After Discussing Gratitude with Maya

My granddaughter and I talked

about how to be grateful,

what we should give thanks for.

We say thank you, world where we live,

and thank you, whoever you are,

for the gifts of each day;

thank you for our dogs and cats,

for our parents, our friends,

our teachers-- and even for the weather,

though in late November

it’s not as easy as it was in May;

thank you for the love

that makes it easy to forgive

and, hopefully, to be forgiven,

and even for this coming winter;

and thank you for our lives,

for things rare and unexpected--

even if it’s going to be rather cold.

The Fox

 

I’m here to say a cardboard box

Is not a place to keep a fox;

For foxes need to wander free

wherever they would like to be.

They can thrive in many places—

from woods and farms to city spaces,

and always seems to know the score

out in the wild or near a door--

for many myths and much of art

assure us that the fox is smart--

and all our science on this guy

agrees that he is pretty sly.

A family man, he knows his kits

depend upon their father’s wits,

so duty he will never shirk—

he makes their lunch his own life’s work;

and thus, he goes on daily rounds,

defying hunters and their hounds.

After Discussing Death with Leo

As you noted, it is not fair:

the dead have no memories

(perhaps their greatest blessing),

while we who remain and remember

must deal with the void.

I think of you in earlier years

when you first saw this cold place:

the beloved cat-- or that sad little bird

lying in the yard at the edge of the trees,

and, then as now,  I am not selling reassurance,

a hollow gift you would rightly refuse.

Every puzzle has its pieces,

each one falling into its own place,

making the picture complete:

the sky entire above our heads

and the ground firm beneath our feet,

the confirmation of a whole

which lights each day’s journey;

but each loss is forever,

that place in the puzzle empty,

a face or color no longer there,

a blank we struggle to fill

until, at last, on some day,

we reach the magic of memory.

The Red Panda

While we pass time in thoughts so deep,

pandas would sooner enjoy their sleep;

and though not a treat for me or you,

three meals a day they eat bamboo!

Some people say the cold's a fright—

our friend instead thinks snow’s all right.   

This creature does not own a home—

she likes it best when she can roam;

And if she needs a little snooze,

a leafy branch is what she’ll choose. 

Red Pandas do not live near fountains

but dwell instead among the mountains--

off in the distant Himalayas

where there’s nothing to convey us--

so to see one means the zoos

and she is certain to amuse—

this creature that we strangely call

a panda (who’s not great but small!)

Owls!

(For Maya Grace)

Owls have deep and knowing eyes:

no wonder people think they’re wise!

Some are great and very tall,

but others are just short and small.

Without a doubt, they rule the dark,

but all that work is not a lark:

for there are owlets who await,

who need to eat both soon and late.

Even stealthy rats and rabbits

must fear those skillful hunting habits,

and if I chose to be a mouse,

I’d be afraid to leave the house!

The sounds they make, a big who-who,

will shake the forest through and through,

and signals that the owl’s nearby

watching all and perched on high.

So of the birds and other fowls,

I think my favorites are the owls!

The Wombat

 

Down under is where you’ll find

the wombat and his hairy kind.

Of all the beasts who walk and run

he could be called the strangest one.

Like a bear he’s often grumpy,

and has a tail that’s short and stumpy.

Those glowing eyes and teeth that pierce,

will tell us he can be quite fierce;

and with his friends he does not tarry--

it seems he’s mostly solitary,

As for your invite to a lunch

he’d have no use-- would be my hunch;

and since your clocks are in reverse

there’s little chance you will converse--  

for night is when this guy goes out

to find his food and get about--

so when you are in bed asleep

is when he wonders what to eat! 

Celebrations

The full moon is dancing

among hurried clouds,

and I, too, am stepping

to the beat of a magic word,

one called remission.

Those enemies my own body

so unknowingly launched

are now making their retreat,

leaving me in the grasp

of some new and dizzy tune

which may elude notation,

whose words I may not know,

incapable of exact performance,

but whose message is clear--

that to whatever music remains,

I must keep dancing on.

Thoughts in Late December

There it was, once again

in the center of the sky,

a faintly glowing Orion,

and this winter’s cold

is well and truly arrived.

The cycle does go on,

that great reassurance

of being entire, an order

which belies the disorder

that lives down below,

but in vain it contradicts

the awful mess we make

ever and always since Eden,

the drift of our careless ways,

despite the gifts endowed

by a knowing generosity

we forget how to know.

Thus what a miracle it is,

that on some rare days

the stars will have their way;

and the light of kindness

does not surrender an inch,

refuses to yield its duty,

and shines on, denying the dark.