It was a June night.
A lovely, beautiful night.
The beginning of a drought.
People filled my house.
They were roses and carnations
everywhere, unabashed with blooming.
My three grandsons led the pack
of angels in the party.
But the children abounded.
There were flashes of sunlight
scattered on the sea.
I watched them play, laugh,
struggle in the sandboxes
with construction, pails, spoons
and buckets.
The apprentice generations
graduating from high school,
middle school, kindergarten.
And the birthday of Nellie,
95 years old, sitting stoically.
Our human society,
the granulation of the cherished,
and the puzzlement of memory.
Older members smearing memoirs
with sentimental tears.
I would ask you,
watching kids grow up,
babies speak,
jobs pass hands,
the puzzlement behind the quickness
of our passing.
What did I do to deserve
this wonderful destiny?
And all I can say at party’s end,
it was not long enough,
not full enough
to my life’s dream,
that I would give
to each and every one of them
a gratitude
howling with love!