Another morning ritual

Fine blue and white stripes
My eyes open to the day
Electric toothbrush.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)  

Changing back to the old

The stores are open
The line ups of masked people

Slowly disapear.  

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Second jab

It's raining outside. I feel quite flat and matt this morning. I am getting my second jab. It feels as though this is something momentous. Odviously, only for me. Maybe also for family and friends that I can now meet up with. 

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

One of our homeless

She wanders through the streets
The midnight shift until dawn
Barefoot and breathing fire, she
Stomps the wilderness of her fury

Down down beneath the ground.
She laughs out loud and her
Ancestors echo back her
Childhood escapades from the
Storefront windows. She glimpses
The shadow of her moving self
And shouts at her to take care
There are monsters out there.

The morning light finally comes

And she slips away quietly from

Our streets. We know not where.

Life flying by

Each day comes quickly
I wake, eat, sneeze, go to bed
All the while dreaming.

My parents’ philosophy

 

Me: If you were to sum up your parents' philosophy for raising children, what would it be?

A.: Creativity, love and freedom. They gave me the entire mandate to decide for myself – balancing on the edge of irresponsibility.

M.: Happiness is overrated (and puts a lot of pressure on the individual). Instead, look for joy in your life. Enjoy the moment.

K.: Not sure if my mother had a philosophy! Generously, I think she followed the philosophy of the times. This was, she was expected to have kids, as well as stay at home and raise us. All the while being a good wife to her husband’s career.

I think my father didn’t have a philosophy of being a parent, but he had one about how he wanted to live his life. Which was to be a good person, kind, loving and a good person for his kids, and grandkids to model after.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

The joys of summer

I walk down the streets
Roses glimmer everywhere
A feast for my nose!

Photo by Sara Budhwani on Unsplash

Out on my bicycle

Pedaling madly
Past drug dealer in the park
Racing from the storm.

Photo by ty morrow on Unsplash

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)

Blindness

 

Watching Hyori’s Bed & Breakfast

Makes me dream of Grenada

The old Grenada of my childhood;

Salt-blasts over the cliffside

Cheese and tomato sandwhiches

With warm lemonade for lunch

A Bentley for the children, G&T 

For the adults waiting for dinner

To be served at Ross Point Inn.

I love those memories, for they

Are filled with a child's innocence.

Yet, they were colonial times, and

As such, seeped with disparity, 

Despair and a long legacy of 

Denying others their born rights.

Only we, as whites, could live 

Without the concerns of others. 

My morning meditation on the riverside

Two wild geese take flight
Water lilies drink the sun
I sit legs crossed.

Photo by Lynn Kintziger on Unsplash

Missing you

Rain in our basement

Summer days now grow shorter

And I think of you.