November 7th, 2005

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Morning - poetry - space -

Until I Couldn’t, for Awhile

I never realized how much I loved
the folding of sheets,
until I couldn't, for awhile,
even though I don’t really fold
that unruly fitted bottom sheet,
just bunch it into a semblance
of a rectangle or square, fluffy
like a park unleashed,
with hidden pockets placed
in the corners
like trees -
It is a jungle gym in the closet
for the top sheet to climb, and air,
as pillowcases float above,
flat, formed clouds
until, one fragrant day,
released and plumped,
fresh crowns
for heads,
dreams crease and uncrease,
I dare -


today I feel the need for space

my head too open for words

and cat mandu feels the need

to cuddle in as close to me

as he possibly can

his warm furry body presses against gut

and heart

as I open my hand

to be heard
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Checking in -

The hot chocolate recipe has been adjusted.  I misunderstood some of the directions, so, if you are interested,  check back to the end of October for the update.

And so, now to Jan, the author of the hot chocolate recipe.

She has offered to cut off her hair, and have it made into a wig for me.

I am too touched to even comment on such a gesture as that.

Elaine has her surgery tomorrow.  Please pray for her throughout the day and night.  

I see the oncologist tomorrow, and it feels odd to know that what she says so affects my next seven months.

Tomorrow is a big day, and a day to vote too.

Take care!

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Poem for Chris!

                To Chris  - As Easy As That


          Last night when you rescued the opossum,

                   injured by a car,

                   I felt my vestigial pouch open.


                             The opossum saw a light,

                                      not knowing -

                                                Is this life, or death?


                   I remember when you were five,

                   you scooped a Monarch butterfly from the ground.

                             The naturalist Mrs. Terwilliger declared it dead,

                                      but you warmed it in your hands,

                                      until it flew above our heads.


                   When you were three, I fell into a patch of Poison Oak.

                                      You reached within.

                                                          You pulled me out.