Your Legacy Must Be Both Love and Fear

Your legacy must be both love and fear.
I know that when you died, you feared for me.
The family curse you carried in your breast
Was not a gift you wanted to pass on.
But fear of it, just like my love for you,
Must linger in my heart, unwelcome guest!
And as I weep for your too early death,
I also can hear rumblings of my own.
Ah, Mother! We are linked like paper dolls,
A line of little cutouts in a row.
I see my clearest memories in my mirror
And feel your anguish bloom beneath my breast.
For this, my love for you is more, not less.
In our misfortune there's a common grace:
For me, in that you must have grieved my burden;
For you, in that you must have mine foreseen.
The Cancer That Killed You Was Part of You Gone Quite Insane
The cancer that killed you was part of you gone quite insane:
The good run amok; death from life bursting awry,
Like a poor paranoid on a bell tower sniping away,
Killing the order that gives all the colony life.
Nature, of course, has madness built into its music,
Disturbing its peace with the agony all artists crave.
Perhaps that's what killed you: the one-in-so-many malfunctions
That chaos requires to shatter the oneness of light.
But chaos is aided in our time by greed in abundance:
Greed like a cancer destroying our colony Earth;
Greed that we eat, drink, and breathe, in our dreams, in our language;
Greed in the nuclei of our dwindling faiths.
What killed you, my loved one, is blended in recycled plastic
Spewing its toxins in micrograms into the sky.
Your life was a goat on the altar of modern convenience,
Bearing the sins of us all towards that merciless god.
We live in a world whose rulers are partners with death;
For whom cancer must be a number that balances out.
You were just perhaps the unlucky percent to be traded
For progress towards some CEO's end-of-year bottom line.
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Snow Is Just the Icing on the Cake

Snow is just the icing on the cake.
Even as the Earth begins to warm,
And we reduce our footprints for its sake,
So will light from dark again be born.
Old customs, rooted deeply in the heart,
Now live on as atmospheric joy.
'Mid pines or palms, mince pie or mango tart,
Seasonal displays our spirits buoy.
Greetings, then, and hopes for the new year,
Regardless of the temperature outside!
Each gift of time is cause enough for cheer;
Each moment yet unlived a blushing bride.
Though the world be dark and warming fast,
In season's joy is something that will last.
Nor will we soon forget to celebrate
Grace so bountiful or gifts so great,
Sensing well the fortune of our fate.
So Do We Mark the Turning of the Light
So do we mark the turning of the light,
Each turning imperceptibly within,
As dawn comes to the coldest depths of night,
Sweet silver hint that day will soon begin.
Our darkest hours are those of greatest cheer,
Nor need we faith to feel the moment's grace,
Still holy, though the mechanism's clear,
Gift of time transcending time and place.
Reason sees no reason for rebirth:
Each moment is an equal place to start.
Even so, we recognize its worth:
The ritual redemption of the heart.
In us there yet remains the ancient awe,
Now overlaid with litany and law,
Grateful to the gods for seasons sure,
Sustained by love unseen and worship pure.
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I Sometimes Think that I Could Be Alone

I sometimes think that I could be alone:
Really alone, with neither God nor friends.
The people near me then might well be stone:
Just faces on a frieze that never ends.
And I would travel in my mind towards death,
A world within a world sealed like a tomb.
My thoughts would be as silent as my breath,
And, like my breath, expire at my doom.
Such thoughts would make me shudder, were not you
A world where I may enter and find rest.
A rock gives way within, and I walk through
To be in laughing eyes a welcome guest.
Thank God I have you, friend, that I might stay
And be as I could be no other way.
I Used to Doubt You Cared for Me
I used to doubt you cared for me
When love was bright and blue.
We ran like puppies through a field,
But this I never knew.
We both said we were friends for life,
Not knowing what it meant,
Not knowing how to go through hell
And not somehow repent;
Not knowing love was something hard,
Like stone against the wind,
And life itself might be a prize
The heart would leave behind.
But now I know the depth of love,
And it was worth the pain,
Though not for love nor life would I
Go through that hell again!

I Would Not Ask You to Forget
I would not ask you to forget
How I've betrayed your trust.
I'm asking, though, that you forgive
Because I feel I must.
I can't just let our friendship go
Nor let this silence last.
I know I can't undo what's done,
But, please, let past be past.
Let my mistake be memory
Where you may keep your pain,
While I annihilate this thing
I'll never do again.
And let us once again renew
A friendship that is real:
Limping, yes, but still alive,
With wounds that time can heal.
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Although a Daughter, I Write This as a Mother

Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.
We're both mothers now, of child-daughters:
You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,
And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.
Death has thus shaped both our lives in ways
We would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,
Painfully lovely thing it was always:
Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,
Needing our loves as I needed yours; your love
The same song as ever, a lullaby I remember
So well from my time in your arms. We move
In slow spirals towards the stars. September
Has weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.
Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.
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