With love to my Dad/"Grandpa Don" on his 84th Birthday! xoxo Elizabeth & Micah

This Moment

A neighbourhood.
At dusk.

Things are getting ready
to happen
out of sight.

Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.

But not yet.

One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.

A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.

Stars rise.
Moths flutter.
Apples sweeten in the dark. 

Eavan Boland

Happy St. Valentine's Day to All!

"This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)"

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
So I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born
If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

Talking Heads

from Stop Making Sense 

***

This Paper Boat

Carefully placed upon the future,
it tips from the breeze and skims away,
frail thing of words, this valentine,
so far to sail. And if you find it
caught in the reeds, its message blurred,
the thought that you are holding it
a moment is enough for me.

Ted Kooser

My dad wrote this poem for me, on the day I was born, 50 years ago today! Love to both my amazing parents ~ thank you for so much. And then some. And to all my friends, throughout all the years! Smooches, Elizabeth

Are you blue eyed?

Are you red haired?

Are you whole and alive?

Are you the nurse’s or mine?

And what’s that chalk on arms?

No crying?

So complete and ready-made?

Yet through suffering arrived,

This early morn.

That chin—it’s hers

My wife’s and her whole family’s.

Their chin and face.

Am I in on this?

Sire an offspring to my wife?

It’s hers, not mine.

And it’s a girl.

I said it might be.

But all that activity,

Yet I said it might be,

I suppose not believing it.

Now, a girl, and hers, not mine,

Yet alive, and whole,

Maybe even beautiful

Certainly not that ugly thing

I was told to expect

But ours, yet ours—a girl,

And ours.

Don Salper

2/7/1964

End of the year - beginning of the year...this odd and beautiful circular life!

Fragments for the End of the Year            

On average, odd years have been the best for me.

I’m at a point where everyone I meet looks like a version

of someone I already know.

Without fail, fall makes me nostalgic for things I’ve never experienced.

The sky is molting. I don’t know

if this is global warming or if the atmosphere is reconfiguring

itself to accommodate all the new bright suffering.

I am struck by an overwhelming need to go to Iceland.

Despite all awful variables, we are still full of ideas

as possible as unsexed fruit.

I was terribly sorry to be the one to explain to the first graders

the connection between the sunset and pollution.

On Venus you and I are not even a year old.

Then there were two skies.

The one we fly through and the one

we bury ourselves in.

I appreciate my wide beveled spatula which fulfills

the moment I realized I would grow up and own such things.

I am glad I do not yet want sexy bathroom accessories.

Such things.

In the story we were together every time.

On his wedding day, the stone in his chest

not fully melted but enough.

Sometimes I feel like there are birds flying out of me.

Jennifer K. Sweeney