Grief – when it comes to sit next to me
Sits lightly
Holds my hand as I quietly breathe
Thanksgiving for having had – for a time
That which I now grieve.

Queen Elizabeth died
Long live the King
Through ten days
Through pagentry mourning
Grief sits quietly by my side

Good grief!
A dog named grief
Performs obediently
Her latest learned trick
Good grief!

Ah, grief, you are a good kind friend
As your presence presses against me
I see more clearly, listen more closely
Speak more quietly
You are a welcome friend

Until, until, until
You move over to sit on me
Not satisfied with my lap
You move to my chest
You tie down my limbs
Your ungentle paws cover my eyes
Your droning howl fills my hearing

Jealous companion
You would have me ignore
Everything that is not grief
You would bury me
Beneath stones of silence
You would castrate my memory
Removing its life-giving force
You would bind my energy
Trap me in dark silence
Brooding

Bad grief
Bad dog
Down, grief, down
Sit beside me
Lie at my feet
Accept my attention
My caresses
But set me free
Of your iron maiden

What need has the world
For a 74 year old worker
Who has few skills
Beyond the kitchen and computer

Unlike Woody
My 76 year old husband
I have no horticultural skills
Long years with plants
Have failed to turn my thumbs green

Unlike Lorraine
My 98 year old mother 
I have no needlework dexterity
Long years of crochet and knit
Have failed to turn my hands nimble

On my wall hang certificates
 Testimonies to my career

Scattered across the continent
Live my children and grandchildren
Testimonies to my mothering

But those are all past now

I remain caretaker
Bread baker
Divinity seeker
Poem writer

I have been given the grace
Of three quarters of a century
To learn my unmerited worth
To learn to love myself
Divinely
Generously
Deeply
Without measurement

Apparently it has not yet been quite enough.

For long years I believed in God
Old, white, male, Christian god

Once I believed in the supernatural 
Angels, devils, heaven, hell, the eternal supernatural

Back then I believed in God’s forgiving grace
Thorns, whips, nails, cross earning our grace

Now, I know no god, but sometimes see a Goddess
Maiden, mother, crone, Gaia goddess

Now, I know only the here and now natural
(Supernatural being but the unusual natural)
Earth, sky, love, hate, the world natural

Now, I believe in creation as divine grace
Love being but another word for grace

‘What is truth?’ said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer.

Francis Bacon

CNN: 
American recession fears collide with reality

NPR:
A year on, the Taliban savor victory

New York Times:
Six Weeks of “Hell”: Inside Russia’s Brutal Ukraine Detentions

Wall Street Journal:
Record Oil Profit Boosts Saudi Coffers

Fox News:
Trump says he ‘will do whatever’ he can to ‘help the country’ after FBI raid

USA Today:
Chaotic Afghanistan withdrawal continues to haunt Biden presidency

AP News:
Iran denies involvement but justifies Salmon Rushdie attack

Twitter feed @POTUS:
Since the start of my presidency, 
my economic plan has helped create 9.5 million jobs, 
reach a 50-year record low unemployment rate, 
and achieve zero percent inflation in July.

—————

My dear Socrates,
The unexamined life may not be worth living,
(although I prefer making bread)
but the wider world may not be worth examining.
At least not too closely.

Having gained no wisdom of my own
I am left with little but what passes for wisdom
from another revered dead white man:

“Since sorrow never comes too late, 
         And happiness too swiftly flies. 
…ignorance is bliss, 
       'Tis folly to be wise.”

Or, at least,
Since clarity never rules such lists
And the world oft leaves me alarmed
Then, indeed, ignorance is bliss
And ‘tis folly to be informed.

Baba, can you swim with me for twenty-six nine twelve minutes?
I can swim with you for twenty-six nine thousand twelve minutes.
Baba, is that longer than yesterday?
Yes it is.
Baba, is that longer than tomorrow?
I don’t know.

Baba, how old is Mawsy?
Mawsy is almost 100 years old.
Baba, is that very old?
Yes, for a human that is very old.
Baba, is that even older than you?
Yes, that is even older than me.
Baba, is that older than Boppy?
Yes, that is older than Boppy.

Baba, will Mawsy die?
Yes, Mawsy will die.
Baba, will Mawsy die soon?
I don’t know.
Baba, will you die soon?
I don’t think so.
Baba, will Boppy die soon?
I hope not.
Baba, will Mama die soon?
No, your Mama will not die soon.

Baba, where is heaven?
Heaven is inside a mystery.
Baba, what is that?
I don’t know, no one knows.
Baba, but where is heaven?
No one knows for sure.

Baba, when Mawsy dies will she go to heaven?
Yes, Mawsy will go to heaven, we will all go to heaven.
Baba, will we see Mawsy go to heaven?
No, because Mawsy’s body will go back to the earth.
Baba, why, Baba?
To make new life for the earth.
Baba, when I die, will I go back to the earth?
Yes, we will all go back to the earth to make new life.
Baba, will the earth grow a new me?
No, that is not the way it works, but the earth will grow new plants and trees.
Baba, but then what goes to heaven, Baba?
Our love goes to heaven, and our thoughts

Baba, will I be happy in heaven?
Yes, we will all be happy in heaven.
Baba, will there be food in heaven?
No, we will not need food in heaven.
Baba, then I will not be happy; I will be yelling for a hamburger.
I bet you will and you know I will want cheetos.

Oh, look, Milo, we are home.
Let’s go swimming.

“Now everything is easy ‘cause of you and our house”

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Now comes the wet warm soapy cleaning
Everything that was dirty – dishes, pots, pans, cutlery
Is soon clean – not ad sparkling clean but
Easy to call clean, easy to feel pleasure
‘Cause what once was unusable dirty is now, as happens so
Often, clean and usable, a source and promise of pleasure like
You yourself, your presence, your love
And your willingness to make your home
Our very own together
House.

Have we, I wonder
Made of God
A divinity
Entirely too cozy?

Do we, I worry
Wrap ourselves
In an Almighty
Snug blanket?

Balances, balances
Are such tricky tightropes
A little too far
This way or that
And we plunge headlong
Into some abyss or other

Do I write for myself
Or others?

Do I focus too much on form
Or content?

Do I live the life examined
Or merely self-conscious?

And is my God too comfortable
To be holy and wholly powerful?

I wish I could write the rain
Sprinkle lines with fat drops
As thunder rumbles in my heart
And skies darken my eyes

I wish I could release the torrent
Cascading down the rain chain
Tap dancing a Fred and Ginger routine
Faster and faster 
On the corrugated tin porch roof
Page of careful lines

I wish I could sit inside my rain poem
Snug and dry, safe and sound in my rocker
On my tin-roofed porch page
Grass and leaves bow in worship
Trembling
Once dull rocks sparkle and shine in their Sunday best
My herbs offer up their sweet aroma
To appease the rain
Soaking through my fragile page

I wish I could write the rain
Withdrawing
Hurrying to its next appointed page
As my page drips its sweetness