Ricky

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Ricky, my forever love.

Our much-loved Ricky is no longer with us. He died this past Thursday morning. A veterinarian came to our home, and Ricky went the best way one could hope for. He had liver cancer, and he was sick for over three weeks. We’ve been living in a sort of bubble of caring for him. But even on his last morning, he wanted to be with me, in my lap or by my side. He loved everyone, but I was his person, and he was my cat.

I miss him so much. I keep turning around, expecting to see him. But we had almost sixteen years with him, and I know he had a very good life. Early this morning when I was still in bed, missing him being there, I was thinking about what a crazy kitten he was. He’d raced around the house until he conked out. Our younger child picked him out from the shelter (as she likes to remind me) because he was chewing on the cage bars, and she thought he was so wonderfully weird.

This is the first time in about thirty years that we have not had a cat in the house.

So small,
his absence a massive void–
the collapse of a star
leaves an echo of light.

Resa McConaghy created this image of Ricky from one of my photos.

Prosery: A Prickling Sensation

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William Bruce Ellis Ranken (1881-1941), Woman on a Balcony

A Prickling Sensation

She emptied the glass, then poured herself another. While she sat on the tiny Paris balcony, something worked in her brain like a burglar picking a lock, waiting for the pins in the tumbler to fall into place. Click—the lock opened—someone had been in her hotel room. Not the maid, she was in earlier today. No, this happened more recently, after she left to buy the wine.

She was Night Hawk fierce, but she was also like a migratory bird. Something told the wild geese it was time to fly. Some clue that humans did not sense or see—more that the slanted light, the dropping leaves. She sensed something, too. And it was time for her to go. Now.

I have no companions on this flight. My only V will be one for victory. I’m getting closer, she thought.

A continuation of my Prosery spy series for dVerse. The line we are to use :

“Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly.”
–Rachel Lyman Field, “Something told the Wild Geese”

If you want to read it, the previous episode is here.

Messengers of May

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Monday Morning Musings:

Messengers of May

I forgot to light a candle last night,
forgot the dead, forgot the past,
focused on breath and sparks
of life, the flowers blooming,
as Death is looming, a long shadow
over blue.

I dreamt of a rainbow, dreamt of life,
not knowing Iris meant rainbow, not knowing
she was a go-between, crossing the arc, the bridge
between the gods and humans. Fleet-footed envoy, a graceful queen,
she carries the colors for Persephone and Demeter
to herald May, whatever it brings.

This is the month of flowers and revolution. This is the month
of death and new life. Pink to purple, spring green to moss and
emerald. The buzzing bees are striped broaches pinned to brilliant blooms.
Now the robins with full choir wake the sun, and goslings toddle after goose
and gander.

But iris is the messenger of come what May.
My little cat has another day. And though the crows call, Beware!
I smile as the spring flowers rise and wave, toss their scent
into the air.

This year Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) was sunset last night till sunset today. For those just catching up, our little Ricky cat has liver cancer, but he is still hanging on, and we are grateful. We took him to an animal ER on Wednesday, where he had an ultrasound. I’m glad we decided to bring him home on palliative medication. He woke me up at 4 AM for breakfast today, so I apologize if I am not coherent.

The animal ER has a farm area.

This week we watched The River (Japanese, 2023) a delightful time-loop movie. This is director Yunta Yamaguchi’s second movie about a two-minute time loop. We also enjoyed the first one, Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes (2020). This one is more polished. It involves the staff and patrons at a beautiful inn by a river in Kyoto. It is heartwarming and funny, and just what we needed to see.

I read the novel, The Bookbinder by Pip Williams, a historical novel set in WWI Oxford that I enjoyed very much.


And we confirmed that we need to be careful when we go out in our yard.

Skunk in the yard!

A Pause in the Frantic Beat

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Vincent Van Gogh, Starry Night over the Rhone, 1888.

A Pause in the Frantic Beat

You think of sky ships, travelers of
dust and gas traversing galaxies, settling
around our young star, like subjects of a queen,

and why water? Physics and chemistry, molecules
combining to form more—but

the sea, rain, sweat on your brow
variations on an endless theme, the peculiar
music of our world, a song in blue and green,

and you part of it—the dust, the water—connected
to before, existing after.

You think of how long a minute can seem,
how short an hour, another day.

