Sometimes I guilt myself right out
of joy. Like the surprise of an iridescent
butterfly from an unsightly cocoon,
who would expect this shimmering
show in morning sunlight?
Eyes are trained on Northwest firs
framed in blue, frosted feeders,
feathered presents hidden among
the trees.
I’ve held my breath, wondering.
Did my mother ever ponder stilling
herself, take a moment with the
birds in her California garden? Gaze
restful at morning fog carried
in on marine air? Was she ever at ease
in her troubled life, as she parented
us alone?
I will never know.
I cannot ring her up to ask, there
is no email to send, no letter to write.
She is gone, stolen far too soon.
I consider this feigned injustice.
How wildly unfair I should gather
such beauty as surely she never did,
then abandon my thoughts. No.
I will not leave reason to balance the
ledger, steal this away, too. Feathered
hum of heat, filigreed pane, frosty view.
I drink in sleeping green, hear her
whisper over my shoulder,
Breathe in the brilliant morning.
Surrender second guesses and leave
logic to the philosophers.
I startle to the present, welcome with
wonder this gilt gift, nothing to ponder
but my thanks.
–From my new book “Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems&Prayers”
