Another Poem About the Truth

The truth is
people born with 47 chromosomes have been locked away
left alone and died alone
in voids of confusion and loneliness
throughout history and throughout the world

The truth is
Some still do

47 chromosomes
do not preclude a human from learning
from feeling
from reaching for more

Science can see this trisomy
before a mother
feels her child developing
Science cannot see possibility
Science cannot tell the future
Neither can you
Neither can I

The truth is I need help
to facilitate my son’s reach
toward his potential
The truth is he has dreams for his future
do you have dreams, too?

April is…

Your Heart

in that antiseptic room

your tiny chest opened

 

once considered a miracle

living

recovery

 

now science

medical

possible

 

in my wallet

a diagram

a heart

with arrows

circles

concerns

 

I run

with you

running you

through life

 

For enough life

whatever we get

should be enough

 

Is that possible?

probably not

we take

create

pack in

every minute

 

all we get is

a few precious minutes

here and there

 

you

make minutes matter

you

bring joy

you

create hope

you

teach purpose

you

 

your heart

beautiful beating heart

 

I keep watching

keep watching you

and your heart…

 

***

So, in April I tend to go to the hard moments that came from the April’s before, including handing my sweet baby over to heart surgery all those years ago. We had a long reprieve from

Learning to Celebrate Love

Bringing a circle of support around two people is beautiful. My favorite weddings combine celebration, tradition, and personality, with the rituals chosen on purpose, a specific and unique start to their new adventure together.

Last year we went to the wedding of my dear friend, Christine. The small congregation of close friends and family spontaneously sang her down the aisle of the small chapel. The scene was gorgeous on a beautiful island off of Seattle. It propelled me to live like we have 100 Junes.

 

Also last year, my youngest

I am not a Poet

I am not a poet. Sometimes, I write poetry.

I am not a teacher, still I train and coach.

I am not a student though I continue to learn.

I am not an engineer, and yet I question

the universe and try

to mold a new future,

or maybe invent an impossible one,

 

I fear.

Of all that I am not…

I am not prepared.

I am not convinced.

I am not culpable.

Yet, of