Everyone has lost weight here
at the palace in Palm Springs.
Where orchids, roses, lilies flourish
but people do not.
A helper hefts her client from bed
to wheelchair, to table.
First a thorough clean up.
Then they eat, but not much.
The helper’s husband is in Sri Lanka.
He hopes to join his wife
who is also hopeful.
“God never gives you anything
you can’t handle,” she says.
I see my sister-in-law drop
a green grape into her lap, crippled hands
that can’t close completely
and think God’s plan isn’t working.
A loving son pays the rent.
He is cheerful.
Sleeps late.
Happy to weigh 30# less.
Mornings I sip coffee.
Pick at glazed buns bought for me.
Ask the helper to put me on her prayer list.
My sister-in-law chews and swallows THC and CBD.
It helps her tolerate the pain.
This morning my sister-in-law stabs
a piece of egg, the yolk burnt orange.
“Got it!” She exclaims.
I lean in to her, fill the space inside her shirt collar.
No longer a sister-in-law.
Instead a sister after more than sixty years.
A mallard nests at the palace.
Eggs laid poolside among the petunias.
Upon my return home I receive a photo of
nine ducklings paddling alongside their mother.
The next day I’m told they’re gone.
“She was squawking at 7 a.m.” the helper says.
Blame it on the hawks who soar overhead.
It’s as good an explanation as any.
We have photos to prove what we saw,
how we suddenly felt hopeful.
Then we didn’t.
I spent part of April in Palm Springs with my sister-in-law at a house her son had rented. It was “a palace” but my sister-in-law has had a stroke and it was painful to see her unable to totally enjoy this gorgeous place. My nephew left a copy of Rosemary Wahtola Trommer’s book ALL THE HONEY by my bed and I was reading her poems. You were sending poetry prompts. I was journal writing a poem I couldn’t share with anyone.
Here is what came of the experience: A Visit to the Palm Springs Palace. My process was to make observations and put them into a form I could manage mentally. I was feeling pretty down. It helped to concentrate on getting the poem right.
Judy Fitzpatrick, aka Blaze Defiant, hosts BEYOND WORDS, a radio show, on KUPR LPFM in Placitas, New Mexico.
Her program streams internationally and you can listen to recent shows by going to KUPR. org and clicking on Archives.
BEYOND WORDS airs every Saturday at 1 o’clock pm Mountain Time.
Holland-Dozier-Holland
From your seat in a leather desk chair, you gaze out the window in your writing room. The wind chimes you bought when you moved into this house have lost the clapper during the past winter, and the black enamel has eroded, leaving the silver tubes exposed to the havoc of blizzards and storms. You have not heard the instrument’s melodies since your last German shepherd passed. In mid afternoon a finch alights on the aging deck to perch on a post beside the chimes in order to survey the sky for red-tailed hawks and the terrain for cats before flying into a viburnum. After this year’s finch flutters away, you continue to read from Moby Dick and an anthology of movie poems. Films you would call them, if you were a cineast. For weeks, you’ve wondered if the white whale has been retired from the literary canon as you drew near to the end of the book without any of the ambushes you would expect from Jaws or the squid attacks in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. On your porch the finch skips back into the sunlight, and you notice its feathers shedding February browns in favor of the radiance from an April sunbeam. The bird chirps a song you can hear through closed storm windows. Just such a finch has visited your springs throughout the lives of all the German shepherds you have companioned. Perhaps the absence of the Leviathan in your adventures turns you toward an enigma that might be kindness. Toward a silent conundrum that might even be joy.
The Zingara Project 