Of a November Morning

Venus adorns the morning’s crescent,
a glowing diamond in this eastern sky,
while waves of clouds roll beneath
the moon’s waning,

this daily joining in,
a practiced participation,
these lonely dives beneath love’s
surface, breaking into rocks of selfishness

where gleaming bands of diamonds
speak about grace,
sparkling mercies rolling beneath
our smiles, countless gifts

adorning our waxing joy,
sparks of patience and deference
and gifts of active grace
rolling through this mysterious sky.


Any way he can
he gets his head on the floor.
Again, the littlest one has plopped
onto his bottom and thrown his head
forward, his face between his bare feet
on the hard ground.

He looks up, sideways, still scream-crying
to see where I am. I still stand
holding the open applesauce pouch
ready to help him, but he wants
to do it on his own – squeeze full to empty
in seconds, maybe in his mouth, maybe not.

After a good two minutes
I give in and give up
and offer him the open, squeezable container.
He won’t take it now.

He is beyond tired,
beyond angry
wanting love and not wanting it.
I scoop him up and love him anyway.


From the back of the van
through the wild giggles,
squabbling and screeching
I hear:

“Know what’s most important, Mom?
You guys. You and Dad.
I mean, I love my stuffed animals
and all, but you guys are the most important.”

The house is quiet now,
and this memory floats to the top of my mind
having simmered all day
in a cool June summertime way
with outside haircuts and outside play.

It’s ready to bite into.
It’s ready to be remembered,
to make a difference tomorrow
when the sauce isn’t so sweet.