To Understand a Swan......

"To understand a swan,
one must learn
how to cry,"
my son says,
the words
suddenly
clear.
Such truths sprinkle
his conversation,
attuned as he is
to a higher
frequency
than the
rest of us
can hear.

And these days,
I am very close
to tears.
I can't put my finger
on it.
Yes, my old dog
is failing,
but it is
something more.                  .
Am I grieving
my life's
passing,
and
all the losses
gone before?
                     
Each loss
triggers
grief
for all
the others.
A wave like a
jet plane
knocks you 
flat;
it nearly
smothers.
You tumble
on the ocean floor
a while
in pain,
wondering if
you'll
ever get
back up
again.
But when
the wave
draws back
its lip
once more,
you arise
with luck
much stronger
than before,
even more wise,
remembering
there was
much more
love and joy
than the
goodbyes.

Perhaps I'll
soon converse
with swans,
look in their
opaque eyes,
and finally
understand
what this
shifting
ground
on which
I stand
is trying
so hard
to make me
realize.

Meditation Upon a Heron Sitting in a Treetop

Jon Merk photo

Such an unlikely sight

to grace my eyes

on a heartsick afternoon

full of unshed tears.....

to remind me

that life offers gifts

to offset

all the pain.

GOODBYES

Agh. Today was a killer. I attended the goodbye party for the three little wayfarers I have looked after for three years, who are going to their adoptive home tomorrow. A hard day for their foster mom, and for me, as we have loved these kids. A harder day for the grandpa who is seeing them leave town to go farther away. And for the young uncle who wanted to adopt them and couldnt because he is already a single dad and it would have been too much. Lots of hidden tears and turned away shoulders, that straightened up and turned back around to present to the kids smiling faces that tried to be happy for them finding their forever home.

When I first arrived, the boys came running, calling my name. Three year old J. told me excitedly, "We're going with our mummy and daddy!" This was very positive. Five year old R. is trying to roll with yet another big change in his short life - the seventh! - but has fears and anxiety of course. He has been through this before. I doubt he understands that this will be the last move - to him it is the next move, and he has been happy with the foster parents.

The new parents are nice but brand new in their lives. I stayed for two hours, playing with the kids, grabbing a hug where I could, helping them with food, just watching their day unfold around them. Someone gave the boys bug catchers and they were out stalking in the field looking for crickets. Then I could feel my strength ebbing and my own emotions surfacing, and knew I had to leave while I was still strong enough to do it well, for the kids.

I hugged J. and told him I love him, hugged R., told him I love him. But the baby squawked every time I put her down, till I had to lie and tell her I'd see her soon. I put her in her little car, beeped the horn, played the "Bye" game we play when she rides the car, and walked away.

God.

Drove home in tears with this poem in my head :

Why is
life
all about
goodbyes?

Will there
ever be
anyone
who stays?

The answer
that comes
so easily
it must be truth:
not likely,
because
all loving has
a price to pay.

At every "hello"
the inevitable
"goodbye"
already starts.
There is really
precious little
we get to keep,
other than
the memories
and love
we carry
in our hearts.

KOSOVO 1999

AP photo/David Brauchli

Sister Refugee,

your hopeless, tear-streaked face

looks out at me

from my tv screen

and I recognize

how easily

it might have been

reversed:

I finding myself

sitting in your place.

It could so easily be

me instead of you

huddled

on that muddy hillside

in the rain,

looking so tired and old,

so resigned and full of pain,

cradling a sleepy grandchild

against the bitter cold.

What do we know or care

of politics?

Our lives are about love,

and keeping children safe.

We walk the same earth,

share the sky above;

that yours rains bombs

and mine rains tears

a trick of fate

that could just as easily

reverse

this time next year.

photo by BBC
Your eyes meet mine

across the miles

with bitter dread.

In the midst of

all this folly

how do we keep the children fed?

How nurture the future,

how hang on to hope,

when life hangs

suspended

by such a fragile thread?

We both agree

that this is not

The Way,

are helpless

but to endure,

having no say,

until the tide

can turn

and turn

once more,

tossing us up

upon a kinder shore.