Half raisin, half grape
holding fast to the vine,
we’ve nursed our petty ailments
like newborn pups
and survived another year.
We raise our cups of wine
and give thanks for
reaching this season,
for living long enough
to pay off the children’s student loans,
to give away the bride,
to bounce the grandkids on our knee,
bask on a beach in Fiji
and from time to time still feel
a surge of fresh desire
race through our swollen veins.
Who but the chronically depressed
has ever tired of waterfalls.
the droplets glistening on the moss,
a fine mist veiling the trees?
Who has grown indifferent to
twilight in the islands,
the sun exploding like a burst orange,
staining the crystalline seas,
warming our winter hearts?
All cause enough to celebrate
that we’re still here.
And when you come to call us home,
shehecheyanu, giver of all life,
you’ll find us crying out
for one more fond caress,
one last glimpse of the seahorse
posing pensively in the sand.
(Originally published in Blue Heron Magazine)