers caring for little ones and needing food for them, the ones who had no jobs,

Those who work and still need SNAP, and the ones who live well but know that the last 

Election only delivered misery and loss to our Beautiful Country. 

The biggest since 1960, these voters, who no doubt braved obstacles to vote,

But by hook or by crook, got their ballot into the system, the one that works 

Flawlessly, monitored, one that does not have fraud, a system we rely on.

Yes, he raised his right arm and roared into the crowd that New York delivered,

Oh and so did Virginia and New Jersey, Georgia and Pennsylvania.  

Let the voters roar for prosperity for the people, for community and for love.

I want to believe that Love always wins in the end. 

 

The view from on high

The trail, being impossibly steep, rocky and generally unpleasant

Did offer a view, an excellent view, down the amber slope towards the 

Shimmering lake nestled between the curving paths.

I could see them, the small people on bicycles, pushing strollers, arm in 

Arm perhaps, and some dogs and if I squinted, perhaps, a baby gracefully

Swishing through the air on her swing.

It was a good moment to pause, to listen to my breath gradually slow,

To let the sweat dry, and to just look, gaze, reflect, pause a moment

Thinking that the small lake would survive these times, would be here long

After my passing, is still here after the recent passing of my friend, Ken,

The one who told me he would herd goats if he failed his doctoral oral exams.

He passed, and so did I, as I remembered so long ago that simple conversation

Which will live on as long as there is someone to hear it.

 

Growing Up

She's reaching for the next grip, carefully placing her feet,

This growing up business, the stretch, and the collapse into 

A mess of tantrums, screaming at this universe that somehow 

Is too big, and not to her liking, this growing up business stretches

All of us from the joy of that new competence, to the severe challenges

Of not losing the adult temper that must always stay in check, the 

Stretch of always being the adult, always patient, always teaching.

I watch this dance and, at times, retreat into this quiet room 

Where I can hear the din of family life, but am not responsible.

Oh, I did my time, and they grew up to have their own,

And my heart is with them, even if, at times, my energy is not. 

 

Desperately trying to grow a tiny lawn

The pathetic lawn turned to mud as the children splashed joyfully, while

Scattered tufts of fescue gratefully sprinkled with water may have smiled

I would have liked to see.

The lawn, the lawn, the tiny lawn that I had tried to grow again

Not once, twice, thrice, four times, but five, finally succumbing to the

Roar of the gas powered aerator, the layer of lawn compost, the special seed, 

The special sprinkler that runs twice per day, shredding all aspirations to save water.

Hoping against hope for a lawn, a tiny lawn, big enough for a kiddy pool

For the one who just arrived in this world, for the two that visit in the summer.

A month in, if I stare at it at a low angle, it looks greener, but on close inspection

The straggly blades do not impress, punctuated by enthusiastic holes dug by local squirrels,

The lawn calls to me to work again, to fill the holes, to spread more seed and to pray

For rain.