Mementos

The laundry basket
overflows. Swim trunks heading
toward mildew; sweaty,
clay-stained tennis clothes. On all,
the smell of bug spray.
Memories, and their smudgy,
pungent proof.

The End of the Holiday

Rush to the airport.

Suburbans in a dust cloud,

surfboards on the roof.

Oh, Mexico

When in Mexico,

you go slow.

What began as a run on the beach

ends as a stroll, as I squint into the sun

to admire the motion of a fisherman

throwing his nets

again and again

into the sea.

Bitten

I itch.
My ankles and feet have been mauled
by tiny flying vampires;
when did this happen?
Drat the mosquitos!

Thanksgiving in Mexico

The air, sand and ocean are warm

and the beach nearly deserted.

The water laps gently at

a family of waders--

a mother, father, grandmother,

and three little boys in their underwear.

At a plastic table under a brightly colored umbrella,

seviche and micheladas are served.

Cihuatlan Tennis Club

At the end of a dusty, potholed road
in a Mexican village
is a secret garden.
Walk through the rusty gate
past the worn-out tree swing
and there it is: Cihuatlan Tennis Club.
Spongy red clay underfoot;
hibiscus blooming courtside.
The drone of cicadas
and the mewing of a few
of the litter of kittens that live
at the house next door.
Beyond the fence,
coconut palms and banana trees.
The air is soft and heavy;
the sound of the ball muffled
and the speed at which it bounces
a bit slower
like time itself.

Manzanillo Bound

Glennco vacations:
a plane full of Lagunans,
Manzanillo bound

Break with Tradition

Packing my bags
and pondering
Thanksgiving in Mexico:
turkey enchiladas?

Before All Things

Today is the last Sunday after Pentecost, and the last Sunday of the liturgical year, celebrated in many Christian denominations as the Feast of Christ the King. Next stop: Advent. I'm feeling stuck and had a hard time coming up with a poem, so here's a "found" poem from today's lectionary. It's from a passage in Colossians 1; I just played around with the form.

The heart-and-cross image above is the insignia of the Vendean insurgents, a group of believers who fought against the suppression of the Church during the French Revolution. I love the internet for finding quirky facts and images like this!

He

himself

is

before all things

and

in him
allthingsholdtogether.

127 Hours

David and I took the boys to see the movie "127 Hours" tonight. It's based on the true story of Aron Ralston, the young man who was out hiking alone in a remote part of Utah, became trapped when a boulder fell and crushed his arm, and had to amputate his lower arm to save himself. For such dire and gory subject matter, it's a remarkably life-affirming and even funny movie. (The filmmaker, Danny Boyle, who also made "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Trainspotting" some years ago, clearly has a gift for finding light in the darkness.)

"127 Hours" was incredibly hard to watch yet absolutely gripping. It wasn't an eat-popcorn-and-kick-back-in-your-seat kind of movie. It's the kind of movie that makes you consider the most powerful drive we have--the survival instinct--and wonder what you would do in that situation.

Could I do that?

Would I do that?

Am I made of the same stuff,

or something different?