Graduating to Wet Stones

When I am Closest to Her (for Kathelyn Kay) When I dig in the earth planting my summer garden, forgetting everything but petal and stem. When I slice plump red tomatoes and sweet Vidalia onions into a simmering broth of garlic and basil . When I count the new arrivals: two red-headed house finch pecking seeds I've scattered over the drive. When I return home for the day and the dogs and I share our daily ritual of sitting together on the couch exchanging our day's adventures. When I walk through her garden-a riot of poppy, astilbe, coreopsis, gaura, and the crowning butterfly bushes arching over my head. When I know there is no other place where she is more beautiful and at peace. When I am sitting in her kitchen while she makes us big cups of oolong tea with bright saucers we picked out on one of our Tuesday night get-togethers. When she opens the sunroom door inviting in late afternoon light and her gray mama kitty, whom she naturally addresses as one would a very important person. When I think of the first time she had to look inside, see the whole black and blue, sad and sick, top and bottom of me. When I think of how she carried me through half a dozen or more hospital stays, twice as many doctors, new drugs, midnight ambulances, emergency rooms, restarts and relapses-hers and mine. When she picks up her tea and motions me to come sit with her on the porch facing the pond. When she leans back in her chair against the slightest flush of sunset and releases a sigh that makes me more comfortable with the world. When I realize she is that one perfect poem my heart has been trying to write, again and again.

Copyright © 1999 CK Tower All Rights Reserved