firstfruits

I'd plunk her down
On a blanket spread over green grass.
Newborn baby girl, squirm and coo,
So peaceful, idyllic as little one lay quiet beside
mother me, gloriously and carefully planting my beautiful garden. . .

Yeah right.

Charli--poop her pants and smile--Wusk
would look angelic on her little blanket,  
for a time.
But the real pastoral scene came in static bursts
between stoccato steps of momma feet wearing a path in the grass.

I'd begin to dig a furrow - wah!
  Pick her up
  Put her down
Plant some seed - wah!
  Pick her up
  Put her down
Finish the row - wah!
  Pick her up
  Put her down
Cover the row - wah!

Slowly, through action squished between slow stints of consolation
our first garden went in the ground.
Somehow cultivation followed frustration to lead to
Crisp color yums
from backyard dirt, sweat, and patience.

Firstfruits.

awake alive

today I sit

alive

awake

filled with desire

for creating

for living

for being

this me that is emerging

new job

horizon

new home

trusting

new

sweetheart sides

I sit heavy, next to her mechanical bed 

noticing its angle.

Her hospice tongue lulls in her mouth.

Ice will only satiate the need.

I wonder at the tired eyes of my mother,

watching her mother.

His distracted foot twitches as he prepares

to somehow be without.

How will he have tea alone,

without her to share the tea bag?

"Nan and I" starts every story

--A life side by side.

So young for her to marry.

All thought her knocked up.

But no.  Just in a hurry

with the war nipping their heels.

Poor and sick most her life, but with her Bud.

How do sweethearts live alone?

How do they be without?