Now enjoy the last bit.
Day 22
Odyssey
Four times
or maybe just three
every night the same,
the trip, the stumble,
eyes half-shut.
The dream
of water, running by
the shore, paddling
from the dock
begging for help.
four times
three
two half-shut eyes
dreams of water
In my old age,
will I be awake enough?
Day 23
Invocation Against Worry
Coming, tomorrow — not to worry yet —
as for yesterday, done with worry,
next worry maybe
on its way —
stupefy the worry
with roasted potatoes & thyme,
good wine, heavy dose of turmeric,
& grease in the fire. A charm
against what will come, will haunt.
Gather ‘round the table
light the candles and offer blessings
cover your eyes against the burn
offer up your belovèd ones
worry
not
bless the worrying heart
charm the darkness
sit down with ghosts
at this good meal.
Day 24
40 weeks
Nowhere near making it,
you arrived at 26 weeks. Fear
and blood gushed from me as I held
my breath and pushed. Nowhere
in the booklet did it say
labor on this day, nowhere near
40 weeks and safety. The odds
terrible. Push, push hard.
I wait for a cry —
instead, a mewling sound, a kitten
instead, a mewling sound, a kitten
coming into the world looking
for milk and mother. I push hard, try to see
who calls out of me, out to me.
who calls out of me, out to me.
There, between my knees, a face
so perfect, a pair of eyes blinking
in harshness of light and sound. Another
push to free your sister
push to free your sister
from amniotic seawater. Mama!
At 20, what could I know of you
and your twin, bursting
into my night like a pair of comets?
Day 25
The Call
If I had called that morning
if I’d dialed the number
if I’d heard your voice in pain
as surely it was a mirror
of the pain, would I have jumped
on a plane to go to you? Or maybe
you’d have faked it, laughed
and said everything is okay, just fine
as you’d said the day before
when I asked what was wrong.
I heard later that you sang
all the way to the hospital, sang
and died that day without me.
Now your voice and your songs
haunt me, wake me each morning
as once you did: good morning
merry sunshine. There you are
with a song for me each day,
and here I am singing for you.
Day 26
No Liege Poustie* for Millville
The town’s a ruin, conquered
by blindness, eulogized
by sharded windows, fall-down
fences, rusted machinery.
Hear the breathing of frogs
in the brackish pool by the schoolhouse,
safe from scavenging boys
with jars — pierced lid prisons.
Jump rope coils lay still
on the grass, no slap-slap reeraw
in flouncy skirts today. No recess
bell ringing. No dinner pails.
Hundreds of crows light
the wires, wait for road kill,
caw relentlessly. Fisher cats
and badgers scream all night.
The mill is closed two decades or more.
Lathes rust in peace, untouched
by your father’s hands, or mine, zing
and hum of metal on metal gone silent.
The town’s a ruin
spooked by dreams of the blind,
dreams left to die
of starvation and neglect.
The river, still unclean, fluxes
its aimless wander to a sea
that waits like Saint Peter
for the souls of martyred fish.
* Liege Poustie, Scottish phrase for being in fine health, in possession of full faculties
* Liege Poustie, Scottish phrase for being in fine health, in possession of full faculties
Day 27
Warning Label
May be outdated;
May refill 4 times.
If unsure of interactions
avoid until advice is available.
Take only by mouth,
once daily in evening.
Until familiar with side effects,
avoid driving.
Take only on a full stomach;
don’t mix with alcohol.
Cannot return if opened.
Discard after use-by date.
Put E-Harmony on speed dial.
Refills: 2
Day 28
Snow falling
hesitant flakes at first,
counting them easy —
10 then 50
then a blast of air
from Canada brings 100s
and the dance begins,
1-2-3 1-2-3
keeping time to the melody
of winter.
Count the hairs
fallen on your head, white
like winters of experience
10 then 50, then the dance
between you
and the end of youth.
On the porch, 2 chairs
1 for me, 1 for you —
We sit over hot cups
and tell our lives to each other.
You listen, then I listen
1-2-3 1-2-3
back and forth we rock
through it all, our days
counted, accounted for.
Day 29
Birds in the Chamber
I wake to their waking, slow
and ruffled, a trilling
against the ceiling, struggle
to clear the mist of night, the last
dream I remember:
It was of you.
We were fighting,
fiery words
not melody roaming the rafters.
I thought then of skylarks,
wondered if you knew any birds
or if any birds would recognize you,
you with a fist raised, a stream of spittle
at the corner of your mouth,
flame in your eyes. I call out
and the birds in the chamber
promise it portends nothing. Tonight
I will put out seed, hang suet
from the beams of the chamber
where all dreams go for interpretation.
Day 30
Thunder
Bad8gi* in the atmosphere.
Boomers pound the sea, the land,
like love — rain probably
has no difficulty falling
Now the rain falls
like mercy.
Bad8gi trembles
the grass, my hair.
There is lightning
in the story, more
to know about love,
about thunder.
* Abenaki for thunder
Day 31
Fenway Aubade #13
Hard to say so long
to the season, to hot and cold
bats, to slumps and thrills.
Hard to say it’s over
when blood runs
high and fever pitch
is our delight. So long —
I turn and go
to other days and nights
without you.
Shave your beards, clean
out your lockers,
plan some family time.
B strong for them.
I’ll wait
for spring training. 
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