Hour 24 – Home

Home is becoming unstuck
When we get to be awestruck
Sweet-hope home is through the door
Not a place, love we adore


My journey began and ended with a tanaga. I wrote 28 poems, with a detour when I inadvertently cheated by posting a few poems before I took a nap. I rewrote them, so I could say I did it properly. It was a great experience! I’ll look forward to reading more poems over the next few days.

Hour 23 – Blessings from Grandma

Blessings for these things:
the prayers you prayed for me,
the Mad Magazines you bought us,
the freedom to explore anywhere,
the macaroni and cheese, please, that
had a pound of cheese any kind
a stick of butter
2 cups of bread crumbs
4 cups of milk
a dribble of oil and some flour
a mess thrown into the oven
a push toward early cardiac death,
but we drown in the cheesy goodness.


Inspired by cheese and Jay Parini’s “Blessings”

Hour 22 – Awake, O Sleeper

Wake Up

the visible becomes light
Awake, O sleeper,
Arise from the dead
and Christ will shine on you.”

Wake yourself,
you who have drunk from
the hand of the LORD
the bowl
the cup of staggering.

Awake, awake,
put on your strength
for no more shall come in the unclean

Arise, your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD
the sun of righteousness
has risen upon you.
with healing in its wings.

Wake from sleep.
For salvation is nearer to us now
than when we first believed.


A found poem based on these Bible verses: Ephesians 5:14; Isaiah 51:17; Isaiah 52:1; Isaiah 60:1; Malachi 4:2; and Romans 13:11.

Hour 21 – Ode to My Spice Cabinet

My spice cabinet, filled to the brim with sweet and savory magic, you are a wonder.

The grinder and you have taught me to make my own masalas–chai, garam, Arab and Chinese five-spice. You open doors of the possible and make my cooking soar to summits I never knew possible.

You give me confidence to measure by the spoonful. Not the wimpy sprinkling of my past cooking life, the bland life I had before I came to know you.

Occasionally one of your mismatched recycled jars escapes when nudged too far. If it’s plastic it will bounce delighted across the floor; if glass, it goes out with gusto and flair–filling the kitchen with aromatic joy for a day or two.

Thank you, spice cabinet, for filling my world with color, aroma, flavor, and beauty.


Wow, be sure to read this beautiful Ode to Shea Butter by Angel Nafis. 

Hour 20 – Outside

I wrote about walking during the day, as it now noon here.

Outside

It’s an oven outside
The air mostly just hot, still,
what you might expect
at noon near the summer
solstice on a desert island.
Onions are frying in ghee
for someone’s lunch,
making my mouth water.
Oleander, nature’s poison,
I have never understood why
they are ubiquitous landscaping
for family gardens.

Shade was not to be found,
I wanted to sit and observe nature.
I kept walking and went to school
to pick up a letter of recommendation
our departing principal had readied for me.
I sat outside, enjoying some welcome
shade–the first I had seen.
I read the letter, along with a lot of
Denise’s there was also one Angela tucked in,
a stray from a previous letter, cut and pasted.
I returned it to the secretary. She’ll get it fixed.

The birds seemed to be enjoying the shade
of the jasmine tree and delighting in the promise
of the fruit-laden palms.

Hour 19 – A Self Portrait After Adam Zagajewski

A Self Portrait

After Adam ZagajewskiThe frame I used is from his poem, and I have put them in italics.

Between
my cell phone, the kitchen, and my love seat
half my day passes. It is well past half a century.
I live in a land where Arabic is the language of
music and the streets.
I listen to the language’s songs, even though
I only catch an occasional meaning in the volley around me.
I see two sides battling for my inner life.
I read stories about faith and hope and life and love and I am nurtured.
I like to write poems and letters and blog posts that no one reads.
Beside me is my partner, faithful and true.
I’m no longer able to make my mark here, but I have passed the torch
and I am content and at peace.
I like a listening ear
and spicy milk tea.
Sometimes at the sea, the miniscule waves speak to me and I am comforted.
I love working with children as they learn, create, and find their voices.
Every Friday I eat baked salmon and have a day of rest.
I am not unaware of my privilege.

I’m truly not a child of the moon,
of which Mick Jagger sang,
but a child of the Son,
and not all the plans God has for me
are met in this life that—so far—
still belongs to me.

My country freed itself from one evil. I wish
another liberation would follow.
Could I help in this? I don’t know.
~Adam Zagajewski

Hour 17 – Safer With Books

He read the whole plan in a book

He intended to ease himself into the water at midnight

No one would know or blame themselves

They would spend time looking

but the plan was perfection

marked with science,

enzymes and bacteria

He loved readying the arrangements

His body would never be found

It worked perfectly for the antagonist,

and he’d been planning it for weeks,

There were no missing links from the

author’s description

of this painless goodbye.

He had always assumed he was safer with his books,

But that night, they were waiting for him on the bridge,

And he finally realized it wasn’t true that books

are safer than people.

He let them carry him home.


“Books were safer than other people anyway.”  – Neil Gaiman

Hour 16 – The Sound of Tea After a Wakeful Night

Glug, glug, glug

the water fills the mug.

Swoosh, splash, plop,

hubby pours it in the top.

Hum, rattle against the metal.

boils the soon-to-be tea in the kettle.

Gurgle, bubble, ease, 

Poured gently over the leaves.

“Tea, my queen?”

he says with a bow and caffeine

Hour 15 – Yes

Yes

Yes, is such a hope-filled word

I wish I had said Yes to Brant

when he was tangled in

the emotions of being an

8-year-old from a broken family.

Yes, to being the kind of teacher

that gave him permission to be

“naughty” (whatever that means)

Yes, to a memory of him not

shaking his head no.

 

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