Statistics*

A shadowy figure
waits silently for its cue,
unseen, yet expected
invisible yet perceptible,
discernible yet unacknowledged
by the caregivers
in the room.

Once the inevitable visitation is over,
they breathe a sigh of relief,
not realizing that the specter
does not abandon the room altogether.

No.

Their being there, their caring and caretaking
has shortened the time
the specter must wait
to come
for them.

*This poem is my response to reading that "the stress of being a caregiver will shorten the lifespan by 10 years."

Ode to Early October

It is early October.
The days are shorter
but the temperature still hovers
around 85.

The leaves on the trees
are a sad and pathetic green
although some that are khaki or sepia
have fallen, exhausted, to the ground.

Will we see color this year?
Will we feel the crispness of Autumn,
greeting us every morning--
and nature's fiery earnestnes
propelling us, strengthened,
towards winter?

Restless Hearts

We are like vultures,
fallen,
searching for that which,
though dead,
would feed us.

We fill our stomachs
full of empty sweetness
that seems to satisfy.

That which we hunger for,
that which would feed us
is You and You alone.

You gave us yourself.
Your death, given for us,
is made alive again
to nourish and strengthen us
to give us life
for the journey--
to remain with us
until the end
of time.

The angel holds the flaming sword
and cringing, I am forced to see
myself in its gleaming blade

Double edged,
it reveals the past and present
in inescapable oneness,
laying bare the stinging truth
before my weary soul

Life

as fleeting as a butterfly
as time turns
the masterfully crafted wings
to powder

as tenacious as a spider web
clinging to the bush
or the wall
with a strength
we did not know
it possessed

Falling Plum

The tiny jade plum
forms on the spring branch,
hungering for the sun's warmth.

Growing, the skin
accommodates the change,
turning delicious
shades of magenta--
amethyst jewels in the early morning sunlight.

Finally, the ripe plum falls,
joining the others
on the ground,
the seed within
fed by the rotting fruit.

Flashback

Memories of stupidity
come up
like yesterday's dinner
sudden
and unwelcome.

Where is the
medicine
for my brain?

Where is the
Pepto Bismol
for my soul?