Lost words

Mom doesn't

have the words

she used to have.

They slip away.

Stolen by the stroke

that stole her

right-handed grip

as well.

When we can't find

a word, a name,

we say it's on the tip

of my tongue.

That's her everyday

experience.

She searches for it,

says I forget the word.

Sometimes I can

find it for her.

Sometimes I can't.

Then we share a laugh.

She told me yesterday

that she used to talk

a lot more, but now

she can't speak clearly.

She was never

at a loss for words.

And she hasn't lost

her sense of humor.

Dad designed

a meditation room

for the Betty Ford Center

in Palm Desert.

So on one occasion,

they were at a party

and Betty was waiting

to introduce them

to her husband,

the former president.

He was in another

conversation so they

were waiting for the moment.

Meanwhile, Betty got

distracted by another

conversation, while

Gerald finished his.

So they stood there

waiting somewhat

awkwardly for Betty

to make the introduction.

Mom smiled and said to Gerald,

Hi, I'm Liz Chambers

what's your name?

And everyone laughed.

She remembers that.

Even if she sometimes

calls me by the dog's name.

Butterflies

It started with the butterflies;

hundreds of them stuck on pins

in deep, glass-fronted

Victorian frames.

In the hallway adjacent

the check-in counters

and the TSA

security lanes at SFO.

I wondered, how many of them

are now extinct?
And how many more
will disappear next week?

My shoes are brightly colored

like many tropical species.

They looked a bit like

those specimens in the hall

as they sat in the gray tray

waiting to enter the X-ray scanner.

My knapsack with the cremains

was pulled aside of course

and a TSA officer took out

a kit with little squares

to pick up any residue

from the box of ashes.

She then applied clear drops

on some and blue drops

on others. The results

were negative of course.

I said this is fascinating.

She said, yeah I loved

chemistry in high school,

physics, though, forget it.

Four movies and two meals later

the Airbus docked at the jetway

in Hong Kong and just before

the doors were opened,

the Captain announced,

Due to a security situation

all flights from Hong Kong

have been cancelled.

So we slept in chairs

or on the floor waiting

for twelve hours, hoping

that our journeys could continue.

Mine was not to be that day

but the next day I was able

to reach my destination

and complete my solemn

mission, to have her ashes

blessed and placed high up

in the temple’s columbarium.

Some we saved to place beneath

the young jasmine bush we planted

where her memory will be preserved

and when the jasmine flowers,

butterflies will sip her nectar.

Found

I thought my life and love were lost,

each new day uncertain.

However, now I see

they always were and are.

And that's a comfort

not a terror -if you see

that possibility has much to do

with what you make of it.

That the hand of God

was always there,

waiting for me

to take it.

And the pain of what

was lost, a lover

and adventurous

companion

was eased by reaching

out to touch a gentle hand

and finding faith and love

were still possible

inside whatever uncertainties

arose with dawn's awakening.

The sun still shines on us,

the roses still bloom,

as they must.

and this day, I will trust.

Things I tell myself

Is my pond a puddle

bound to dwindle

as morning’s glory fades

into evening’s shade?

The songs not sung

remain instead

where they’ve dwelt

inside my head?

A box of negatives

on a closet shelf

or in the cloud with all

the other billion trillions?

Does it matter if it’s matter

or just bits and bytes,

paper or pixels; 

both will linger past my dust.

When a red-winged black bird

sings on cold mornings

his song turns into vapor,

as fleeting as the smoke rings

the pool shark blows

before he sinks the eight ball

in the corner pocket

and collects his wager.

Yes, I digress. So this:

I watched a sunrise

from the summit

of Haleakala ten days ago.

A once in a lifetime moment.

Yes. Except they all are;

the ecstasies and regrets,

kisses and stubbed toes,

bird songs and old movies

seen half a dozen times,

symphonies and sunsets,

shared beds and laughter.

Thanks be to nature,

God, and the flow of time.

For this and this

and this.