Writing poems has been a part of my life ever since I could write. I cherish this creative process because it allows me to savor otherwise forgotten wisps of my life and memorialize them into something more enduring than me. I also hope these tendrils somehow weave together to form a window for my progeny, to help them see the magnificence and wonder that permeates my small and ordinary life with Keith. And if I am very lucky, perhaps it will help them notice the magnificence and wonder that permeates their own.
My intention is to select ten poems each month for inclusion in this archive — poems that reflect my recent joys, worries, and experiences. I plan to nurture this practice until either I can’t or something better presents itself. In the meantime, I am delighted you have an interest in these poems and heartily encourage you to start writing your own. Thank you for visiting.
Estimated Reading Time: 6minutes
I WROTE SOME POEMS
In the previous weeks, my grandkids returned to their classroom after almost a year of home school, my Aunt Ellen died, Covid deaths passed the 2 million mark, and I celebrated my 70th birthday. These are the things I wrote about. In honor of past Valentine’s Days, I’m also sharing some love poems I wrote for Keith.
I want to feel this loneliness
unsilenced by the endless dribbles of distraction
laugh-tracking on the television in the next room
I want to feel this pain
unnumbed by sips of wine
and hollow chatter
I want to feel this loss
like the trees and the birds
and the sky feel it
feel that vast empty space
where the love of two million souls
was torn from us
I want to wail your names
and mourn your endings
and pray you safely home
I want to feel it all
and weep two million tears
It’s been a long and empty year
since we stood vigil at the kitchen window by the sink
but today, our eyes dart through the patchwork
of glittering backpacks and scampering children
as they gush from the school
Paw and I play our game
to see who will be first to spot you
we say things like
no, not that tall
maybe, but I don’t remember that coat
finally there you are
running as fast as your legs can manage
straight to our house
running as fast as your legs can manage
straight to our hearts
we wave and smile and cheer through the window
as you fly across our backyard
and disappear
I fight back tears
we both feel it now
someday we really will leave this window
and when we do
we will run to meet you
as fast as our old legs can manage
I was twelve when that man said
Mary is the smart one
and Roz is the pretty one
But I heard
Mary is the homely one
and Roz is the dumb one
I carried those words for so long
in my little girl’s heart
dreading photos
mocked by the mirror
enduring carrot-top hair
hiding my crooked smile
shamed by my freckles
and Irish white skin
and ever listening
for confirmation of my unworthiness
the weight is long gone
of that well-intended compliment
gone too are
cruel words that broke me
harsh words that scared me
even the kind words to ply me
and the sweet words to schmooze me
there is truth in old age
- the nothing we are
- the something we are
there is deafness too
time silences the opinions of others
as the measure of our self
self does not require a grade
You were the tallest woman I ever saw
so high above the rest of the grown-ups
I had to lean back to see your face
unworldly in your perfect white clothes
especially the white stockings
and a real nurse’s cap
not paper like mine
you explained about grandma’s brain
and grandpa’s heart
with science words I didn’t understand
but made me feel safe because you did
when my dad died
you told people to leave me alone
because everyone grieves differently
you were head of the ER for the county hospital
overdoses, gunshot wounds, and lots of AIDS
I was worried someone would hurt you
— your compassion made you fearless
I felt nervous when I talked to you
no one’s ever listened to me with such vigilance
as if you were ruling out symptoms and causes
— when you spoke, it was important
you embodied an unmatched elegance
every movement and every word
imbued with dignity and refinement
— you were my Aunt Hepburn (Katharine, not Audrey)
I remember you sitting by campfires
singing along with Uncle Jerome’s guitar
basking in your mother-ness
I remember you telling the funniest stories
and your generous laugh helped me believe
mine were funny too
I remember how stoic you were
when you lost everything in the fire
when you lost your husband
when you lost anything
today, I wish I could be with you
to tell you these things
- how closely I watched you
- how carefully I listened
- how much your kindness touched my heart
I shouldn’t have been surprised
when I learned Ellen is your middle name
and your real name is Grace
how perfect — because you are grace
and you are still the tallest woman I’ve ever seen
so high above the rest of the grown-ups
I love you and am ever thankful,
Your Mary Pat
No mission to be decoded
no plan I must unfold
I’ve only one simple question
now that I am old
I smile at wrinkles and wonder
what use is left in me
I want to entrust this treasure
so that you can see
I proffer my scraps and remnants
my tricks, my prayers, my toys
my secrets and sacred wisdom
my anguish and my joys
I sing them, write them, paint them
and send them to the stars
I hug them, kiss them, free them
what was mine is ours
I smile at wrinkles and wonder
what use is left in me
I want to be bare and empty
when I cease to be
Too long ago
we decided not to let our love
be trivialized by
madison avenue drivel
not trust our devotion
to a hallmark card
a florist’s dozen roses
or a petty dinner on the town
too long ago
we decided the hard fought battles
the common worries of life
the countless elations and celebrations
the comfort and encouragement
the collaborations and dreams
we decided all these things
were too deep and precious
for ordinary sentiments
... and worth about $2.00
BACKSTORY: When we were first dating, Keith and I both worked after-school jobs. Keith’s gig was Bell Hop at the Hotel Charles. I worked at Hoerl, Day, and Kamps Law Offices as an Office Assistant with only hunt-and-peck typing skills. We made little money and agreed on our very first Valentine’s Day that we would set a $2.00 limit on gifts.
