Perceptions

 

There were folks who came for lunch,

and I worried over a menu,

over proffered drinks, over the house,

the table settings, even the state of 

the front door, and what to wear.

I found myself uniformly wanting;

coming up short in every way.

The hard-boiled eggs

(destined for deviling)

refused to part company with their shells..

my incomparable rolls found a comparison

(inexplicably) with hockey pucks.

Dessert tasted fine, but failed miserably

in appearance.

And then, they asked to see the garden.

To tell the truth, I don't really garden.

I have putter there, and prune a little,

I love my azaleas and camellias 

and my fountain of succulents.

I have bougainvillea and wisteria,

an orange tree, and a patch of green, green grass

that used to drive my granddaughters

to joyous somersaults and cartwheels.

I had almost forgotten the garden. 

I'd almost forgotten the pleasure of lunch 

with friends; the rediscovery

of what brings us together.

Not food (or the perfection thereof)

Not clean front doors, or lovely tables,

not even a garden that I love--

but we are bound by friendship 

that is blind to all our faults, 

and sees through caring eyes.

Birthday (Christmas)

Birthday

 

The shepherds came, with all their clamor

And sheep and dogs.

The kings came, too, complete with retinues,

And camels and camel-drivers and tents.

It must have been a sight for the folks of Bethlehem:

A veritable circus come to town..

And they came to a STABLE?

 

Kings and shepherds, side by side

With sheep and cows and donkeys?

And you can’t forget the camels...

Mary and Joseph (particularly Mary)

Exhausted and dead on their feet

With a squalling baby and 

no warm bed for the night.

 

Who’s telling this incredible story?

Not anyone who was there, 

Or anyone who has ever traveled

Through crowded streets,

Or been stuck between flights 

At a crowded airport

With a baby and luggage and miles 

yet to go.

 

They tell us a romantic tale of stars and shepherds

And glory in the skies,

Of long journeys from distant kingdoms,

And fabulous gifts brought to a fellow king.

But—as is often the case—

Reality trumps the story,

And it is only in retrospect 

That earth-shattering, mind-blowing impact

Is assigned to this simple birth: 

This forgettable family story

that has been told for generations, through the ages,

and will be told again and again

Until the end of time.

  

Conversation

 Conversation

 

In the text-and-email world

In which we operate,

In the sterile black-and-white

Communications

We exchange,

Where is the room 

For face-to-face?

 

We are increasingly

Distant, aloof, divorced

From our own words,

Divorced fro each other.

We do not see reactions:

Her smile, his hurt, her anger,

Their disappointment.

 

We substitute emoticons 

For emotion, and somehow

Define that as relationship.

We exist in abbreviated times:

Words and feelings and people

Reduced to lowest terms—

Symptoms of abbreviated connection.

 

We exist at arms’ length,

Deaf and blind to each other;

Riveted to screens and earbuds.

Is it any wonder that

We lack understanding,

Empathy, kindness...?

 

We need to talk.

 

 

Anniversary

Anniversary

We have been in love so long

we have our own vocabulary;

short cuts to showing what’s in our hearts.

We share our children, our family, our day-to-day

routines and conversations.

There are references no one else could fathom

and memories we hold as secret treasure,

forever full of love and laughter.

 

We have lived and laughed so long that

sights and sounds and unedited opinions

meet and meld with all our flaws and virtues--

and through it all, we are one:

a single heart between us.

And-- if  ever asked again 

that long-ago initial question--

that ceremonial and vital question-- 

we’ve been in love so long that we both would say 

“I do.”