I went to the place I was told to go
Today a fill-in a Monday replacement
The address was clear on the notice
The notice stapled tight to my folder
I arrived on time but was the only one
Just me I was unexpected and alone
The time was right but they forgot
To mention the distant new location
My Monday off to a shaky start
Off to the place I was told to go
The long-haired boy in the orange Patagonia jacket
lithely climbed the jungle jim while the gray haired
Father scrolled the emails on his phone occasionally
Glancing at the baby brother tucked tightly in the
Close-by stroller parked next to the father’s green
Bench in Prospect Park on the sunny Sunday morning
The long-haired woman in the red flowered dress
firmly massaged her boyfriend’s head resting gently
On her lap the skirt of the dress flowing over the
Blanket her eyes closed as her fingers kneaded
his eyes closed as he hugged a brown arm around
her stretched-out leg on the sunny Sunday morning
The long-haired man in the brown Nehru collar shirt
Stood barefoot under a quiet tree with no one near
Raising his arms arching slowly saluting the sun
Then stooping low to the ground brushing his
fingertips along the grass starting the sequence
over breathing in on the sunny Sunday morning
Brooklyn Gelato
Perfectly flawless mouth joy
Why so far away?
Friday night packing
Hamilton excitement builds
Our fortunate shot
A photo of my 31-year-old dad holding
The 3 month old me on his lap in my
Childhood album caught my attention today
He holding me I’ve had this photo for years
And thought I knew it he looking down
On me blanket wrapped but today I
Took a fresh look and saw the rotary
Phone on the wall and the pass-through
Window over the draped kitchen table
His slicked back black hair and handsome
Silhouette my round cheeks his crisp
White shirt with turned up sleeves but mostly
I saw his gaze looking down at our hands
I followed his eyes how had I never noticed
He looking at my five tiny fingers holding
Wrapping one of his fingers tightly
She didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a phobia
I shook my head in agreement and laughed
I know when I told her I clipped out on hills
Because I have a hill phobia
She asked me what I feared most
Stalling and falling I’d said
She told me all the reasons that wouldn’t happen
And why I should clip in and push and pull
While she stood while not moving at all
On a hill clipped in and standing and talking
Which left me annoyed while still afraid
My hill phobia and height fear can’t be
Persuaded away by rational argument
They’d be long gone since I’d have
Dissuaded myself from my foolishness
And I’d have stood on top of that dome
Luxuriating in the breathtaking 360 view
Can we sleep out here tonight?
Under this puffiest white tree
Lightest sweet fragrance filling
The air and my head with peace
I’ll hang our hammock snug below
As the fluttering white snow petals
Softly blanket our silent souls
Delicious scent sleep surrender
Here’s a tip: Trying a new salmon recipe when you know you might have to stop for work in the middle of the prep isn’t the best idea. I’m mostly glad my sisters weren’t here because they’re not fans of raging infernos. Not that I am. Somehow, in retrospect, the olive oil based rub seems like overkill on the already oily fish. My normal Sunday night procedure “put the fish on the grill and prep the rest of the meal” was interrupted by good news about work (YAY!). 10 minutes later the work was finished. It was just a short distraction. And the grill was engulfed in flames. Completely. The temperature gauge on the grill cover was at the max. I don’t know what the number was. Hot. Really, really hot. I sort of calmly reached into the grill cabinet and turned off the gas valve. The flames continued to leap. I called into the house for help. A fire extinguisher. Moral support. Why not pull the black lumps of what had been 2 salmon filets and were now fireballs off the grill? OK…I can do that. The fire’s fuel sources were being eliminated one by one. There were still shooting flames. Like an ocean oil slick the drip pan continued to burn. The fire still raged. Until it died. Finally. Thankfully. I’m grateful to Mr. Weber for making a grill that didn’t explode or set the deck on fire. The avocado salsa was pretty good without any salmon to put under it, by the way.
Sunday evening hike
Moon follows as sun drops low
Oozing rays soak in
I have to write a poem so I can’t come to bed yet
But I thought I’d get in and cuddle for a bit
That should surely inspire you she says
Possibly is my instant deadpan reply
Spontaneous laughter spills from us
That may be your best poem ever
We’ll see how inspired I am
More laughter then silence
And silent cuddling
And sweet kisses
Good night
My love
Poem
mannersworld 