Over fifty Valentine Days celebrations later, we have honored that $2.00 limit every single year. It has yielded the most imaginative gifts ever. The expected drawings, paintings, and poems delight as much as the candy bar, flower seeds, or cream puff. But then there are the gifts too raucous to mention, along with the silly and sentimental. Constraints foster creativity. $2.00 is a lot to work with when you’re in love.
you were so proud
paper heart necklaces
daddy made them
in your bedroom
gingham curtains
mommy made them
so excited for the holiday
with heart cookies
we all made them
every moment
a celebration of love
you made them
MAGGIE & MOLLIE
BACKSTORY: As it says in the poem, I sewed the red gingham curtains. I used leftover cloth from an upholstery project. The fabric was too too thin for adult use, but worked just fine for little girls. We needed a big toy box for their bedroom. As usual, we had no money, so Keith designed and made one. It was a 6’ bench with arms and a back — their own pretty couch. We padded the seat and back and covered it with red gingham. The seat lifted up to reveal a giant toy box. It was spectacular.
Just looking at this photo makes my body yearn to pull these little sweeties on to my lap and tell them a story. Maybe it’s a “mother” thing, but I truly thought I could never love anyone more than these two little girls. My heart seemed so full, it felt like it would tear open. But I was wrong. My heart had unexpected room for limitless love. There were grandchildren.
they are wedded
they are one
he is moon
she is sun
he is peaceful
she is stirred
he is image
she is word
he is careful
she is bold
he is silver
she is gold
today love’s year is forty-six
when both their orbit paths eclipse
he is moon
she is sun
and shall remain
’til life is done
BACKSTORY: Our 46th wedding anniversary was an extra special day in 2017, because it coincided with a total solar eclipse. It was called “The Great American Eclipse” because the band of the eclipse visibility spanned the entire contiguous United States. This hadn’t happened since 1918. We spent the duration chasing clear skies in our car, stopping whenever we’d get a cloud break, throwing on our protective eye wear, then dashing back in the car when it clouded over again. The eclipse inspired my poem. Like the moon and the sun, we rotate and revolve around each other, occasionally block each other’s light, and live in each other’s shadow. The eclipse was spectacular - just like the marriage.
Feed the same squirrels
like the same folks
play the same Scrabble
tell the same jokes
have the same memories
yell the same words
go the same places
watch the same birds
hum the same music
enjoy the same stars
pray the same prayers
bear the same scars
eat the same chickens
share the same bed
love the same children
mourn the same dead
read the same stories
admire the same art
all of our lifetime
all of my heart
BACKSTORY: It was on the table with a Valentine when I woke up. In the middle of winter, Keith managed to grow a little flower for me in the basement and picked it this morning. I wrote him a poem called “Eat the Same Chickens” (which might be the best line of poetry I’ve ever written). The photo is the little lavender flower Keith gave me. Once again, our $2.00 limit was honored!
The night before Valentine’s Day
I shopped for a gift for Keith May.
I purchased a cake,
But it was a fake,
To draw his attention away.
His real gift was tucked far away,
Justing waiting to give on the day.
When he went to bed,
To rest his wee head,
I smirked at my clever charade.
I had a great trick up my sleeve,
Twas a difficult puzzle to weave.
No one could bake it,
Only nature could make it
Like the present from Adam to Eve.
So here is your gift, oh my Sweet,
Your favorite Valentine treat.
It is juicy and red,
It keeps you well fed.
The cake is for Mary to eat!
BACKSTORY: In keeping with our longstanding tradition, I purchased Keith $2.00 worth of apples. These babies are the go-to gift when you don’t know what to buy him. Keith loves apples and usually eats one a day. Best of all, I enjoyed eating the red herring cake (and it wasn’t even fishy).
