Daisy And Her Boy

Her boy comes home,
she greets him at the door.
Her tail wags as she follows him
down the hallway.
He's been to Boston, Pittsburgh ,
he's been to Washington D.C. and Dallas.
She can smell the cities scents on his luggage,
of far away places she had never been to.
She lies down sprawled
by his bed,
and moans with delight as he scratches
her ears with love.
In the kitchen mom is cooking with love,
sounds of meat seared,
potatoes added,
cumin and garlic,
his favorite Picadillo.
The dish a feast to the eyes,
Carmel colors, better than in the best
restaurants in Havana.
The boy talks about the sick people he helps,
medical missions,
and things that are foreign to her.
She listens to the conversations,
whispers,
desicions,
about places he will go to live.
On his quilt,
she inhales the scent of his pillow,
while she watches them come and go.
She doesn't hunt for a trail of crumbs,
or Milk Bone cookies.
Her yellow fur is turning white,
she wags her tail with gratitude.
She is no longer a puppy,
and he is a grown man.
At the moment her boy is back
and that's all that matters.



http://dversepoets.com/ Meet us here where we share our thoughts and our hearts.  I wrote this poem watching our yellow Lab, Daisy with my son. Her happiness when he comes home is a delight to watch.

Happy 26th Birthday, Josh

I want to dance on the moon,
I want to write across the stars,
" Happy Birthday Son."
I fell in-love when you were born,
as I held you.
Your eyes followed me,
your finger holding mine.
I sang you words of love
about being my miracle,
my everything.
As you grow older,
my love grows deeper
walking through the universe
holding hands,
our hearts intertwined.
I sheltered you from the storms,
gave you comfort through nightmares,
turned ordinary days into magic.
I fed you books,
I fed you love,
I gave you wings to fly.
My seeds of love,
my seeds of wisdom,
you treasured.
You grew into a man
that follows his moral compass,
a humanitarian,
a dreamer.
You gave me life,
you made me whole.
You are my bookend,
you are my world,
you are the love of my life.

Dear Josh,
You are an amazing man. When I had you I was 24, younger than you are today.  I knew that you were my everything and that I wanted to be the best mom possible. We have shared a life filled with happiness and sorrow, but we always had eachother. I am so proud of the man that you are. You touch others everywhere you go, because your kindness and compassion shines through. I love you forever.


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I Choose To Live Today

My leaves Emerald green,
my branches open like wings,
my roots deep and solid.
Take a seat and rest in my imagination,
bathe in a kaleidoscope of color
and winding roads.
Yesterday I was chained to the past,
imprisoned by memories of long ago.
Today I embrace blue skies,
delight in the day,
savor the moments.



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A Slow Death

The mask covers her face,
creasing her beauty,
unforgiving.
Oxygen hissing like a venomous snake,
or is it my brain in a bubble of doubt,
questioning life and death,
questioning everything.
Crackle sounds,
she is drowning
and I can't save her.
A life preserver nowhere in sight.
I feel it on my skin,
I feel it deep in my being.
There is no beauty to
how she hangs on to life
on a frayed string.
The sun enters but I hide in the shadow,
I don't want the sun to watch me cry.
She melts into the bed,
and I wonder if she is dreaming of her
life and love.
I want her to stand on the shore
and wave goodbye.
I don't want her to struggle
as she drowns.
I come undone,
with every sound,
with every moment.
I come undone
as I watch her die.

The picture prompt at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/ made me think of a different drowning. My mom passed away in August 2009 and I watched her drown due to congestive heart failure and complications that went with it. Sitting with her in hospice those days and watching her suffer was heartbreaking. I felt so helpless. I still shudder when I think of it and my heart will always ache for my mom.

A Humble Hero

The kitchen is flooded with light.
Sun dancing on the walls.
I hear familiar footsteps,
and his sweet voice,
" mama when I grow up can you give me
the recipe for chicken cutlets."
My son's face eager,
his eyes shinning.
My mind drifts,
my voice trails,
" it's not just a recipe, it's about love."
I answer.
Memories of my grandfather,
a tower of strength,
an inspiration.
In the ghetto he cooked for the enemy,
he smuggled food,
he saved lives.
Sharing what little he had with others,
so they can survive the disease and hunger.
My grandfather was caught,
beaten,
thrown out of a second floor balcony.
He was left to die but he didn't .
He never spoke of his pain,
he carried it within.
He survived the war,
a hero humble and true.
Years later in his sunny kitchen restaurant,
he stood,
varicose veins mapped his legs.
Large hands pounding chicken cutlets,
his strength towering,
not missing a beat.
Cooking with love was his life.
At times on sunny days he seemed grey
and I wondered if the sounds and smells
seeped back in.
I wondered if the echoes remained.
In this moment I look at my son
and I smile,
" it's not the recipe, it's about the love."
Little boy with veins rich with legacies,
filled with pain and courage,
rich with survival of the human spirit.
Generations linked,
legacies left,
love passed through time.




This is dedicated to my grandfather Nathan. He was a hero and a force of nature. He was honest and kind and he fought for what he believed in. He had courage and pride. This is also about my son, asking me about the recipe. His legacies are rich with history. On one side he has a great grandfather that saved a train of children during the Armenian genocide. On My side he has a great grandfather that saved family and friends during the Holocaust. http://dversepoets.com/ Meet us here where we share our thoughts and hearts.

The Pain Never Leaves

 

If I uncover my pain,

will you soothe my soul?

If I show you my scars,

will you touch them?

Will you join me

down the brick wall corridor,

colored with despair.

The smell of stale air

and urine.

A grey haired woman

holding a doll while she weeps,

"it's mine" clutching for dear life,

repeatedly voicing her fear,

"it's mine".

Her eyes glazed seeking redemption,

seeking what she has lost.

The elevator has a code

to enter and to leave.

The corridor like a highway of lost souls

and broken dreams.

A woman wearing ripped clothes ,

licking her fingers,

ice cream covered her face like a blanket.

My brain numb,

my heart pounding,

I didn't want to leave mom there.

I planned an escape,

if I could only lift her

on my shoulders,

to take her home

where she belonged.

They claimed that she will walk again,

in this rehab hell hole.

I wanted her to walk,

I wanted her to fly.

She blended in, 

I was scared for her,

I was scared for me. 

I could no longer breathe,

the cries I heard were mine,

as I was breaking inside

into a million pieces.

I didn't want to leave her,

I wanted her to fly,

away from there.

I walked away 

a shadow of myself,

with shattered pieces of my soul.

http://dversepoets.com/Meet us here where we share our thoughts and our hearts. 

I should have added a note with this. I wrote this about a time my mom  was in a horrible rehab  place and I was feeling despair at the situation. My mom passed away in August 2009, but the pain remains. I question decisions that we made and I always wonder if we could have done more. The other day as I reflected on the new year and life, this poem spilled out. The pain is still there. I wrote about her passing many times, so I took it for granted that most of you know. Sorry about that.

A New Year

The tree stood still,
the lights twinkling ,
waiting for a new chapter to unfold.
We feasted on the lobster plates,
I bought long ago for a night like this,
filled with gratitude for our children,
for our life.
Savoring the moment,
we sang songs off the iPod shuffle,
while drinking champagne.
The television on mute to rock & roll eve
in New York city.
Commercials bombarded on weight loss
and exercise equipment.
Our dog waged her tail as we danced ,
we laughed forgetting words to songs,
we knew long ago.

Stars in our eyes,
sweet alcohol on our breath,
knowing that
tomorrow lies here between us,
as your arms lace into mine.