SOMETIMES

This poem is lovingly dedicated to my dog-niece, Zoey, who was everything wonderful about snow ... and life. She loved everyone lavishly and had a soulful exuberance to life that is missed by all of us. There was and there will always be one Zoey Girl. Her passing took our breath away, just like snow sometimes does as it falls.


Sometimes

When
     I write poetry
 I forget it is one digit writing
          From my good hand.

     I don't hear radios or tvs
            Or the groaning in the house.

I sometimes remember snow
                  As it drifts outside
           My window.
    Little white flurries flicker
 Across the periphery
                Of my eye
                      While Chance sniffs
                                       My hoodie.

                       Washing machine chugs along.

     And yet there is a stillness,
 A certain silence in the house,
             Zoey, in reflection, at the top of the stairs,
       One eye ready to open if a sound comes near.
                      Others off to work and school
                                 Tire prints fresh in snow.

I sometimes remember snow
         And lying face down in it.

                 S u d d e n l y
                       Then my world changed
                 Red bleeding into white
                             A dramatic interlude.

Sometimes I remember that.

             Mainly, I feel the snow
        Outside the window
                      The snow that recently left,
                                                             Melted.

 Or fresh puffs, white powder promise
          For thirsty lakes, parched from dry spells.

Sometimes I remember snow, snow balls and snow people,
     Scooping up fresh snowy heaps
                                  Glistening in sun
          Snow flurry pilings
                            That our dog did not find.

    Placed gently in a bowl, adding Hersey's
                 Chocolate, eating snow blizzards,
             Laughing with others
   Teeth chattering, cold and wet under
                           Coats and gloves.

I remember snow...

              First ski attempts, floundering,
       Collapsing in a snowy white mass,
                       Giggling, soaked and soggy
                  Falling again and again
                                   Slipping and sliding
             Sometimes on the
                            Hand held ski tow
                                            That pulls you way up
                               As you Lean Way Back
                                            It's nothing like riding a horse!

     Reaching the summit
         In my case sometimes,
                     Less than my friends,
               Pros at laughter
                         And scant snowy tumbles.

           Red fire logs burning,
                        In Ski Lodge Paradise.
                                   Hot chocolate never
                                                    Tasted so good.

                            Yet never missing it when I left.

            Though Snow makes for pretty pictures,
      Snow Angels,
               Laughter with nieces,
      Funny snow people with carrot noses,
         Joy with
               Puppies and dogs
                       As they run astonished,
      In Snowy cold satisfaction,
Up hilly mounds and down,
            Legs nearly buried as they plow through.
 
   Zoey standing outside in cooling snow
                         Flurries, licking snow patches
                                        Now and again
                                                With her tongue.

                           Standing vigil as her mother drives away.

    Snow takes your breath
                    Away
                          Like now
                               When She falls,
                  Flitters, swirls,
                               And flirts
                   Carpeting Mother Earth.

     Sun, Occasional Blue Sky,
             And Puff Cotton Clouds Sigh
                        In Reverent Mountain Chants.

           Snow twitters, mummers and purrs
                                          Still falling gently.

     Sunshine bursts through happy
                                With one hand clapping.

      Pine needles glisten,
               Mirroring Sunlight.
                            Bright Happiness giggles.

    Mountain stands steady,
                        Enjoying Creation
                As the Sun Kissed Snowy
                               Carpet dozes all around.

HOW DO YOU SAY GOOD-BYE IN THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE?

                 You matter to the last moment of your life, and we will do all we can,
                 not only to help  you die peacefully, but to help you live until you die.
                                                                                         Dame Cicely Saunders

HOW DO YOU SAY GOOD-BYE IN THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE?

Everybody adored my grandfather. Full of love, still waters running deep; he made me laugh. That is, until the last stage of his life.

His doctor gave him three months to live. He told him he needed a year. Shortly after Christmas in January, just after that year, he entered the hospital.

Our family had been summoned. We approached the hospital elevator. “No one under 12 is allowed in the critical care unit,” the sign read. My parents told my youngest sister that she could not visit. My father would stay with her. Later, I would relieve him.

I saw the crushed look on her face. It haunted me all the way up the elevator and down the long, dark corridors. I watched my other sister tremble as we neared his room.

Our grandfather met our gaze. His sunny smile greeted us. Protruding tubes were out of place on a body that had always been a call to comfort others with hugs. Delighted to see him, we smiled and rushed to hug him anyway...taking care, as much as teenagers can. Dying did not seem present. Love was. Once engaged, we stepped back and met his eyes. Where’s Sam? I flinched as our mother told him that she would not be coming. Wendy looked down at her shoes.

Our mother left to get water for him. Though not groomed to be friends, my sister and I shot each other a glance. A plan was made.

“Did you see the stairs outside his room?” My sister said, “Yes.” “I am going to run down and get Samantha. We’ll run upstairs and be back before there’s trouble.” My sister lit up. My grandfather gave us each a conspiratorial look.

Downstairs, I said I would stay with Samantha. Not exactly a lie. I waited until the elevator closed and asked, “Do you want to see Grandpa?” An emphatic nod ushered a beaming smile across Samantha’s face. “Then grab my hand.” We sprinted up the stairs that opened only two doors away from my grandfather’s room. Inside, my grandfather’s body heaved a sigh of relief. Samantha was doe-eyed with wonder. She was so happy to see him and he laughed upon seeing her.

Moments later my father entered. No scene, no drama. My grandfather had a calming effect on my parents. Today was no exception. The love between a grandfather and his granddaughters was so overflowing that the promise of an enduring connection, transcending all, would remain.

Two days later, we learned that our grandfather had just died.

It brought such joy, that ending revolution; living close to the edge of intimacy as it unfurled, sharing our last goodbyes.

WATCHING SNOW MELT

Watching Snow Melt

   I lie here in bed

           Cast heavy on

   Arm and wrist

           Resting on the pillow

                     That covers my heart

I lie here in bed over

          These long slow days

                Watching snow melt

Snow melts in whimpers

  On foggy chill days

           Like yesterday

Today the sun has peeked

In and out
 Caressing the pines

                   Snow slightly murmurs

                            Warm wafting through

Mountain changes daily

Much like my hurt tired limbs

Snow daily is less full of

     Puffed arched pilings

Now she is

                     Scantly cladding gray rocks

     Brown needle risings

     With dusty

                  salt sprinkles confused

Looking back at me

Pines Trees

      Still thirsty from their

          Parched hopeful days

       There were no snow dripping pines

         Or rivelets trickling down the mounds

Mysterious this

                Watching snow melt

As it goes away from

             Itself cold and glistening

Into white cloud trailings

                Lingering tentatively on
                     The ground