A memoir
A meandering mashup of
Memories
Moments
Muses
Meaning
Not a story told in order
But in feeling
In objects
In images
In connections
Written first for me
And perhaps others
Seeing something in
Nothingness
On wasps
Backyard
Kids playing
Laughing
Running
Swinging
“What’s that?”
In the red climbing hold
A wasp
A tiny nest
Chaos
Yelling
Running
Fear
“Dad help”
Spray
Poison
Dripping
Alive?
No?
No
We fixate on the word
Wasp this
Wasp that
Sting
Hive
Danger
Later
Upstairs
Bedtime routine
Pajamas
Kids brushing teeth.
I glance at
The thermostat
How’s everyone feeling?
Hot?
Cold?
Just right?
Pointing
“That’s your wasp”
Silence
I fine tune
Adjust
Adjust again
Not just temperature
Situations
Rooms
People
Myself
How I’m perceived
Too much?
Too little?
Just right?
It’s exhausting
Always tuning
Calibrating
I see
I now try to tune my kids
And my parents to me
And theirs to them
And on
That stings
On tuning
A piano
Note by Note
The making of Steinway L1037
Dozens of hands
Crafting
A single grand piano
Once complete
It still needs tuning
Too sharp
Too flat
Tuning sounds different
To every musician
Each chord
Each sound
Each melody
Distinct
Just like me
Around people
I change the note
The key
The tone
Tuning myself
For them
For them
And for them
Different notes
For different rooms
Different versions
For different people
What about
Me
What note is mine
Without an audience
On hands
Powerful
Beautiful
Callused
Human
The hand hold
Comforting
Safe
A home
Together
Crossing the street
Parking lot
Or wherever
It doesn’t matter
As long as I
Can still hold your hand
It always makes me smile
The thumb hold
A quiet ritual
Between generations
Forged
Like it was meant to be
At bedtime
Peaceful
Present
Green
Blue
Red lights
Floor mattress
In our home
Touch
Messages
Sent through skin
Emotion
Felt
Without words
For connection
For healing
A union
Made for each other
A hand
Can take you places
Up a cliff
With only a small crack
Across the globe
Where others once walked
To memory
To feeling
On crossing
Rivers
Grand
And mighty
At times
I am the water
Tenacious
Polishing
Smoothing
Rough edges
By moving
Other times
I am the stone
Tumbling
Unaware of my progress
Bit by bit
Not until I’m picked up
Held close
And someone says
How smooth
You’ve become
Other times
I am the river itself
Cutting canyons
Slowly
Layer by layer
Through history
Incredible
Mysterious
Other times
I am the wanderer
Traveling
Choosing
Where to cross
Or to venture around
Sometimes
We need a boat
On waves
Balance
Ups and downs
Highs and lows
A teacher
Changes
New beginnings
Becoming kinder
To myself
Shedding
For new growth
Becoming stronger
Hurts
Is uncomfortable
Becoming wiser
Is no different
I once stood
Above the Yellowstone
Just before the falls
The river rose and fell
Folding over itself
As if it might reconsider
Its rhythm
Holding me there
Stone walls
Iron bars
Grandparents cautious
Cousins
Siblings
Parents
Family close
Ahead
Gathering force
Mist rising
A rainbow
Held in the spray
Just beyond the edge
Different
From the rhythm
Of the never ending sea
Even the tides
Find their rhythm
With the moon
Perhaps like water
We choose
To move
Faster
Slower
In sync
At our own pace
Pilgrimage
To the side
Or away from the shore
A tiny ripple
A thunderous crash
A wandering wave
Each carried forward
All the same
Each meeting
Its own brink
And sometimes
In the letting go
Light
On release
Some structures
Are built
To hold back rivers
Engineered
For weight
For pressure
For force
Designed
With limits
As a kid
I toured one
Impressed by
The scale
The sophistication
From a distance
They look permanent
But everything
They hold
Is already
Moving forward
Water
Keeps moving
When pressure builds
Beyond design
You don’t shame
The water
You examine
The structure
The strain
Was familiar
A threshold
Had been met
Now the river
And I
Move
In relief
