Memories

I remember I would lie

Looking into the sky

The aquamarine blue

Stretched way up high

Hung with invisible means

puffy white clouds

Would show up in streams

Of shapes like Animals

or people I have seen

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I look and then I stay,

The angels keep the garden

And with me we pray 🙏

Angels among my garden

A path I will keep for you

So when you come and visit

You will always get through .

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The love of an uncle

Just to be there

In the middle

Of confusion he listens

And cares .

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Right outside my window is a sliver of a moon .

There is no fanfare , just hangs in quiet.

Looking like God’s thumbnail ,

As an iridescent light.

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It is your birthday

We cut the cake

We shared a memory

For old time sake

I am not sure if cake is there

Or parties or birthdays

But today Steph and I share

A piece of cake on this day

Your birthday 🎂

The Robin Still Sings

I woke this morning

the weight of my sister’s grief

felt like tons of sandbags.

The knowing of war felt like

an old man’s story.

I rise to find hope and wonder

as I hear a sound outside,

opening the door I know

as I hear;

the robin still sings…

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I know you are there

There where there is no pain

There in a world of angels

There where we do not know

Where there is until

We get to know …

Take care dear brother in law.

Take care…

CMM 2022

We were young

music was in our feet.

My older sister and I

left with the chores

of the evening after dinner

to clean the kitchen.

We would wash the dishes

and as we did, we danced.

rock and roll

and beach music,

the shag was the rage,

on linoleum floors.

Our grandparent’s home

with white wash cupboards.

a small kitchen table.

A swinging door to the dining room.

A door we kept closed

so we could dance to the radio.

a radio sitting on the yellow table

loud enough to get by …

not loud enough to get caught.

Elvis, Beach Boys and Buddy Holly

transformed into our bandstand

as we found ourselves dancing

in grandma’s kitchen …

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Black eye peas my ancestors would say.

Eat them for luck on New Years Day.

A spoonful, a bowl they did not care.

Leaving the table , you did not dare .

Black eye peas will sit there forever

As it waits, this new year’s endeavor .

CMM © 2022

The Eve

The eve of New Year has arrived

The fog rolls in covering the lamppost

The dismal air filled with a chill of a pending storm.

Maybe this is it, maybe the fog will usher the new year.

Maybe the white snow trailing behind it will bed the past.

The squirrels will scamper into the nested trees

The only sound when we venture out will be our footsteps,

The screams of the last murder of crows left behind with hope.

The hope to find the last field just turned from farmer’s plow.

Crunching the frozen ground laid by winter’s arrival,

We are brought into the silence of ourselves

Maybe then, we will think to pray.

CMM.  2021