early season bike ride

tenakill swamp

Seventeen

          for my daughter

Seventeen years you have been with me.
I’ve tried to protect you from harm
And prepare you with knowledge and skills
And a moral compass to guide you.

And here you are, such an excellent person,
Smart but not arrogant about your brainpower,
Sympathetic about the difficulties of those around you,
Happy to have fun with your friends and enjoy being alive.

The hypocrite adults all say: “Do what I say, not what I do.”
So I have tried to teach by example.
But the example of my life is a checkered record at best,
So take what you like and leave the rest.

I hope that you have what you need most by now.
I don’t take the credit for who you are
Though others compliment me upon meeting you.
I hope that misfortune mostly passes you by.

This year the world will change for you on your birthday.
This is the day you will get your driver’s license.
No more will you be under my wing going here and there.
You’ll be an adult in the eyes of the DMV.

I remember the delight of mobility first gained in my youth.
Now I’ll be free of the driver duties for you, do you think?
Not! Really it will be a loss of something I enjoyed,
But you’ll begin to get the feeling of not depending on others.

In that way adult means being independent and self-sufficient.
Of course I hope you always need me and seek me out as an advisor,
But most of all I wish for you to surpass me totally
In what you know and what you accomplish.

The Promise

          for Julie


This I can promise you, you who are bereft in your loss:
She is gone from the external world but remains with you.
She will be there for you when you need her most.
You will feel her guiding you when you are quiet in yourself.

You will honor her and remember her and carry on her traditions.
You will cook a special dish and she will be there.
You will arrange flowers and cherish a peony and she will be there.
You will wrap a present in her special way and she will be there.

I know these things because my mother is with me still,
Though she died nigh on fifty years ago.
And I have children who never knew her
And births she missed and I sorely missed having her with me.

But I keep her memory alive and I give her to my children
In ways they know and ways they do not know
Because she is in me and is acting through me.
It is not just stories of another time, it happens right now.

When I set out a vase with gladiolas, her favorite flowers,
She is present in a way that defies logic.
I feel her love and I express my love to my children
And in that way she touches me and them with her love.