-        What's up grandma?
-        I'm ok.
(Like you really care.  When was the last time you sat down and talked to me?  Expressed any interest in the stories I might tell you?)
          How are you?
-        I'm doing fine.

And he left.  He smiled before he went.   Like he was sorry for me.  That I was old, that I didn't move around much, that I wouldn't go out and party like he did.

What am I bitter about?  My husband passed away.  My friends are leaving me behind one by one.  I'm like a piece of old furniture - grand in some way, but out of date.

I haven't looked at my face in a while.  It's not so much the wrinkles.  I'm afraid that I will see a vacant, forlorn look.

My grandson is eighteen.  He's boisterous, vulgar, and has fits of depression.

I wish I was sweet, sweet like an ice cream cone so he could drink me like plants drink the sun.  But I'm dressed in a bag of wrinkles.  Maybe if I smiled all the time I could make myself pretty.

I do not want to watch television.
It's not a road, it's a fast food restaurant.

My mommy is gone.  How silly, how can that be?  She was and she isn't.  Silly.  I was a good-looking woman once.  Now I'm about as mobile and effusive as an armoire.

Glory be to God.  God the creator of fine paintings and little children.  Did he create old age and Hitler?

I have a chip on my shoulder, I think it's called loneliness.

Good morning.  I think of the rooster waking up the farm and the sun shining, waking all of us up.  The air glistening, the stream whispering as it moves over the pebbles.  Frogs turning their shiny heads.  Little girls in their pretty skirts.

Boys…boys always want something…boys always have something to prove.

The grace of the signs of the I Ching.  The lake, the sky, the mountain.   The red ripening tomato.  The caterpillar poking its head through a leaf.

The sweet sensation of a sweaty pussy.  Legs held together and trembling as a boy passes by.

Who wants to listen to the disoriented stories of an awkward grandmother?

Oh, the glory of the cathedral, the dark interior rising up to meet the sky.  The names of the creators like so many doors not open to all.  Is it fair that someone should bask in the orange and sienna of Fra Angelico while others sweep floors and walk with their heads hung low?  Is it fair?

I am the light of God.  I shine.  I am his creation.  I am never ending, eternal, boundless.

Am I brave enough to have nothing, to give nothing to my family?

The light in your eyes.  Can people really be held apart?  Are we locked in our own form so that we can experience loneliness?  But if not for our form could we ever experience togetherness?  -  Don't come close to me you'll burden me with your expectations, you'll choke me with your attention.  I'm not free, I'm me, I have my issues.  I don't know.  I'm confused.  I don't feel comfortable, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to be hurt.

I cannot be scared.  God, why did you create loneliness?
I smile and people smile at me.  I look inside and they look and go away.
I cannot be an extrovert all the time, I have not the power.

God created the donkey, I don't know why.  God created a yellow scarf, and a building with polka dot window fabric.

My grandson where is he going? 
To what end have I traveled?  Oh, I want to be, I want to dance, I want to eat chocolates, I want to hold hands, I want to read exciting books, I want to look at strong butts, I do not want to miss things.  I want to see the glory of the day.  I want to see my face.  I want to seem my hair against the blue sky.  I want to touch words and see how they float past me, a dance of words.

Aye!  Aye!  Aye!  Casimir my beloved I see you shining.  You're not dead.  Your smile warms my shoulder.  I turn my face to your beaming presence.

I'm not lonely.

I wish I could share, I wish I could share with my grandson, the leaves of grass by the brook, the first puff of weed, the lift I get from singing.

I long, I still long for communion.  Silly me.

I have danced the dance, I have sung the song, I have mouthed the words.  I have seen sunrises and dawns.  The dream, the stream is still there, I have a glint in my eye.
I want….
I will speak and write and dance and sing and watch and listen…I am brave.  I kiss…

My grandson doesn't smile, but I do.  I am me and I want to smile, I want to dance, I want to hug a tree, touch a caterpillar with the tip of my finger.  Maybe I'm crazy.

Where does it all lead to?  Where does it go?  I have no answers.  I'm having a hard time formulating questions.

Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to see you again.

I smile, I can't help it.
The blue bus rides on without me.  The red bus is waiting.  The yellow bus is in front of me.

Do re mi, do re da.

My head spins.  Is there rest?…

Trust…trust…Holy Mary…giving birth to a baby…life goes on…
I'm like a river flowing to the sea…The form…I like to flow…

Oh, it's sad, the thought that it might end…The form that changes…The bird circles in the sky…The word never dies…Alleluia…alleluia…the breath, the breath…

I smile at memories…my grandson leaves the room.  I sit on his shoulder…ready for the trip…
but no I want to be here…
I want to be in two places at once..