Joy is slow to come, it sips from a glass heart, still fragile, ready to shatter, but a sip is enough
to wet my lips, to quench neurons in the night, sending if on a new journey
of possibilities, not doubts. I’m dazzled by dream poems in dream worlds
that bleed away when I wake, remember you’re not here–
but almost is like small paws leading me, reminding me that vacuums do not remain unfilled. That scabs form to protect wounds so that we heal. Even scars fade with time, the course of a dried stream bed on a plain. The earth remembering water, waiting for a flower to bloom. Again.
Last night was the first time in a long time that I dreamt poems, none of which I remember. But it was a world-building sort of dream, like a Star-Trek episode, with me constructing poetry from everyday circumstances, and my daughter there smiling and doing a bit of eye-rolling. I woke up happy, and then remembered Ricky wasn’t there. I think first thing in the morning is when I miss him the most.
We had Chinese food on Thursday night, and this was my fortune cookie fortune.
The weather has been as crazy as my up and down heart. Last week we had the heat on one day and the a/c on another. Friday was cold and rainy, Saturday was beautiful. Yesterday, we turned the heat back on in the morning to warm the house. Today is supposed to be pleasant and in the 70s. (It’s 42 F right now.) Between the weather and Ricky, I hadn’t been to the park in several days. I discovered there were now lots of new little goslings. I hope—I like to think–some hatched on Thursday when Ricky died.
Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I had a long talk with older child on Friday, and they sent me “fancy cheese” for Mother’s Day. Husband gave me chocolates (a lot of chocolate!). Younger child and her husband came over with their two dogs so I could have some puppy love and laughter. I asked them how they don’t laugh all the time at their pittie. That crazy face, but still so adorable. For some reason, their dogs go wild for bread. Daughter brought a feast—homemade bread, a selection of cheeses and jams, brownies and cookies, and wine. We did wine pairings with the variety of wines and cheeses. All of us liked the Italian red the most (tannic, but not astringent), and nobody liked the ice wine. It was a very lovely several hours.
I took a few days to just read novels and watch TV. I didn’t want to read or write poetry. I said to my husband that I’d forgotten that grief is so exhausting. It’s been four years since the horrible week in April when our Mickey cat died on Monday and my mom on Saturday, and the world shut down. I have to get back to work now, as I have a work assignment due. Thank you all for your kind comments, texts, and emails. 💙
Our much-loved Ricky is no longer with us. He died this past Thursday morning. A veterinarian came to our home, and Ricky went the best way one could hope for. He had liver cancer, and he was sick for over three weeks. We’ve been living in a sort of bubble of caring for him. But even on his last morning, he wanted to be with me, in my lap or by my side. He loved everyone, but I was his person, and he was my cat.
I miss him so much. I keep turning around, expecting to see him. But we had almost sixteen years with him, and I know he had a very good life. Early this morning when I was still in bed, missing him being there, I was thinking about what a crazy kitten he was. He’d raced around the house until he conked out. Our younger child picked him out from the shelter (as she likes to remind me) because he was chewing on the cage bars, and she thought he was so wonderfully weird.
This is the first time in about thirty years that we have not had a cat in the house.
So small, his absence a massive void– the collapse of a star leaves an echo of light.
Resa McConaghy created this image of Ricky from one of my photos.
She emptied the glass, then poured herself another. While she sat on the tiny Paris balcony, something worked in her brain like a burglar picking a lock, waiting for the pins in the tumbler to fall into place. Click—the lock opened—someone had been in her hotel room. Not the maid, she was in earlier today. No, this happened more recently, after she left to buy the wine.
She was Night Hawk fierce, but she was also like a migratory bird. Something told the wild geese it was time to fly. Some clue that humans did not sense or see—more that the slanted light, the dropping leaves. She sensed something, too. And it was time for her to go. Now.
I have no companions on this flight. My only V will be one for victory. I’m getting closer, she thought.
A continuation of my Prosery spy series for dVerse. The line we are to use :
I forgot to light a candle last night, forgot the dead, forgot the past, focused on breath and sparks of life, the flowers blooming, as Death is looming, a long shadow over blue.
I dreamt of a rainbow, dreamt of life, not knowing Iris meant rainbow, not knowing she was a go-between, crossing the arc, the bridge between the gods and humans. Fleet-footed envoy, a graceful queen, she carries the colors for Persephone and Demeter to herald May, whatever it brings.
This is the month of flowers and revolution. This is the month of death and new life. Pink to purple, spring green to moss and emerald. The buzzing bees are striped broaches pinned to brilliant blooms. Now the robins with full choir wake the sun, and goslings toddle after goose and gander.
