Sometimes

Sometimes, all we can do

is share our small voice

in a world that perhaps

is not listening,

and that is enough

as we move forward

through that same world

at our own speed,

in our own time,

feeling the sunshine,

looking up, on our face,

and below our feet,

the solid ground

of grace and wonder.

First Date

We were to race together

down the hill, bundled

warm against the winter cold,

on a toboggan, us two and three,

maybe four, other kids

holding tight to one another

to keep from falling off,

to stay together to the finish line

where the hill flattened out,

a final glide for the win

across a frozen bog

and winning you.

I would have held you tighter

to keep us somehow closer,

bundled warm and holding on

to each other, as we trudged

back up the hill, holding

hands and hearts, forever, but it

rained that day and the hill

turned a slushy mush,

a sled bogging down

and going nowhere,

ending too soon.

Lullaby

Nights,

lying in bed

awaiting sleep

and the sweet dreams

to follow,

the loons

begin their lullaby

calling out, a sharp cry

and warbling echo;

from a distance,

an owl hoots, “who-who

hoot,” that question,

who?

Wondering, drifting off,

 “it is me, here,

dreaming the night.”

The Children's Table

Christmas dinner at Gram’s the dining room

extended across the house to the far

wall where sat the youngest cousins

around the children’s table devoid

of the fine China and cut glass of the adults,

too fragile for our clumsy hands and manners.

There, we were served by our mothers

and aunts, our paper plates piled high

with potatoes, white and sweet orange,

green beans and peas and carrots,

turkey and dressing smothered in gravy,

cranberry sauce, and for dessert, pudding

and pie and molasses cookies freshly made,

retrieved from the cookie jar on the sideboard,

always well within grandchildren’s easy reach.

Although we didn’t mind our place

away from the adult conversations

that kept us hushed and ignored, safe

there among the myriad of young cousins,

we dreamed of moving, each in turn, up

to the adult table, assuming a rightful

place with the big people, even as we stole

the nuts and mints from the little paper cups

placed before the cousins around us and spilled

our lunch, crumbs and gravy, on ourselves

and the floor below, anticipating the Christmas

tree to come where we’d seen a package

bearing our name and a bright red bow

pushed far to the back, hidden

and out of sight, awaiting us.