Eulogy for a Neighbor

My husband David and I just went to a memorial service for our friend Jon, who died suddenly just over a week ago. Jon was not a close friend, but someone we have gotten to know over the years through our kids' school and extracurricular activities, and because he frequented the same morning coffee spot that we do. I liked him a lot--he was funny and devoted to his kids and always greeted me warmly and asked about my kids. Whenever I would run into Jon, he was happy to see me. He made my day brighter. That's no small thing, in my opinion. 

During the service, many of Jon's close friends and family spoke movingly, at length, about his life and their love for him and his for them. Then the pastor asked if anyone else had anything to add about Jon and what he meant to them. One of Jon's neighbors got up, cleared his throat, and spoke into the mic. Afterward, David and I talked about what he said, and agreed that it was our favorite of the eulogies offered. It made me think about the ways in which we all have an effect on the people we interact with on a daily and weekly basis, and not just those who are our family and closest friends.  I wrote a poem based on this neighbor's short, sweet eulogy to Jon. 

I didn’t know him

as well as or as long as

the rest of you did

but

we both loved our dogs

and 

when he would walk his dog 

past my driveway

my dog would go crazy

and

I would grab the leash

and come out to meet him

and the four of us would walk together.

He was easy to talk to and interested in my life.

He brought a lightness to my day. 

I will miss him.

All is One, All is Different

The rain has stopped.

A damp hush falls.

Sea, sky and sun

turn silver

as if spun from the same stuff

or turned into something else entirely.

Portrait of the Artist

​

​

An artist alone

an empty beach, wind-tossed sea

and so it begins

Creatures of Leisure

Iguanas creep out,

then stretch and bask by the pool

as if they owned it.

On Visiting Waikiki

Waikiki Beach
is one of those places
I feel like I should hate
on account of its many hotel towers and tourists--
Like Las Vegas or Disneyland--
except that I love it.
I love looking at the faded green hills
and Diamond Head off in the distance.
The aquamarine water
and bright yellow catamarans;
the candy-pink umbrellas dotting the beach
in front of the old Royal Hawaiian Hotel.
Even the throng of oiled bodies on the sand
and high-rise buildings that crowd the shore
take on a warm, pastel glow
under the Hawaiian sun,
like figures in a vintage postcard.

High School Winter Formal

It’s that time of year again.

There’s a panicked attempt
to tie one of Dad’s real bow-ties
per an instructional video on YouTube
which proves too difficult
and is abandoned for Plan B:
the faux, pre-tied version.

Well-scrubbed boys
in shiny rented formalwear
posing for pictures
with long-legged, glossy-haired girls
who exceed their dates in sophistication
and height.

The customary exchange
of corsages and boutonnieres,
the parental admonitions to
have fun and be safe,
and the flurry of goodbyes
as the kids all leave for the dance.

There, again, is the lump
that lodges somewhere between my throat and heart
at seeing my boys dressed up like young men,
rehearsing for adulthood.

Bonus

​

​

Don't you love

the feeling you get

on a Sunday night

when you remember

that Monday is a day off?

One Perfect Hour

After the morning's work

and before taking my son to a doctor's appointment

was one perfect hour

in which I rushed to the beach

hurry, hurry

parked on Thalia Street

and ran across Pacific Coast Highway

water-logged longboard under my arm.

I pulled on my wetsuit

quick, quick

pausing to take note

of a new hole under the left arm, darnit

and paddled out.

The water was still January-chilly

but the warm sun made up for it

and I caught wave after glassy little wave

and watched the pelicans dive

and said

thank you, thank you

when I saw

a pod of dolphins swim by.

Red Sky, Wine-Dark Sea

Under a blooming,

red-magenta sunset

on an ordinary Tuesday

the ocean becomes

Homer's wine-dark sea

There's Always Something...

The bougainvillea

is looking good. So what's with

the New Zealand flax?

Have you ever noticed that maintaining a house or a yard (or a kid, for that matter) is a never-ending project akin to painting the Golden Gate Bridge? Leaky roof, sun-damaged floors, backed up drains, unhappy plants (or in the case of the kid: stomach flu, lingering cold, weird Honduras-induced skin condition)--you fix one thing and then some other problem pops up. Occasionally I have to remind myself that there will always be something, and that's just the way it is...and it's ok.