in which everyone was kind, generous, and will be missed.
The advice given from a heart doctor:
“Don’t look at the stat monitors;
you can’t live by the numbers.”
There were days hers were so good.
This month, a blue moon on New Year’s Eve.
The maid at the Waldorf, a Russian Jew, told me,
get out and walk. “Don’t look at anybody,
don’t go into stores, just walk.”
In St. Bartholomew’s church,
a woman turned to a man—
“God wants you to live as long as possible.”
I just wanted quiet.
The kind of quiet that comes out of stillness:
hummingbird wings sculling the air;
Ave Maria sung as liturgy by an opera singer.
I took a wrong turn today up the mountain.
Now, I wear blue topaz, the color of my mother’s eyes.
Oval stones in a bracelet, hoop earrings.
Though I am not mineral or vitreous
I have been touched, turned, warmed, and cut.
I want to believe that the dog lick-kisses my lips
because she loves me and not
for the sweet jam in the corners of my mouth.
Now, I count lights when I drive,
snack instead of eat meals.
Now, the wave of a bare greasewood in the wind,
the orange flowers that hang on
the Cape honeysuckle in January amaze me.