Clay Feet

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to Lilith

 

I am no god to grant permission,

nor to watch your struggle

and pretend I know any more.

I want to lift you into the air,

to hug you close to my face, but

you are a grown woman now.

I flounder along in my own life.

The easy problems— to kiss

your stubbed toe, and all be okay—

have grown exponentially,

until I am as lost and incapable

as I think you feel. We all subsist,

scrabbling among the rocks searching

for that tasty bit of explanation

that will cause it all to fall neatly

into place, which never happens.

We are all lost in our worlds,

doing our best to love each other.

 

(July 3, 2018)

 

still in love

hand-in-hand

 

in a few weeks it will be

forty years since we went out

for a banal movie and pizza—

 

forty years, college, a marriage;

three children grown,

and moved out mostly.

 

We are grandparents now.

Isaac toddles about the house

determinedly going where he goes,

as we follow behind bemused.

 

I think we worry too much

for the troubles we have. I am

aware they are there, as they are—

yet, so am I, and so are you.

 

(February 19, 2018)

37. Put Your Own House In Order


July 17
A friend shrugged his shoulders pessimistically,
“The nation’s in decline, but what can ya’ do?”
Weeks later, I’m still disturbed.
I read Ezra and Quinn “Theseus and the Minator.”
Lilith’s seduction into books has just begun.
A pebble ripples the entire lake.
(July 1995, from My Book of Changes)