SAUCER OF STARLIGHT by Bobbi Sinha-Morey Saucer of StarlightThe woman with dementia doesn’t come out to sit in her patio anymore and her wind chimes no longer caressed by the wind have lost their sound; the only spark of bright energy are the blue jays and wrens that visit the feeder—pecking away, stealing seeds for their families, chased away by the enshadowing dusk and her motion sensors. My neighbor Dee is so close I often get a peek at her, from my window to hers, a lamp lighting up the front room when it’s at night, a book or newspaper in her hands; or, if it’s her husband, the blurred hues of the TV when she’s in their room sleeping or staring into space, waking by morning after a peaceful rest, but unable to care for herself in the day, suffering from her illness and no short-term memory. Half the time her husband spends nursing her, confined for so long inside their home it’s hard for him to get away. One day I saw her appear and tears were in her eyes. I wished I could share a saucer of starlight with her, capture a glimmer of happiness from deep inside. Gracing the HeavensI touched the lavender by the fence, its fresh scent rising when I saw my father again, climbing into his Sunfish from the dock in the dusk, under a deepening sky when his sail caught the moonlight like a wing, gliding so silently, the flicker of a smile on his face; the lake, his favorite release, and he’d rise just before dawn to swim by sunrise, watch doves above him in the morning air, knowing it would be his passion if he could swim all day. Now ribbons of darkening light are gracing the heavens as he draws halfway to the other shore; his shirt whipping behind him, a man triumphantly navigating the waters; my father, alone with himself, blessed by his dreams. The Fifth of MayOn the fifth of May I take the path around the curving river, find my familiar place near the grove of trees and sit in one of two wooden sun chairs just to write to you today; the moist smell of pine behind me, the quiet praise from above. And, in my solace, I tell you of the ripenings just beyond my home—pears hanging on the tree by their stems, Sundays when I climb ladders with my niece to pick peaches and apples, take them home to make pie. Outside my kitchen I’ve been cultivating my green thumb: tulips have grown, the clematis in bud, plum trees center four vegetable plots; yesterday the first three roses opened up. I’d love to send you their fragrance, dab a little on your envelope before heading to the post office. In the beauty of this sunny day I saw the beginnings of the sunset unfolding and I made my way idly back, waiting til its petals closed all the way up to the top. About the Author:  Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, and Old Red Kimono. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Best of the Net 2018 Anthology Awards hosted by Sundress Publications. |