I forgot

I forgot to come to tea.
I forgot to return your call.
I forgot to search for the chourico
You want to order.

But I remembered to bring you
Blue lake green beans
And carry out your recycling.
I don’t forget everything.

Yet.

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The Family

That time of year advances. The time with the family part of the year. Is it a welcome time for you or a time you dread? Is it all love and joy, do unresolved hurts explode over the dinner table, or are feelings so raw some people just don’t show up? Maybe there is no family in your life, or a family with missing pieces. Whatever your situation, I wish you luck with the coming weeks.

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Market

I stopped for a breath and to arm myself by shielding my mind from the thoughts of everyone in the crowded Farmer’s Market. Then I quick-stepped toward the vegetable stalls. If I lingered, I would deplete my mental energy quickly.

I stopped at a display of asparagus. A malevolent wave of anger, too strong to block, shuddered through me. I turned to see a man with a bushel of apples. I knew he’d hidden a gun in the apples. I . . .

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Polka Dots

Ketchup spotted the wall like bloody polka dots. French fries looked ground into the carpet. A puddle of milk shake melted on the table. I returned from a two-minute trip to the bathroom to find this scene. The boys, primly in their chairs at the table, looked utterly innocent. I glared at them, but neither cracked. They remained angelic and disconnected from what they had wrought.

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Willing compliance

I attended a talk with Margaret Atwood and Graeme Gibson. Miss Atwood read from The Year of the Flood and Mr. Gibson read from The Bedside Book of Beasts. Individually, each of them is brilliant and charming and witty. Together they are unstoppably right.

We heard some of the hymns from The Year of the Flood and saw many images of beasts in the act of eating or being eaten. We learned about the books, and enjoyed a Q&A period that was both serious and hilarious.

On the way home we talked most about Gibson’s reading about willing compliance—an animal understanding of when it is time to be the one whose role is now prey, and a willingness to offer yourself up to that greater good. We talked about how the human political animal doesn’t have that willing compliance to act for the greater good. Much later, when I woke in the pre-dawn of the new day, I thought about what Pogo used to say: “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

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Great minds . . .

The arts fest was already crammed with people. In too narrow aisles, people ambled slowly past the booths, stopped at unpredictable moments. Suddenly the place was filled with classrooms of kids—3rd or 4th graders, from the look of them.

I squeezed my way between a platoon of children, thinking this place is full of kids. A girl passing in the opposite direction said to her classmate, “This place is full of old people.”

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I wish

Mia leaned against the wall, the unpainted cinder blocks scratchy against her back. She brushed sweat from her eyes with dirty fingertips. Lily perched on the edge of her cot, keeping what little air there was circulating on her skin.

“I wish we had a hot dog,” Lily said, “and an ice cream soda.”

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Morning routine

The cat purrs in my face.
I brush her from the bed.
The cat comes back.
I elbow her away.
The cat comes back.
Go ‘way, I say.
The cat comes back.
I turn over, hide.
The cat comes back.
I give up, climb out of bed.
The cat: victorious.

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Hate, Actually

You have to be taught to love and hate.
Love thy neighbor.
Love one another.
Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.
The love you get is equal to the love you give.
With liberty and justice for all.

Anything else is hate, actually.

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Low sun

The colors of fall are beautiful without enhancement. Even so, the sun plays tricks by moving low in the Southern sky to light up the fall colors from the side. The low sun illuminates the individual leaves of the trees from a new angle. The shadowy intensity of summer’s overhead glare is gone. Wheeling around the sun at a tilt offers unexpected benefits.

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