In the un-
a (truer) story
(or may not)
by the sharp beak
and pointy talons
of a wee bird
Do I blame it on spring and the return of the birds —
These thoughts of “No Roses for Harry” —
Or is it
Simply the way my knowledge of Thomas Merton
Is unraveling —
Covering the same themes
From different perspectives
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the brownly roasting spirit of turkey
and a scarlet celebration of cranberries; and for everything
which is edible which is edifying which is yum
(we who are scattered gather today,
and this is thanksgiving; this is the wealth
of abundance of family and friends: and of the glad
long table illimitably mirth)
how should smelling tasting touching seeing
consuming any—lifted from the yuck
of all nothing—food becoming Eucharist*
not invoke Gratitude?
(now the tastebuds of my tongue awake and
now the fullness of my heart overflows)
(e e cummings original poem)
*The word “Eucharist” is a transliteration of the Greek word eucharistia, which is itself a translation of the Hebrew word berekah. All three words have the meaning of thanksgiving, or praise for the wonderful works of God. (from: votf.org)
Short answer: I’m for it.
Slightly longer answer:
Except not everyone needs to go to college.
What’s in the bag beside my chair?
I’ll tell you what I keep in there —
Two mechanical pencils
Four loose pens — two black, two blue
A set of six black graphic liner pens
Another set of three in sepia tone
A set of eight Pilot G2 gel pens in varying colors
A recipe for shortbread,
Morning prayers from Laity Lodge,
My portable hard drive
A portable charger,
An I-love-you note
A thank you note
Zinc cold remedy
A travel lock
Loose change totalling 86¢
Old shopping lists
Old grocery store receipts
Clearly I keep too much stuff
So I said, “Enough is enough!”
The last three items on my list
Without much fanfare were dismissed.
Fears I don’t have:
- the dark
- idle threats
Fears that I do:
- not trying
I made the collage at the top for last year’s A-to-Z Challenge. The background is from Ezra Jack Keats’ Over in the Meadow. The child is from The Silly Sheepdog by Heather Amery and Stephen Cartwright. The bee (and maybe the spider, but I’m not sure) is(are) from A Trip to the Yard, pictures by Marjorie Hartwell and Rachel Dixon.
One thin bent line on a grassy green page
Evidence of a golfer’s rage
A Poem for Interns and Residents
To you, he is an old man
With hoary head and feeble mind
But look beneath the surface —
It may surprise you what you find
To you, he’s one who stutters
And struggles to find words
He knows the things he wants to say
But it’s like catching birds
To you, he oft repeats himself
In telling about his life
To me, his most repeated act
Was daily visits to his wife
To you, he’s hard of hearing
And he wears the yellow socks
That signal he’s a fall risk.
To you, he talks and talks
But you don’t listen —
You don’t know him —
You don’t care the way I do.
To you, he’s just some patient.
Oh, how I wish you knew!
In defense of young doctors, they really don’t know any better.
Plus, during this most recent hospitalization, my father kept throwing red herrings at them as he tried to diagnose himself for them.
My low point yesterday was sitting in the office of a woman I didn’t know terribly well, and bursting into tears. I simply wanted someone who knew my father to take care of him.
Medicine has changed SO much in the past 50 years.
I’m thankful there are still people there who know and love my father like I do.
People who know him love him