Wednesday, April 27, 2016
New Grant from Pat Kind Foundation - Poem: A Trip to the Compost Heap
A watched pot never boils, I reminded myself, as I waited until mid-April to hear from The Patricia Kind Family Foundation.
I was positive it would not come today, as Mailman Joe plunked the mail in the handpainted mail box. I
took it to the kitchen table, threw out the huge bundle of ads, then tossed everything in the cardboard box to be recycled and there she was.
Should I wait before opening it? I wondered.
I was actually afraid they would send us nothing. Instead, inside lay a check for $5,000.
Relief but sorrow, too. I'd expected $10,000.
Wrote a lovely thank-you letter stating what an honor it is to be among the wonderful organizations they fund.
As is my wont, I drove to the PO - hmmm, I wondered - where is that Abington post office, it's the closest, I knew it was on the way to our church, and then - presto - I found it and mailed it off. They should get my letter the morrow and then I'll send New Directions a note.
Drove to American Heritage and had a long wait since they only had two tellers. I turned around and said, Chrissie, there's a long wait up here.
They didn't send anyone else up.
My teller was named Amy. Oh, I blabbered while she was processing the check, I have a sister Amy in Oregon, where she's a librarian. Amy had never been there.
I asked her what she'd do if she got a check for 5 grand. I forget her exact words.... something like put away more money to buy a house.
Sez I.... I'm gonna buy a spaghetti and meatball dinner and that I did.
Oh dear, just checked my blood sugar. Will ride my bike while reading some fiction. The Sue Klebold book is quite interesting, but I desperately miss reading fiction.
So I'm at the library reading The Violet Hour, which is due today. It's about the last hours of great writers. I'm reading about John Updike. He had lots of affairs and then reading about the charismatic Dylan Thomas, who women adored and he adored them back.
There's just not time to finish them all so a bell dings in my mind and I return it. BTW, while I was reading - I found me a reading nook I'd never seen before - I did fall asleep several times. Across from me was an extremely sad black woman, youngish, a great hairdo, but so sad looking.
Under the influence of Sue Klebold who never intervened with her son, I wondered if a kind word to the young woman might save her from suicide. She was wearing a U S Army shirt.
Never said anything to her as she was reading her smart phone and her expression changed several times on her face.... from sorrow and tears.... to happiness.
On my way out I said goodbye to Dennis. He recognized me when I first walked past him. We hugged and kissed.
Of course I recognize you, Dennis! I said.
He was with his case manager Jenn who works in the Willow Grove division of Central Montgomery County. Dennis is gonna work with a job coach and get himself a job.
He's also getting an award from Montgomery County Behavioral Services.
I've given up caffeine for a while. Two days w/o sleep is no fun at all, esp. in the nighttime. There is absolutely nothing to do in the middle of the nite unless I wanna go outside and pretend I'm a wolf howling at the moon.
Here's what I'm sipping on now
The flavor is WEAK. I'm thinking of returning it to the Giant. Should I?
A TRIP TO THE COMPOST HEAP
O waning Gibbous Moon
shine on me
as I hobble like a
Chinese princess with
bound feet, carrying
vessel of what once
was a live chicken
clucking with her
savory sisters in the
Reduced now to white
bones and white meat
which I toss gently
on the compost heap
with nary a prayer of
Would they - cluck cluck -
hear me now? Something
hears me, be it fox or
deer or skunk, but silent
stay I, in the morning
dem bones will all be
et, for matter is neither
created nor destroyed
As overseas the sounds
of rifles firing, grenades
shattering skulls and
kneecaps are mourned
by the waning Gibbous Moon.