Slower, secretly smiling

In moments most mundane and calm,
I brush palms with our future selves,
older, softer, slower,
smiling secretly to each other.

It confounds my vanity to see them wearing
clothes that are comfortable and forgiving;
habits have crept into their bones
and twisted them into peculiar shapes --
bodyscapes beloved by dimming eyes

The familiar, trustworthy rhythm of
housework and rest
is the comforting heartbeat rocking gently
beneath your nightshirt pressed
below my ear

Our children will make up for fewer mistakes
than we were able to forgive ourselves for,
steady heart

Coffee, water, wine

Coffee, water, wine --
so my days unfold in this drowsy pattern.
A lift, a drop, a cleansing,
each worthwhile day follows the arc of a tale...
I am grateful for each
unamerican pause in the hours.

Random streetcorners in goodmorning Manhattan
never knew sleep, and neither did I;
I wandered from cup to cup,
closing my hands around it like
the first precious discovery of fire.

Wine stained my hair and fingers
the few times I felt Jewish enough to dance.
Somehow, California made sense.
One day, daughters will catch a glimpse and murmur,
Mother had an adventure,
and you will laugh, my dear, because
we live behind closed doors.

But the water is different;
it flows in and out and through,
making and breaking and wasting.
The one I so frequently neglect,
I need the most.

When I am wandering slowly from this world,
which one of these will you give me?
To choose is to say so much of how you loved...

You have always loved me well.

What's the daffo-dealeo?

You'd think that with the onset of a warmer, more encouraging season, my brain would emerge alongside the unfurling cotyleadons.... but NAE! Instead, I'm typing things backwards, watering my dogs while letting my plants out to pee, the list of constant embarrassment rolls on into infinity and over the mountain tops.

On the brighter side, the shift in sunshine hours has transformed me from a drowsy lion to a frolicksome lamb (I say, as my emotionally exhausted husband thanks Sweet Jesus)... everywhere I look, there's fresh flowers and new lime green oak leaves and the beautiful and often fuzzy results of procreation, so what's there to bemoan?

So as either a reward for his tolerance or a snub to my spring diet, I think I'm gonna go home tonight and bake us a chocolate cake. Maybe it's the sight of rich, dark soil that excited me enough to seek such carnal indulgence. If so, we'll just call this my little fertility celebration. :)