Doctor Grandma

We gather ‘round the table

Covered in newspaper

Grandma adds a touch of vinegar

to the hot water and dye,

which dissolves into color

inside each cup.

“It makes the colors brighter,”

She says,

And we patiently

await our turn,

The eggs are counted out before us,

We make designs

Write secret messages on them with crayon,

Before they are dropped into

The red, green and blue.

I hold the dipper,

Balancing the egg,

Determined to get the stripes just right,

Our creations appear before our eyes,

My father puts one in his coffee cup,

Creating the tradition, “the coffee egg”,

Three generations

Continue the fun,

And it matters little

that this Pagan ritual

has nothing to with the holiday,

We could care less where the tradition started,

It’s a day for family and fun,

A family together,

Three generations,

and a memory that lasts

A lifetime.

Tree frogs sing under a full moon,

like a high-pitched purring cat,

Working late, windows open,

Ceiling fan spins above,

Mockingbirds add their song,

Pretending to be nightingales,

A dog barks,

An owl awakes,

Hooting in the dark.

cfblack 04-13-2014

You Must Believe

Sometimes,

I am afraid for night to come,

The darkness surrounds,

Envelops all,

Birds go silent

Until the dawn,

People go to bed,

I am left with thoughts

That leave me feeling

Unsettled, torn,

The mind plays tricks,

the doubts emerge,

One wonders,

Is this all there is?

And that is when

The Spirit calls,

And says, “I’ve been here all along,

You must believe,

You must go on,

Dawn comes again,

Tomorrow.”

 cfblack  04-10-2014

I like to remember

the early days,

of riding around

with you in your car,

My body draped over yours

as you drive,

You talk of freedom

and change to come,

We plan our lives

and fall in love,

have no idea what lies head.

— The time I sneak into

your dorm room,

You cook us soup,

I stay the night,

We leave in early morning,

— Our wedding vows we write ourselves,

Gibran intermingled with happiness,

Yellow daisy stuck in your lapel,

and flowers in my hair,

The early days

When love began

Cement our hearts with memory,

Your hair long, flying in the wind,

No children, just the two of us,

We walk with friends, we plan, we dream our future

Which now becomes

our past.

cfblack                  04-10-2014

In the end,

perception is everything,

“Situations defined as real,

are real in their consequences.”

Perception is all that matters.

One professor

routinely fails his students.

It doesn’t matter if they fail,

because his class is required,

so they have to return

to his misperception

of what constitutes education,

again and again to graduate.

His tests are not open book.

The outside perception: He has control,

as he stands and lectures from his notes.

Students hate his classes,

but they always fill,

because they are required to graduate.

Another professor

befriends her students.

They sometimes fail, but she encourages all

to think deeply of life and their place in it.

She is more interested in critical thought,

than in meaningless memorization,

She knows the online classroom,

where all tests are open book,

and memorization does not define your grade.

Her classrooms are open discussion.

Her students are challenged to contemplate,

and think beyond what their parents taught them,

to other possibilities.

She insists on service, and application,

connecting theory with community.

The outside perception: She is too friendly,

and “does not have control” of her classroom.

The first professor’s status is set in stone,

the second does not get tenure.

Situations perceived as real,

are real in their consequences,

Perception is all that matters.

Late at night,

silence brings solitude,

as the world keeps turning

on toward morning,

while loved ones sleep

unaware,

Tiredness melts

into a false perception

of energy,

the body floats

in a sea of hyper-frenzied thoughts,

and I feel high

on life.