“The world cup
will be held in the US
in 2028,” my son announces
and I shudder
to think
I’ll be 77 –
The polar ice caps
are melting at twice
the rate predicted,
adult suicide
rate has sky rocketed,
smart phones
stoop our shoulders
making us
slaves
and leaving
children
hungry for
our attention.
Not to mention
the raging wars,
famine
plastic in the seas
and complete
devastation
of our earth.
That’s the morning –
but as I fall
into the abyss
I find
my sweet
life line:
his curly hair
recently shorn
framing
deep brown eyes,
his skin,
the color
of milk
and coffee.
He smiles
so wide
at the day,
pure
in his love
of life.
Every mundane
act:
a worthy ritual,
such joy
in discovering
the same basket
of toys
week after week:
cherished treasure.
He squeals
in a secret
language
as he pulls
one trinket
after another
sharing his finds
with his universe:
the tired dog,
busy squirrels
collecting peanuts
on the fence,
in plain sight
through the window
that seals us in
to our four walls.
He can
point to
crows winging
up to the roof,
or bluejays
screeching
from the walnut
tree’s lush branches
which frame the view.
It’s a small
and cozy
world
these walls
where
anything is possible,
everything is new
and time
is in each cherished
moment.
In this place
there is no past
no future
no regrets
no desires
no enemies
here
all is as is
precious
valued
and above all
perfect
as it is.
I am grateful
for
my gentle
teacher,
take him in
my arms
to savor
his sweet scent
and feel
my heart
beating
against
his warm
frame,
I squeeze
him
tight
to gather
in every drop
of light
to fill
my darkest place.
