Tuesday, October 5, 2021

 

Return of a Beloved Rodent

 

It’s been years, Mickey –

I’d say well more than  fifty

and suddenly you turn up

in a box from family

I receive in the mail.

You’re a bit worse for wear,

but don’t give it a thought!

Aren’t we all?

In any case,

the moment I saw your beaming face,

I didn’t care about the ravages of time

because you are here with me in my very own home.

 

I know you belong to my brother,

not me,

 but from the moment I saw you again

I was captivated

I was charmed

I swore I’d help you get yourself together.

 

Where have you been all this time?

In a basement or attic,

or stuffed in a drawer

for years

when no one sought you,

hugged you,

loved you.

No one even washed your face!

In the fabric of your body,

a tear reveals

a hint of ancient stuffing.

And your black mouse ears

and your shoes and pants and hands

– all gone.

 

You were my brother Johnny’s special friend.

I close my eyes and see the two of you again,

him holding you tight.

 

He lives continents away just now,

but don’t despair!

I’ll take care of you until he comes to get you.

I’ll put you back together.

You may remember, I know how to sew.

I’ll make new hands and gloves for you,

And shoes and skin and clothes

and I’ll keep an eye on you. ‘til he comes back.

 

You and I, Mickey,

it’s true, we may be aging,

but we’ll age with joy together, dearest mouse!

 

                                    Kate Lydon Varley

Friday, October 1, 2021


Undercurrent

 

The litany of my day is very simple:

it’s okay

it’s okay

If I say it a million times

I guess I need to

it’s okay

it’s okay

If I can’t fall asleep at bedtime, it’s okay

It’s okay if I’m sleeping  late to compensate

or if I’m tired from a night of wakeful worry

it’s okay

it’s okay

I soothe, I excuse

from dawn to dark, and then some

I look for the joys to be found in little things

and they are there

things for which I can’t help being grateful

sharing a poem, day lilies in bloom

birch trees with quiet leaves that rustle gentle

eating my breakfast oatmeal on the deck,

watching a house wren splashing in the bird bath

but as I enjoy, there’s still that steady whisper

it’s okay

it’s okay

I limit exposure to news of the pandemic,

search out the science, leave out most of the rest.

I’d bargain with God for a host of promising outcomes,

but I’m not a believer, so it wouldn’t help

I sing, I bike, I read poems by the bushel

make wonderful meals, day by day by day

serve stories to any with that kind of hunger

but the drumbeat still continues night and day

it’s okay

it’s okay

It’s okay to leave the dishes until later.

It’s okay if the sewing machine declines to work.

It’s okay if the dog barks at a passing neighbor

It’s okay

It’s okay

It’s okay to be nervous, frightened, angry

Okay to be wishful, wistful, wild or sad

It’s okay to push away what I can’t handle

And when all else fails, yes, it’s okay to cry.

It’s okay

It’s okay 


                                    ~ Kate Lydon Varley


Thanks to a suggestion from my friend Valerie, I have posted this poem of mine.