Heidi Beth

Boys in the yard whittle sticks into arrows,
sun sliding down their backs, its westward march
a dusk-maker, cool-wind-shaker,
lifting unbrushed curls and auburn feathers
off the necks of children.

Mothers watch and don’t watch, talk and fall silent,
laugh and change subjects between pauses
in a single sentence, as if the interruptions of toddlers
persisted into the grownness of boys over eight
and almost twelve.

Night breeze, saving laughter in high-back deck chairs,
feet up because the porch ledge is there saying please relax,
nameless anxiety pulled up short, its tensing tentacles
retract with each involuntary giggle induced
by a peer-in-duty beside, shedding light on other matters;
favorite singers, making the story a page-turner,
daffodils in winter.

Here mothers are women who remember
again their ownness, and gradually, within each silence between friends,
spirits are lifted anew, to meet what is… that beautiful.

Day 20

My music is life’s distant din, out here alone after dusk;
traffic two streets east, a neighbor’s screen door slamming loose,
the evening nothing settling warm and cool
like lace on my bare arm, in March. I made coffee,

strong after dark, daring, going to sip slow,
leave a cool half cup unfinished by the end
of this chapter called ease, while boys play quiet,
the dishwasher hums, clothes rock clean in another era;
matters beyond the porch door, inside where I am not.

That place is no breeze, no lantern light,
no pressing-in-night of a singsong, soft-lullaby, sun-struck day.
No, I am not in there, breathing shallow. I am hiding outside
in my sharing place, generously giving the woman I am

a whispering-while, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies,
legs under the softest blanket I’ve ever owned,
feet tucked up, knees bent to one side, and a special waiting,
as if this moment beneath the stars stretches into forever.

It’s not that I didn’t believe, or maybe that is the case,
not believing. Then comes a day where it matters,
but not literally. A time when right now happens
whether I remember to look at the sky or not. I’m in it,
completely. A combination of factors unsorted I call my life
must contribute. In unconcern, I begin to believe and let go

at the same time. The two-hundred acres, systematically written
vision we’ve been moving toward in steps-intended
and gifts that give us “Aha!” in the back of the neck,
knowing, the kind one feels is close enough to touch
if breath could be mastered, and eyes go out of focus
a second to remember the future. So if we get there,
because I’m here, I may be on the ground when the notion
transpires, when our life is a tangle of service mixed up

in handmade, homemade wonder, when lives touched
are lives changed and community isn’t a catchphrase
meaning good intentions at support if only. I felt all this
yesterday, alone, in the driver’s seat of our jet-black Silverado,
singing along to Simon and Garfunkel’s “America”,
remembering a train ride where I watched the sun rise
over middle Illinois, my hand penning poetry to tears
dripping off my face. Idealistic youth, hellbent more like,

but this is not the point. Crossing town in harmony
with the great duo, I knew it would all come together if it does
and when it does, I’ll be there and not here,
looking back, simply aware that this is reality.

I’m sitting on the front porch being rebelliously imperfect.
Bird song, cool-warm sixty degree breeze, overcast-brilliant,
spring in winter. I don’t know how to right-side just now,
so I won’t. I’ll close my eyes, listen to each avian call
I cannot name and picture nothing. I am beginning to remember.
I cannot choose imperfection. I am indeed, and in a sea of it. That’s better.

Day 16

Just came home from trip to Cancer Treatment Center, still feeling the effects of chemo last night. Right now my chemo schedule is:

Week 1 — long infusion with two chemo meds
Week 2 — short infusion with one chemo med
Week 3 — no treatment

I had just completed the long chemo when I had the surgery, so my oncologist decided that after such a long break he should start the cycle again. So Wednesday became Week 1. And I go back next week for the short chemo.

All of which probably help explain why it hit me so hard this week. I’m really wobbly, and nauseas, but having not had to deal with nausea for a month had completely forgot to take nausea pills with me to Zion. We stopped by my house first thing when we came to town tonight to get those pills, so the situation should improve now.

Heidi and the boys were wonderful helpers, it was a very big job for Heidi to take care of all of us at the same time but as usual she was great. And Karen will be able go with me next week. A superhuman feat in my book, because we have to drive to Zion the day after she arrives home from California where she’s been visiting daughters and new granddaughter.

I realized yesterday that I’ve been confused in my prayers for healing because I haven’t felt that I deserved it. If you come from a seriously dysfunctional family like I did, that might make sense. It was a major awakening moment for me and has helped me feel more accepting of all the love and support I’ve received from all of you. Of course I deserve healing. As do we all! And I believe that God understands what I’m saying when I pray in a more honest way, without the baggage of shame that I grew up with and that He never intends for any of us.

Love to you all,
Helen