For Nikki

I thought of Nikki this morning
in church,
when she suddenly appeared.
"My daughter," I laughed,
giving her a hug.
Nikki's back and that is good.

I think of the other Nikki's who
have been part of my life.
A beloved tabby,
and the poet Nikki Giovanni,
who feels like a mother to me
She
can take even the most horrible moment,
like 911,
and bring meaning to it.

Her childhood memories take
me back to Knoxville, Tennessee,
and to Virginia,
to church picnics,
and jamborees, gospel
sings and bluegrass
and the long days of summer,

shimmering with hope and promise.

Coming Around

"It hath the primal eldest curse upon it,
A brother's murder."  Hamlet

You must have seen the folds of the sheet
over the corpse,
its feet peeking out beneath the whiteness,

the head turned to one side, as if asleep.
An ever widening pool of blood leaked
from the head wound,
creating a  pool of crimson that
kept spreading in the 82 degree heat,
that was typical of a summer in Ferguson.

"My son, my son!"  The father's pleas were futile,
as rough men kept him from approaching the scene.
He could scarcely take it in.  The heat, the heat
didn't let up
during the four long hours that the body
baked in the hot sun.

Who was this son?  This son from Ferguson?
This brother, this friend
whose voice didn't fit his body.  "A boy

in a man's body," is how they described him.
A little kid's voice in a man's body,

anxious about the future, just graduated with a GED,
and soon, off the trade school.
He was anxious about that, and so approached his friend.
"Dorian, man, I need to talk to you."
So off they headed, to the store,
to walk and talk.

"Musically inclined," "reserved," "with a
"passion for fashion."  His classmates liked how
he matched his shoelaces to his outfits.

"Lil Wayne,
video games,
smoking pot, known to be kind,
yearning for a better time.

A kid in a big man's body,

who should have been home watching "The Family Guy,"
or fixing things
instead of stealing Swisher Sweets.
For that he had to die?

Six shots, one to the head.
Guaranteed to have him dead.

But just to make sure, a
final, sacrificial stab wound from which
blood and water flowed that day on  Street.

The officer claimed to be in fear of his life,
"like a five year old cringing before the Incredible Hulk."
Man up, Warren!   You made a mistake, acted in haste.
The boy was unarmed.  You disgust me.  He didn't have to die.

Mike-Mike, Big Mike had a girlfriend he wanted to marry.
He loved to rap and make music.  He confided to his father,
"Someday the world's gonna know my name."

But not like this, Michael, not like this.
For the rest of us, our lives will be forever a part of Ferguson.

New Arrival

Arrival time: around 2 pm
Date:  the 9th of December, 2014.
Weight:  around four pounds,
all sleek and shiny,
perfectly formed, just as we had expected.

She was late, but it was worth the wait.
We named her Nikki, after Nike, the Spirit of Victory,
in the hope that she would accompany us
to the next Boston Marathon.

After the fitting, the physical therapist
asked her to walk,
and with help, she took her first steps
in over a year.

Now she will have no pain.
She can walk again,
wearing her mother's crocheted socks
with "Spirit of Victory" on the cuffs.
She  has winged feet,
a titanium leg,
and a new lease on life.

You Were There

You were there

when our father died

 and I thought my life was over.

I never cried.

You were there

at the white columned school
when I had to leave,

orphaned,

to live with you.

You were there to see me through.

You were there

when high waters came,

bringing water, and candles, and food,

and so many things to help us through.

You were there when I could have died

and didn't because my faith pulled me through.

You were there,

and You.

You were there when my heart was broken

over a lapse in judgement.

It's not a sin to be lonely,

is it?

You were there,

and You.

You were there, when I sold my house.

And moved to a new one.

When I lost my knee

and got a new one.

Yours was the last face I saw

that day,

and the first one I thought of 

this morning, the first of a New Year.

So fresh with promise.

So bright with sunshine.

And You.

You Didn't Have To

You didn't have to 

shoot heroin.

You said you never would do that.

Was it worth it?

I know you said you felt

happy afterward.

That it was the only thing that

took away your pain.

Your husband was right to come

get you from the sleazy pad

you were sharing with your

drug addled boyfriend.

You didn't have to sleep around.

Have sex with two guys in an alley down town.

No, you didn't have to

make that toxic choice.

Rough sex.

Enough sex

to last two life times.

No, you didn't have to do those things.

But I'm glad you survived.

And I'm wondering how you avoided addiction.

You are such a contradiction,

dear child,

You take communion now

by the rushing stream under the bridge.

You have redeemed yourself by telling your story.

It's ok.

Everyone makes mistakes.

End of Day Random Gratitude

After seeing the film Wild, I'm grateful for my experiences.  While I've never walked a thousand miles, I once biked for 80 and backpacked for nine months.   

I'm grateful for the women who were in my writing class, for their creativity and humor.  Grateful for black-eyed peas on New Year's, and hot cider at Christmas.  Grateful that I experienced childbirth and saw my son grow up into the fine man that he is, for memories and memoirs, photographs, paintings, sculpture, and music.

Grateful for healing and for the wonderful day I've had, for Franklin's letter to Olivia, safe travels, and a warm home.

My Year of Miracles

I'll be leaving shortly for Christmas with family.  I will practice gratitude today and tolerance.

Much has been accomplished this year.  I sold my house in a negative market, downsized, moved, re-located, got settled in an apartment, and set about exploring a new community.  Then I had a knee replacement and scheduled surgery for the other knee.

So much to be grateful for and I pray  to be present today, conversational, and tolerant and hopeful.  A very special Christmas indeed.