Holiday Driveby

 Holiday Driveby

A funky grandma in checkered pants,

Exhausted by Thanksgiving rants,

Desperate for diversion from a bird,

Tiptoes outside without a word,

Decides to take her Bolt for a cruise,

Without another second to lose…

Down a skinny driveway,

Braving a congested highway,

To the airport, down a ramp,

Her bolt shakes and pivots,

Clamp, clamp, clamp…

To a spiral that goes circling around, 

Twisting to the underground,

With sliding doors and concrete floors,

Merging vehicles,

Traffic officials,

Blinking lights, 

Arriving flights…

Putting all holiday stress and duties aside,

To catch humans, in a moment, being kind,

There’s rows of rollers and baby strollers,

She’s seeking inspiration,

From others’ anticipation,

She spies: 

College students,

Estranged brothers,

Anxious mothers,

And weekend lovers…

So nice to see their brightened mugs,

Surprising tugs, 

And grizzly hugs. 

Makes her want to take another lap,

Stubbornly skipping her midday nap,

In a town with love on shortage,

A garage can provide much needed portage..

With its hustle and bustle,

And tailpipe fume,

Circling around,

Extinguishing gloom.

Grace every single day

 Grace every single day

Wake up,

Find my feet,

Stumble in darkness.

Pinpricks,

First steps.

Quietness, 

Measuring out water

And steel cut oats.

Convection currents,

Roll around,

Tap, tap, tap

Inside my pot

Pretty kitty,

Tight smoke ball,

Kisses to her head,

Smoothing out her ears,

Three little mu, mu, mows.

Good morning to you, too.

Opening a metal lid,

Finding my work,

There are all those tabs,

Waiting for me once again.

With grace I proceed,

With love.

Marking a paper,

Not with judgment,

Or mindless repetition,

With a person in mind, 

And feedback to share.

An hour to prepare,

Another hour, 

A shower.

Sifting through,

Bright orange and yellow threads,

For something to celebrate the day.

With grace,

Strapping on a sturdy,

Dusty, faded backpack.

Zippers still intact, 

All these years.

With gratitude, 

I thrust three manila folders full of green and blue markings,

A silver laptop, a calculator, a phone,

Snacks in a bag.

The messes will be there for me,

When I get back,

Plates with dried up rice, strewn poppy seeds,

Yogurt bowls, balled up towels on the bathroom floor.

With grace,

I pull open a door with green paint chipping away,

Bright posters greet me and remind me of my lesson’s purpose.

Two hungry goldfish leap upwards, and a snoring crayfish

Stirring their snapping claws at the whiff of a tiny morsel dropping down into their home.

Grace, grace, grace

To make it through a bustling day,

When 100 million stimuli necessitate,

100 million responses

Delivering repetition,

With grace,

And love,

And individual attention.

Creative love, 

And energy for each little task,

Begins and ends with 

grace.