I am weeding in the garden
trying to resist all the unearned metaphors
while the sweet men turn the compost.
My daughter asks for rolly pollies
with a square metal tin held out towards the writhing dirt
and is rewarded handsomely.
We each guess at their lifespan—
three months, six months, three weeks,
and learn
preposterously
that it is three years.
I flash on my carelessness with rolly pollies in my youth
leaving them in old yogurt containers in the sun
forgotten when lunch was ready or the friend went home.
How careless we can be.
I can be.
If I could roll up in a ball like that I would.
One needs a shell these days,
a way to curl inward.
13,000 children have been killed in Gaza since October.
I don’t know their names.
My dad doesn’t remember my own children’s names.
We, this country, seem to tend to life in so many wrong ways.
It’s too much
and not enough
all at once.
But my friend
a doctor who makes sure children suffer less
still has the most beautiful laugh
and over pizza dinner she told me she had kissed a whale.
The whale was
preposterously
gentle.
It could have flipped their boat with one uncareful move
and instead it offered itself up to her
and when her lips touched its rubbery cold back
it blew crystal water out of its blowhole.
This is not a fairytale.
This actually happened to my friend.
When I asked her
What do you make of it?
she said,
Be gentle
always.
I think that’s what the whale meant.
As we were driving home from our pizza dinner
we saw a young guy
backpack on
slumped on the side of my street.
His aura was overdose.
We pulled over and hovered nearby
trying to be gentle with our help
and then his big sister pulled up in a Mazda
or at least a woman with big sister energy
(one also needs big sister energy these days)
and put him in the passenger seat and drove off.
It was not the first time.
You could read it in her eyes.
The other day, my older daughter
who is mostly exasperated
preposterously
gave my younger daughter a back massage
in her royal blue, plastic car bed.
The little one unfurled her body on the twisted sheets
tummy down
bare back facing the stars.
My friend also said it felt like an ocean baptism
and that it was hard not to slip into the sea with the whale.
Her partner held her legs.
My daughters hold mine.
That big sister holds her brother.
We must hold hold hold on.
Be preposterously gentle with ourselves despite all the
forgetting.
Thanks for welcoming a range of expression here Examined Family! Sometimes a poem is what I’ve got. If you’re interested in exploring more forms of modern gentleness, take a listen to this new Slate episode on showing up for a loved one with dementia. It means a lot to me.
Preposterous