California Cloudburst
Under my umbrella, protected,
raindrops ping, and I take note,
knowing at my age,
walks in the rain are numbered.
I spin the stem, making spray,
but then, pings ring steady and strong,
the street becomes a stream,
and my socks are soaked.
I recall the film Life with Father,
hearing baptism was required for heaven.
I ran home and said, I want to be baptized.
Mother laughed: You want your minister uncle
to come over and throw water in your face?
Suddenly, now, I fling my umbrella,
face the sky, and answer her,
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Knitting
There's a thread that you follow.
William Stafford
I hold out my arms — Mother
places yarn skeins around them.
Starting with a thread,
she winds ball after ball,
colors for her afghan.
I did not know then…
that life holds out its arms,
and starting with a thread,
I wind ball after ball,
colors and textures,
memories knitting my story.
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Gone Fishing
Now that we had a car,
Pop bought bamboo poles and bait,
drove us to Creve Coeur Lake
where he and Mother sat in chairs
holding poles, watching buoys,
hoping for bobs.
I didn't know how to swim,
but I stood in the murky water,
moved my arms and pretended.
My father beamed. My mother
smiled at him and smiled at me.
Holding those long magic wands
could take you anywhere,
and they were launched,
faces soft and faraway.
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