Waiting for hot water,
naked in front of the bathroom mirror,
Josh and Sammie surprise me
in the quiet time. Josh says,
You didn't flush.
You're catching them, too,
wakers in ever and always,
in their ready wonder instantly accessible
amid dim lights of early rising.
Where's Grandpa and what's he doing?
At one's best, only glimpsed—
a kind of entertainment for adults,
and worse, for professional trainers.
The child's too much, always subversive.
Overnight at Grandpa's.
Carrying backpacks into the kitchen,
dressing on the cold floor
during the making of oatmeal.
Sammie goes back upstairs
and gets in bed with Grandma.
Josh rides with me to get my mother
where she sits alone in the cafeteria
held by the chair with rails,
bib catching fallen egg in her lap.
"Look who's with me, Mama,"
I say, sprinkling a bit of salt
on her food, taking her fork,
feeding her. Josh watches.
He crosses around the table,
gives Grandma Great a kiss.
The child understands all.
We each take one of mother's hands.
We walk her to the car
where each of us buckles up.
We're traveling this morning
surrounded by sunlight, walking by feel
into pathways of music,
each of us protected
by what we cannot see or know.
17-20 October 2010
Investments in eternity.
16 October 2010
LAS ULTIMAS PALABRAS
DEL ULTIMO RESCATATE
DE LOS MINEROS DE COPIAPO, CHILE
AL PRESIDENTE EN CAMPOMENTA ESPERANZA
La tarea está cumplida.
No sé, cual libros los mineros llevaron a la mina,
pero yo sé las ultimas palabras de La Oda A La Esperanza
por el gran poeta chileno Pablo Neruda, las olas diciendo
a los hombres luchando y esperando, todo será cumplido.
14 de octubre 2010