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)

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