On This Day

A poem.


On This Day

The dog sleeps lazily at my feet. Stretched out in the sun

Streaming through a double-paned window.

Baba bends over a garden plant still bare from

Winter’s cold, his wrinkled hands working shears.

Mama sits slumped in front of a war playing on TV.

A war from a generation ago, but not unlike today’s. I guess.

My wife is several rooms away. Sounds like the kitchen.

A cabinet door opens and closes. A pot, I think, clanks.

I’m sitting on a wooden chair typing out these words.

Listening to pop music that is too upbeat for my mood.

Across the world, my mom watches over her husband.

Amongst equipment beeping signals of an uncertain future.

I imagine her strong, but I second-guess my imagination with worry.

This is when we usually speak each week. Sharing thoughts, both poetic and banal.

Sometimes reminiscing of days long ago. More often just connecting in the here and now.

These are moments when I wish I had faith. When I wish getting down on my knees had more meaning. When I’m not ok with being powerless. When I don’t have the serenity to accept things as they are. When all I can do is write these words and pretend to pray.


Be well,

Monty

3 Comments

  1. Oh gosh, that started off so sweet and then turned to sadness…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Monty Vern says:

      Life does that sometimes, doesn’t it? The sweetness is still there though.

      Like

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