Matryoshka

My daughter and her husband announced on Christmas Day that they are expecting a child in July.
This got me thinking about the relationship between generations and how parents feel about becoming grandparents.

                                     Matryoshka

                                                        for Meg

                          And so the generations nest
                                inside each other
                          like reversible Russian dolls:
                          the woman who is my child
                                has a child within her now
                          who may remember me
                                in future family tales,
                          just as I recall
                                my father’s strength
                          and my mother’s touch
                               when I think of infants
                                        in my arms.

                         Thus, the bigger begets
                           and is begotten
                               by the small
                            when we embrace
                              what we are
                               and were
                             and will become,
                             doll within
                                           doll within
                                                           doll,
                             with our love bearing
                                one another,
                             the holder and the held,
                               back to the cradle
                            and back from the brink
                            again and
                                         again
                                                 and again
                           until the very beginning
                           meets the very end.

               

                               

               

The Early Morning School Bus

Lately, I've been driving to work about the same time the public school buses are picking up high school students.

                           The Early Morning School Bus

                        stops and summons
                        young, dim shadows
                        from the dark with its
                        blinking red warning.
                    
                        Shades scurry down sidewalks
                        and glide across lawns
                        as the other drivers pause,
                        patiently watching what
                        they all once were,
                        anxiously waiting to get to
                        what they all will become.

Leaving the Lights On

A short poem about mortality and the electric bill.

                                         Leaving the Lights On

                                          I know it’s not frugal
                                          or planet friendly,
                                          but it makes me feel
                                          I’ve been here
                                          and might return. 

Times Square

A short New Year's poem.

                                                          Times Square

                                                The ball is always descending,
                                                but this is the one time
                                                we count it down
                                                and consciously divide
                                                what was from
                                                what will be
                                                while trading kisses
                                                with the closest
                                                stranger
                                                now now now.