long winter

late March shivers north wind 

and piles of snow linger

in this ungraceful  sun 

and ice shatters under foot 

we ask when will this novel end 

and let spring unlock the door 

yes we built a quincy in December 

and still it stands unblemished 

a rabbit hole to permanent winter 

yet we know summer will come 

with C02 warmed heat 

all a part of this new world order

Norah's laugh

where does it start 

this bubbling up from the belly 

unrestrained joy of lilting laughter 

learned or innate

     irresistible 

we must join in and 

let go of world 

hands open to catch 

happy catches in the voice 

to hold the ball lofted 

that says 

    pass me on 

hands cupped together 

to make a landing for 

the delicate bubble of the future

what he showed us

blonde hair like pure energy

front teeth growing in 

he shows us the shells he brought 

from Cuba 

pink and white and tan 

had to choose which ones 

to take home 

so these were the treasures 

the jazz of the sea 

exoskeletons of mollusks 

washed up on the beach

keeps them in a special bag 

mementos of the warm holiday 

the shells of memory

Norah's questions

deep blues bore into heart 

almost sitting 

on the couch 

leggings tight around thighs 

foxes and bears on shirt 

eyes ask questions 

what are you to me 

will you read me a book 

what is this world we are in 

and answers don’t come easily 

so we just stare and 

marvel this life 

    this mystery 

        this burst in our being 

            this gift

we buy a llama

we walk in warmth down 

Mexican street uneven 

concrete and cobblestone 

southern February sun 

so unfamiliar 

dust from construction 

settles 

and we take it all in 

this sunny mix of tourism and work 

and this woman 

selling colourful stuffed llamas 

on the sidewalk 

little shy girl beside/behind

we stop to look 

a toy for grand daughter

pay pesos and 

wish her well 

in this sun warm street

goodbye Henry

on the day 

we put him in the crate and 

drove to the pet vet meowing

in the room

three fake candles on the table

and a small blanket 

while we waited I scratched his neck 

hand lost in the soft fur 

on the blanket he went to sleep 

another needle made his heart stop

my hand still lost

I said goodbye 

and left the room 

sadness surrounding like 

meows

 

Norah at a quarter of a year

there’s a cluster of ribbons 

and a stuffed turtle with two rings 

yellow and green 

hanging just above her 

she wants them 

but hands don’t cooperate 

flailing 

and then she grabs the ribbons and won’t let go 

but the rings still hang 

penduluming 

left hand bats at them 

so hard to grasp 

fingers must unclench 

until finally two fingers wrap around the plastic 

goal achieved infant persistence

paying off 

boding well for ribbon-filled tomorrow