I dislike sentimentality
and have always thought
that tears should be shed sparingly.
Then our 8 year-old grandson uttered
these simple words of wisdom:
"I don't like my friends to laugh when I cry.
How can I be happy again if I don't cry?"

Tears are our release
from joy and sorrow.
Like a stream
they gurgle over small stones
or gush down ravines,
ending in the universal maelstrom
of oceanic lament and solace.

 

Years ago at bedtime
my grandson's chubby arms
squeezed my neck like a boa.
Now that he is growing up,
my arms encircle him.
He squirms at my affection
and wriggles free from my embrace.
Then as his long legs stride out
he glances back,
tossing me a smile.

 

I am a nymph.
I inhabit rivers, lakes and streams.
I sing to brooks and the ocean.
I rise as a mermaid.
an aquatic creature,
mingle with the air,
drown fires,
and quench the earth’s thirst.
The moon is my lover,
together we dance to
the rhythm of tides.