A Poem for Us

If we were neighbors,
I would walk over this morning
and ask you to read this aloud to me.

I would likely bring my steaming cup,
milky and sweet,
to keep my hands warm against the frost
and to keep my focus
on the words of the poet,
my teacher, open.

What gratitude I have for you, Dear Friend.
You love the mysterious way our dreams are woven,
something out of almost nothing,
ideas bumping into everything.

Between us and the imagined twilight,
suddenly the world is all poem.

Thanksgiving Eve

On the night before Thanksgiving
my heart flies open
so grateful for the moonlit ways
love is all around me,
in me.

On the night before Thanksgiving
I turn up Purple Rain
and dance in my kitchen
while I blend pumpkin
with ginger, fresh eggs,
and milk from a can.

How did I learn to make crust
flakes with unsalted butter and unbleached white flour
when I wipe my hands on my apron
like all my aunts and my mother
who only used the luxury of Crisco?

The turkey is in the brine
for the meat eaters. The beans
and Brussels sprouts will be roasted with extra virgin
before the potatoes are mashed and whipped
and we always admire the view of the table
lit with candles.

On this night before Thanksgiving
my sons have scattered with all the ways time
disappears. My daughter will arrive under the cover of dark
with her sweet lover. I am lost in the undertow of grief
and can't catch my breath. Perhaps the bread will save me.

And, as if it isn't enough,
this may be the last eve for my father
as he catches all the breath
that has been given to him. Thanks be.
Thanks be given.

What a feast we will have.
What a feast.
What?

Hold my hand tonight.
It is the only prayer I can remember.

Expand Love

Gracious mother of all hearts
I have come to this chamber
seeing aromatic peace,
incense that wraps her love
in quietude. Words will not change
the vicious scraping of the strings
with a dry bow.

The orchestra is without a chaplain again
and I am carving the insides of my memory
like I am some sort of chaplain
sitting with the bruises and the bites
of truth and wonder if you will wash me away
with a new song.

My Holy Mother
who witnesses the learning
that comes from death.

We are forgiven.
We expand love
with every moment.