Saturday, April 22, 2017


For this spectacular poem
you thanked me,
(kindly, as more would be written)

then let me know
you would be going home
once more.

Your body’s failing strength
had left you
only the mind’s clarity
to come back to,

which you did,
offering its spaciousness
to others.
At the transfer station,
everyone loves you

and clings to you,
but you no longer cling to anything

while everything about you
points beyond

to the Mother's solstice
and her pairing of two cardinals.

In my turn, I see
first, the female:

swooping in at my window
under the porch roof,
hovering mid-flight.

Then the exchange:
its mate, melodious,

his red headthe color of ribbon
poking out

from inside the center
of the Christmas wreath,
not to be removed, not yet.

Spring snows fell,
and over the mountain
at Mad River Glen

I drove past skiers
and cars with out-of-state plates,

as if shaving my face
for the first time in a month.

for Kathy Eldergill


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