This Evening

Out back on 

The patio this evening 

A pint of fragrant stout 

 and a book of poetry by my elbow 

Crickets rasp sweetly somewhere 

Heat of the day gone soft 

The hammock beckons 

Over the trees a fingernail sliver 

Of new moon hangs 

In the far distance 

A freight train blows 

That lonesome horn 

Cardinal sings a measure 

 Of honeyed notes 

Monarch butterfly

Regal in orange and black 

 Wanders in the flowers here there 

And pauses at the milkweed. 

High in the black walnut 

A squirrel scolds. 

Cottonwood leaves in the middle distance 

Rustle in a petulant breeze. 

Then The air is still 

As if the soil was breathing 

And we all stopped to listen

A family dinner 

 Mom simmers sauce on the stove

 For the spaghetti. 

Hamburger, cans of tomato 

A bay leaf, a spoonful of oregano 

A sprinkle of garlic salt.

 One hand stirring, 

Using the pressure cooker: It’s our largest pot. 

And then opens cans of green beans to go with.

 This is dinner. 

 The table is set for eight around the Formica. 

Flatware, pink melamine plates, plastic drink cups 

A pitcher of milk from nonfat instant dry

 May I have more spaghetti please? 

Dessert is fruit cocktail 

Spooned into small glass dishes 

And each of us wishes for the single cherry 

 That graces each can. 

Please pass the milk. 

 Dad will have instant decaf after 

With saccharine In a stained pink coffee cup. 

And Mom, from where she sits, 

Will preside over the table, 

Guide the conversation, 

And watch the sunset 

 All at the same time.

A Prayer

There are so many needs in this room

This place of waiting

Winter, and we’re all in gray

Or navy

Or black

Colors of mourning

One is here for x-rays

Another for a blood draw

Here is a walker that glides on wheels and tennis balls

Steered steadily by gnarled hands

And there a cane

One lady clutches her husband’s arm

As he steers her through the doorway

They pass me as they exit

Murmuring to each other

I’ve brought my bride of fifteen years here

To start cancer screening

I swallow hard as her name is called

And whisper

Lord, have mercy

But you know better than I ever will

Still

Lord, have mercy

Amen

 

For Caleb

 He hands me a book

Will you read this to me, Papa?

I settle on the couch

And he curls up beside me

Blond hair resting against my arm

Blue eyes looking up

In anticipation

So, I read quietly to my grandson

A simple child’s story

But for this soon-to-be five-year-old

This is the world

A book

The couch

Papa

Reading

Would that moments like this

Stretched out and out

For the joy of simple things