The Glue of Love and Time

Monday Morning Musings:

“for us physicists believe the separation between past, present, and future is only an illusion, although a convincing one.”

Albert Einstein, in a letter, after the death of his friend, Michele Besso

To time we’re young

a blush over morning

brilliance that fades

repeating through years

and generations


Words sail through space,

bubble like champagne,

like the thoughts shared by friends over wine

through time

What is the glue, she asks,

that binds us,

that holds us together

some friends, but not all

over distance and years?


I have no answers,

the universe is a mystery

the dazzling beauty

of the night sky in June

the rhythms of nature and time

sometimes it comes together


Heritage Vineyards Mullica Hill, New Jersey

other times though,

there is confusion and contradiction

the day that changes from sun to rain

and back again

we walk through city streets

see a bride and groom


smell the scent of rain-damp flowers


get caught in the next downpour

nature is confused



We watch a movie

of family and history,

and family history

a mystery

life, death, survival

hiding underground

and then burying the secrets

the sins of the father

haunt him and his children

like ghosts

spirits that rise from graves

there is jealousy, too,

and sister-love

and music

some also underground


becoming the means to an end

to forgive

to heal


We walk through crowds of people celebrating Philly Pride Day

rainbow flags on display

(people, too)

have dinner at a bar

then on to see a play

a musical


another tale of family secrets

the father has a hidden life

(some boys, some underage)

many in the audience chuckle knowingly

watching his daughter coming of age

coming to know herself

and, of course, I remember

(not a letter)

but the phone call,

the funny, memorable, filled-with-laughter phone call

from my daughter

not that it’s a surprise

not that it changes anything for me

though it changes her world

and it must have been a scary call for her

and she must have sighed with relief afterward,

but love is love is love

and all I want is for my daughters to be happy

the show has more secrets

and more tragedy

and three versions of Alison—

not separated–

past, farther past, and present–

existing at the same time,

as it does within our minds


It is Father’s Day,

my father is gone for many years

I think of the secrets he must have had

the life before children

I see old photos of him

younger hims I never knew


I can’t talk to him,

or I could,

but he can’t answer me

not in words that I can hear

perhaps in dreams

or illusions

or in a bending of time

still there are bonds, love,

glue that binds us

despite secrets

despite not knowing

he lives in my heart and mind–

is he gone–or not?


Welsh Cookies

I made Welsh Cookies–called Daddy Cookies at our house–for my husband for Father’s Day.


We saw the movie Past Life, an Israeli movie set in 1977 in Israel, Germany, and Poland.  Trailer here.  We saw the musical Fun Home, based on Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel. It won five Tony Awards in 2015. Here’s the Tony Awards performance.


Words and Dreams

Monday Morning Musings:


Words and dreams rise, drift

in hope, or sink, shift

full force

on birds’ wings, fly swift


from horror, and lift

like laughter, a gift

of course


Full strawberry moon

bright orb, a festoon

the scent

of strawberries, strewn

dipped, we taste and swoon–

I meant

it’s warm, there’s wine, June

it sings, birds in tune,




to listen and see

what was, what will be

here, now

mom, daughter, and me

eat and talk we three


questions randomly

eat deliciously


we’ve done this before

in many rooms, doors

fold time

intersect mine, yours

wine and food in scores

fold time

again, we’ll eat, doors

open, close, time roars

hold time


suns and moons will rise,

glorious their guise,

bloom peace

humming from the skies

(hearing it a prize)

don’t cease,

hear the river’s sighs,

song of dove that flies

in peace


shadows and color, wine and cheese

poetry murmurs in each gentle breeze


through words and dreams we spin

cycling lives while time begins again, begin



Sweet dreams

I didn’t get a chance to do dVerse’s lai prompt last week.

So, I decided I’d try a set of connecting lai (though not a tale of adventure so much) –ending with two rhyming couplets. Damien Donnelly’s poem, Limitless mentioned folding time, so I borrowed the phrase. Thanks, Damien. 😉

The June full moon (last week) is called the strawberry moon because it’s strawberry season. (And by-the-way, they are delicious dipped into cannoli dip, but then what wouldn’t be?)

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