Quatrains: December 17th, 2022: Wake Up!

Quatrains: December 17th, 2022: Wake Up!

In the ancient and eternal city

Missing the signs of God’s pure face.

Seeking religion in selfish self pity,

In shopping for leather, trying on lace.

Looking for meaning in Babylon,

In clouds, in darkening sky and rain,

Not children nor carols, nor trumpeter swans.

But in youth and wealth. In fame. In vain.

Where is love? How would do we know?

What’s the point of how we live?

We know this world is fleeting, though,

Every day emptied with less to give.

No! You’ve lost your mind in your revels, or

An abominable lack of imagination and love.

Wake up, O blessed traveller.

You’re asleep again, wake up. Wake up…

Tinnitus, 4:48 am (poem)

 Tinnitus, 4:48 am

Ringing silence in my ears.

My husband’s gentle breathing.

The air filter. A car outside.

This high pitched tone within,

A presence eternal 

And louder as the years go on.

Is it the Divine waking me up at dawn,

Secrets to distribute to its 

Devoted aspirant, me? or 

Some biological problem soon to give

Medical bills galore; Dizziness and

Thundering pressure;

My greatest hope is 

It is a symptom of allergies

Or migraines 

As every other potential diagnosis-

Which I cannot get with our current insurance anyway

As it covers almost nothing-

Is dreadful, dreadful.

At least there’s 

Something always to look forward to,

(Sly lift at the corners of my mouth) 

But the holy spirit does not like snarky jokes.

Cynicism is not the domain of my lord of kindness.

I know not from whence that comes in me

Only that sometimes I delight in its

Dark pleasures 

But I do believe in peace and 

My husband emits heat like an oven.

I have thrown off a weighted blanket,

One he had placed tenderly 

Just on my side. Just for me

And listening to him now

I think

I have never loved anyone

The way I love you,

My love

For this marriage is

A blessing and

You are my rock

And we squabble daily but

I don’t even need words like faith and trust because

You are you so deeply and

Completely

You

And you are so utterly the definition of

Faith 

And trust

I know I’ll never have to worry until

The terrible day one of us…

The air filter kicks up a notch

Randomly, it seems

Why in the middle of the night

Would it suddenly have to

Filter so strongly?

Is it because I awoke

And am emitting a different

Chemical in my breathing? Or

Some other presence as

I shiver—

A car speeds by 

And then fast,

Ephemeral,

It’s gone

And now I am awake

Sul serio,

For real, for the day, 

Undeniably. A

New chapter and

There’s something in this moment

I don’t want to lose

But I will carry it with me

Throughout the day

Whether I want to or not

Although I desire greatly yes to

Bring forth

The loudest sound, that chorus of ringing angels in my ears

Ever present

But not louder

If I listen

To the heartbeat of my love.

Ofrenda

My neighbors have a beautiful display-

red and yellow flowers, bowls of mango and gourds, sugar skulls.

Photos of those who have passed lovingly placed in the center.

I pass by respectfully and dream of my ofrenda. 

I imagine shopping for supplies,

lovingly attending to it throughout this thinning of the veils.

But I have no photo for the spirit of a daughter

who never took a single breath, never emerged from

my womb with a cry of "I am, mama! I am!"

Never.

I've heard people say a woman my age without children is selfish.

They do not know what they are saying.

They do not know how hard I tried.

And yet, perhaps I am. 

Selfish, I mean.

To weep for a pain I will never feel,

to indulge in hours of daydreaming over the most mundane of things.

Teenaged fights. Picking fallen leaves. Searching for four-leaf clovers.

If I had my daughter--

curly black hair like her father,

big eyes like mine. 

A little crossed,

but we'll get surgery for that when the time comes.

Dimples in her cheeks and one in her chin.

Bright, interested in science and the natural world,

A lover of Napoli's football club,

Fiercely brave and loyal.

At times, cold to those who've wronged her,

unable to hide her true feelings

and disdainful of those who do.

Eternally giving to whom she loves, though,

And like her parents,

Sometimes she gives too much.

On this year's Day of the Dead

I cannot create an altar to honor those I've lost

because I find myself still mourning

the one who will never be born.