But iris is the messenger of come what May. My little cat has another day. And though the crows call, Beware! I smile as the spring flowers rise and wave, toss their scent into the air.
This year Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) was sunset last night till sunset today. For those just catching up, our little Ricky cat has liver cancer, but he is still hanging on, and we are grateful. We took him to an animal ER on Wednesday, where he had an ultrasound. I’m glad we decided to bring him home on palliative medication. He woke me up at 4 AM for breakfast today, so I apologize if I am not coherent.
The animal ER has a farm area.
This week we watched The River (Japanese, 2023) a delightful time-loop movie. This is director Yunta Yamaguchi’s second movie about a two-minute time loop. We also enjoyed the first one, Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes (2020). This one is more polished. It involves the staff and patrons at a beautiful inn by a river in Kyoto. It is heartwarming and funny, and just what we needed to see.
I read the novel, The Bookbinder by Pip Williams, a historical novel set in WWI Oxford that I enjoyed very much.
And we confirmed that we need to be careful when we go out in our yard.
You think of sky ships, travelers of dust and gas traversing galaxies, settling around our young star, like subjects of a queen,
and why water? Physics and chemistry, molecules combining to form more—but
the sea, rain, sweat on your brow variations on an endless theme, the peculiar music of our world, a song in blue and green,
and you part of it—the dust, the water—connected to before, existing after.
You think of how long a minute can seem, how short an hour, another day.
This poem from the Oracle came right away, and it’s the first I’ve written in a few days. I did not expect this philosophical musing on a cosmic theme, but she always knows. My little Ricky cat is hanging on. The anti-nausea and pain meds are helping him to feel a lot better. I know it’s temporary, but it’s good to see him eating almost normally and acting more like himself.
in long ago knowledge. Need. You know, you’ve seen, centuries pass.
But still—you extend boughs and roots, to Earth and sky, drawing sustenance from each.
Sun-kissed, wind-caressed, branches sway to song of cycles, flow of sap.
We’re at the end of the month. Thank you Paul Brookes for hosting this wonderful ekphrastic challenge, and than you to the artists: Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Robert Frede Kenter, and Sara Elizabeth Bell. You can see the art and read the responses here.
Here are threads spun of dreams, desires, fate–the blackbirds dart and flit,
to weave the sky in a pile so deep, red-feathered designs and patches of blue,
the loom built of branches and sighs, an occasional chirp or twitter–
infinite shuttles in illimitable time, weaving if, weaving all into existence. Birthing the world in song.
Inspired by SEB29, Dragonfly Dance And RFK29
After the Apocalypse
The colors so intense— blackened trees shadow water and grass. An eerie sky of changing hues— red-orange, smoke and ash, turned now cyan blue.
Earth wakes once again. Flowers blooming anew. No sound of motors, no sound of human speech.
But look how beautiful! And see? The dragonflies still dance.
We’re almost at the end of Paul Brookes’ Annual Ekphrastic Challenge. For Day 29, I was inspired by all three artists, Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Robert Frede Kenter, and Sara Elizabeth Bell. You can see the art and other responses here.
Now the robins wake the sun, not before four, but a full chorus by half-past,
when our little cat, growing smaller, has eaten some, not all, do we call it breakfast anymore, his small meals run together now.
We watch and wait, grateful for another day of purrs and cuddles, the big-eyed stare, the continuation of some routine— sleep in the basket, blanket, chair–
and I am caught halfway between ode and elegy,
April rain and April flowers.
Hello, again. It’s been a long week. I think our little Ricky cat may have liver cancer. He hasn’t had an ultrasound yet, but we may still have it done. Meanwhile, he’s on antibiotics, and he got a steroid shot on Saturday, which I think made him more comfortable. He seemed happier yesterday. Our days have been consumed with how much or how little he is consuming.
We were supposed to have our family Passover Seder/dinner yesterday, but I cancelled it. I froze the brisket, cooked the already defrosted turkey breast for my husband. Ricky was very interested in it, too–which was great to see–and I made us some vegetarian matzah ball soup. I have to say it’s delicious, and my matzah balls came out perfectly. I missed seeing my family, but I wasn’t up to hosting. My husband and I had a our mini Seder on Monday night, the first night of Passover. These are the matzah covers our children made when they were maybe 7 and 4? I love them, “Go Moses” and the Angel of Death. 😂 I made this almond-lemon cake for our dessert. It’s made with almond meal.
April continues to be crazy. We had our heat back on for several mornings this past week, but it was in the 80s yesterday and will be close to 90 today. It looks summery outside now—so green! And our irises are starting to bloom. I suspect our tulips may not last in the heat.