100 Days of Poetry: Days 21-25

Valentines Day 2019

New beginning toward an uncertain end
Pain likely
Work definite
Joy possible

What started on hazy summer days
Trailed through minefields of missed signals
Emotional baggage
Addiction
Judgment
Trust betrayed
Persistent memories better discarded
Stubborn pride
Disdain
Depression
Fear

We cannot return to the Eden of summer days
Rather, garden behind us, winding trail before us,
We begin a pilgrimage
Strangers with shared memories
Hesitant
Afraid
Battle scarred and yet newborn
Daring to hope

Perfect Afternoon Nap

Surrender to sleep
Mind quiet, for once, rare gift
Blissful solitude

Farewell, In Stages

Early signs:
45 minutes to address a letter
Midnight confusion in a hotel hallway
Standing in a nightgown, knocking on her own door
Stumbling on the path
Fingers long accustomed to sonatas
Now hover over the keys, unsure
Stories repeated
Friendly faces now unfamiliar
No more solitary walks
Then no more cooking
Phone calls grow shorter and shorter
Do you want to talk with your daughter?
No, I'm tired
Sleep
And more sleep
Heart attack forgotten
Why am I in the hospital, anyway?
Once fiercely independent
Now childlike
Where is Norman? endlessly
Her north star
Feet that once hiked mile upon mile now shuffle
Or fail entirely
Falling again
And again

I learn to announce myself
Learn not to ask questions
Questions like, Is it snowing?
Or, What did you have ‪for dinner tonight‬?
Hundreds of miles separate us
Each visit closes another door
Perhaps this next visit will be the one
The visit that finds me a stranger
Daughter no more

Favorite Dreams

Flying, of course
Because, really, is there any better feeling?
Powerful arms, beating back the air
Soaring over forests or cities
Or turning flips up by the ceiling
Zipping from room to room without touching the floor
Something about the view from above
Leaving the dust and detail behind and soaring
Freedom
Control
Distance

Or those lovely dreams of a secret door
Opening to a new wing of the house
Fully furnished
A little messy, lived in
But mine
My space to explore
My treasures to uncover in random cabinets and unexpected rooms
Delightful discovery
Potential
Home

Tuning

The oboe plays an A, and the orchestra follows suit,
Strings, horns, brass, wind
A glorious cacophony that stirs a dusty pile of memories
Orchestra room at the end of rehearsal
Each musician playing a different melody
All combining somehow into a messy mass of music

Dimming lights in a concert hall
The concert master points to each section in turn
More a call for audience focus than a useful tuning session
And yet
Mozart, Brahms, Dvorak, the lot of them
Would mean nothing to me without that first A from the oboe
Hanging in the air
Beckoning