March 13, 3022

Kitty

It's one of those early March days
when the high temp hits at midnight 
before dropping throughout the day,
bringing much needed but shivery rain - 
the kind that makes your hands ache
even when warm and dry and wrapped 
around a mug of strong tea. 

Falling on a weekend, it's perfect
for letting go of outdoor chores, 
and maybe even our daily walk. 
Perfect for pivoting into 
something unplanned, and
shifting away from indoor tasks 
that refuse to forget my name. 
Perfect for the phone call I've been 
avoiding to an old family friend
who hasn’t sent a Christmas card 
two years running. 

The old friend who convinced 
our shy but beautiful mom 
to go on a blind date with our 
serviceman-dad in another era, 
a lost time that was not necessarily 
simpler, except to human memory -- 
and the woman responsible for 
the creation of our small family -- 
her white gloves, sense of mischief
and talent for the outrageous 
legendary in the stories we were told-- 
Stories better than truth. 

The phone weighs close to 
five hundred pounds.  What if 
it's answered with bad news?
Well, what if it's not…?


Mockery

Who in the hell sneezes 
while walking in a snowstorm?
If the gale force gusts
had been blowing 
blossoms into my hair
instead of ice crystals 
the size of quarters,
I might understand. 
But the trees are not yet
stirring with any seriousness, 
and the overeager daffodils 
may not survive the night, 
vincible to the same lethal 
principalities that took out
that famous horse, Wildfire --
So I ask again:
who sneezes in a snowstorm?
I do. The one who dares…
defy a killing frost.