Snippets of My Life

Not meant to be a poem- purposely disjointed- spontaneously written

Yesterday, was my birthday.

 Broadway bound on the Beacon Line-

To view our favorite

Arthur Miller play, “All My Sons”.

actors convincing in their roles.

 

Noticing my aging form;

While glancing in the mirror

at fine surface lines-

becoming more pronounced,

sagging fleshy arms becoming looser

making me blue.

 

Two weeks from retirement

Still actively moving,

 but no one is exempt from frailty.

 

Piecing together once broken adolescents

Moving ahead from a world of psychiatric patient

to one of renowned writers of prose and poetry

feeling comfortable within themselves,

taking risks, accepting failure

finding a sanctuary of their own.

 Adoring grandmother of Skylar and Bayla,

 3 ½ months and 20 months respectively,

 “Kvelling” over each milestone,

  chapters in a book.

 connecting with the world around them,

 Watery eyes feeling wistful

 for my own young years

 Those of nurturing the two I birthed.

 Holding my hand on this heavy heart.

  Recapturing the laughter, adventures

and ordinary experiences

with family and friends,

who have passed or moved on.

 

 Craving the presence of my older sister,

Often preferring books to toxic peers

About whom my aunt once said,

 “You may have the personality,

 but Sharon, the looks.”

Favorite musicians falling prey

to fame, drugs and alcohol

leaving their haunting songs behind,

Leaving me still analyzing the lyrics

and appreciating the instruments working in tandem

as they created magic.

 

 Racing up the stairs by twos-

In the courtyard

Each night exactly at 6:01

My father, excited to see “Malkah”,  his Queen”

and two adoring daughters.

Sitting at the dinner table

Arguing cause they could

“Girls, go to your room.”

And then, “Come back now- Finish eating”.

The two drying dishes

Their eyes rolling.

Playing board games, reading

And taking educational walks.

Mom, dad, Sharon and Bonnie

 

Blushing, seeing dad kissing mother

and squeezing her tush-

Falling back, finding condoms in his armoire

An elated teen, “They’re still doing it!”

Was time really flying?

Always feeling like it was.

“Why couldn’t they hold onto their youth,

and I, mine?

At six and eight, stirring ingredients for chocolate chip cookies

“She, waiting for the spoon.”

“Daaara! I am the baker

 You are only the assistant baker”

 

Driving in my car

Jason riding in back

Heading for the exit

“Mommy, somebody took the “30 murphy”.

Only 4, but understanding

The way words work.

30 murphy- 30 miles per hour.

 

And a day later..

“Dear Grandma and Grandpa”

Clicking away on a PC 

“Preservatives are bad for you.”

Learning and loving.

 

In a prone position

Dara, on the bed

At the age of five

Contemplating

“If I move my bed

And my desk….”

Independently,

Styling her own hair

Asking for help

“I can do it!!!”

 

 

Good-looking, intelligent, successful,

 thoughtful and kind.

Motherhood comes naturally to Dara,

as does fatherhood to her husband, Michael.

 

And I, the teenager

Hanging out with Bronx buddies

talking music and books

while chomping on knishes, pickles or pizza-

so much-to miss

Will I live to see my granddaughters get Bat Mitzvah?

Holding hands, with a brilliant husband,

 aka children’s therapist and raconteur

Looking forward to a mutually warm future

 talking of children, grandchildren, politics, and romance.
One day, maybe soon, maybe not,

Will I be weeping to my children,

as my mother while she lay in a hospice bed?

 “Don’t cry over me.”

“Children get older
And I’m getting older too, oh yes
I’m getting older too”
Stevie Nicks.

 

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Bonnie bonnie

[email protected]

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Author's Note

would appreciate honesty--- Thanks. It means a lot.