not without sin

a sin to throw away anything

that might still have usefulness

child that i am of parents

who started married life together

early in the Great Depression 

Mom left cupboard after cupboard

of washed, capped jars as i have one such low kitchen cabinet stocked

with glass containers ready 

for second, third or tenth use

magazine envelopes yield large scraps

of paper for shopping lists or cut down

to 3 x 5 for index cards

rubber bands securing asparagus

are wound around a plastic tube on

my desk, some waiting their next duty

until old age robs them of elasticity so

they quietly snap at touch lying

in useless line where their lifework had been the ability to encircle and hold

together as mine was to continue

saving and building until i, too

lie down, unable any longer

to gather scraps or to mend the broken bits the world has handed me

or to enfold and protect those i love

until they can grow and flourish

a trice or two

gentle moments catch us unaware

draw us into knowing we share

something deeper than words

shifts into catching our breath

the ululation of screech owls

claws raw the wounds of loss

while mourning doves coo companionable comfort

a sunbeam pierces thunderhead

to light a path between heaven

and earthling and soft peace settles

on a mourning gasp

moments without preparation

startle us into assurance

beyond grief or fear, if only

for that instant

talk with birds

i wish i could talk with birds

that would make it easier to communicate, although hummers

do pretty well eyeball to eyeball

like the little Anna’s who chided

me through the window for allowing

the red, liquid treat to be depleted

or my zebra finch who patted

my hair as i reached into their cage

to give them fresh seed and water

or the snowy owl who watched me

standing in awe admiring him

and turned nearly full circle, posing

so i could have the full experience

of his splendor

or the osprey dad who glanced at me

as, worried, too, i watched

with him his oldest chick

gathering courage for its

first flight from the rugged nest high

on the platform of a utility pole

still, their plaintive cries or smiley

chirps and twitters leave me wondering

if their sounds mean to them what

their calls stir within my own emotions

i wish i were wise enough to understand

courage to laugh

a friend in pain whose laughter

entices smiles from those around her

now, that is what i call courage

toddler raised

(haiku)

daddy lifts toddler

as if tossing to blue sky

son gasps, trusts, giggles

zebra kiss

zebra finches raised for years

in huge squawking cage

and each day i reach in

with clean water and seed

this morning, one of the boys

who often sings on the plastic branch

near my face as i bend in

with the treats, pecked me softly

in the hair with his orange beak

an acknowledgement of love

if i’ve ever felt one

whispered stories

slow in the back room of the bazaar

as many customers were no aware

there was more to see

but hours to spend with author friends

chatting first, then talking, reminiscing

revealing more of the memories

that created who we are

ah, to have beside us those we trust

April 8, 2024

April 8, 2024

eeriness of a sudden chill

birds fluttering, darting to nests

bats lifting from inverted sleep

giraffes shifting to shelter their young

horses meandering, sure only in line

with others, also restless and uncertain

dogs whimpering, cowering

or crawling to be near awed masters

standing, arms raised, intent upon

the midnight sky barely past noon

with blotted sun exposing only odd

ring of blue- or gold-white coronet

lasting minutes between diamond

and diamond

rare, beautiful, strange

gift for a lifetime shared with so many

experiencing as never before

their common, frail humanity

acknowledging the vastness of reality

b-t-c in court

entangled in disputes with judges

bluffo-the-clown’s nose pinkens

into cherry, then scarlet, and now

purpling toward magenta

both walls of the narrowing trap

chuckle, one to watch his antics

with relief as he draws attention

from the real magawork

the other foolishly believing

he disqualifies himself

when no one really cares

            –poor bluffo

WiGs at Dundee Wine Library

laughter, camaraderie and creativity

joyous gathering of trusted friends

to reveal ourselves in story telling

and give and take advice from animals

in unfamiliar, cozy surroundings