This poem from the Oracle came right away, and it’s the first I’ve written in a few days. I did not expect this philosophical musing on a cosmic theme, but she always knows. My little Ricky cat is hanging on. The anti-nausea and pain meds are helping him to feel a lot better. I know it’s temporary, but it’s good to see him eating almost normally and acting more like himself.

Day 30, Three Poems

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KPG30

Promises in Blue

Ideas became words, sentences
inked in flowing curves rounding the globe—

longitudes of letters, with ever widening latitude
of minds in tune
with nature, the universe, their hearts

flowed freely in a flowering of thoughts,
buds blooming, fragrant rose petals folded into pages,
from gardens oceans apart.

When will you come?
With the bluebirds, he said.

RFK30

Into the Fire

In red-glare, reddened air,
fired flares, vermillion streams from giant wings—
hissing stings, swift-flying,
low diving
into shadows of what was.

I am become death/we have—
raged.

The earth mourns,
the songbirds gone,
the vultures feast.

SEB30

Violet Dancer

Winter dawn, a violet dancer, arms sweep
graceful curves, feet planted firmly

in long ago knowledge. Need.
You know, you’ve seen,
centuries pass.

But still—you extend boughs and roots, to
Earth and sky, drawing sustenance from each.

Sun-kissed, wind-caressed, branches sway
to song of cycles, flow of sap.

We’re at the end of the month. Thank you Paul Brookes for hosting this wonderful ekphrastic challenge, and than you to the artists: Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Robert Frede Kenter, and Sara Elizabeth Bell. You can see the art and read the responses here.

Two Poems for Day 29: Beginnings and Endings

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Day 29: Beginnings and Endings

Inspired by KPG29

The Blackbirds

Here are threads spun of dreams,
desires, fate–the blackbirds
dart and flit,

to weave the sky in a pile so deep,
red-feathered designs
and patches of blue,

the loom built of branches and sighs,
an occasional chirp or twitter–

infinite shuttles in illimitable time,
weaving if, weaving all
into existence. Birthing the world in song.

Inspired by SEB29, Dragonfly Dance
And RFK29

After the Apocalypse

The colors so intense—
blackened trees shadow water
and grass. An eerie sky of changing hues—
red-orange, smoke and ash, turned now cyan blue.

Earth wakes once again. Flowers blooming anew.
No sound of motors, no sound of human speech.

But look how beautiful! And see? The dragonflies still dance.

We’re almost at the end of Paul Brookes’ Annual Ekphrastic Challenge. For Day 29, I was inspired by all three artists, Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Robert Frede Kenter, and Sara Elizabeth Bell. You can see the art and other responses here.

Another Sunrise, Another Moonset

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Monday Morning Musings:

Another Sunrise, Another Moonset

Now the robins wake the sun,
not before four,
but a full chorus by half-past,

when our little cat, growing smaller,
has eaten some, not all,
do we call it breakfast anymore,
his small meals run together now.

We watch and wait,
grateful for another day of purrs and cuddles,
the big-eyed stare, the continuation of some routine—
sleep in the basket, blanket, chair–

and I am caught
halfway between ode and elegy,

April rain and April flowers.

Hello, again. It’s been a long week. I think our little Ricky cat may have liver cancer. He hasn’t had an ultrasound yet, but we may still have it done. Meanwhile, he’s on antibiotics, and he got a steroid shot on Saturday, which I think made him more comfortable. He seemed happier yesterday. Our days have been consumed with how much or how little he is consuming.

We were supposed to have our family Passover Seder/dinner yesterday, but I cancelled it. I froze the brisket, cooked the already defrosted turkey breast for my husband. Ricky was very interested in it, too–which was great to see–and I made us some vegetarian matzah ball soup. I have to say it’s delicious, and my matzah balls came out perfectly. I missed seeing my family, but I wasn’t up to hosting. My husband and I had a our mini Seder on Monday night, the first night of Passover. These are the matzah covers our children made when they were maybe 7 and 4? I love them, “Go Moses” and the Angel of Death. 😂 I made this almond-lemon cake for our dessert. It’s made with almond meal.

April continues to be crazy. We had our heat back on for several mornings this past week, but it was in the 80s yesterday and will be close to 90 today. It looks summery outside now—so green! And our irises are starting to bloom. I suspect our tulips may not last in the heat.

I saw this early morning street cleaner today.

Two Poems for Day 28

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KPG28

Tempura Garden

Spring green
scallions, parsnips, carrots, radish roots
colored-blocked in rainbow hues
a garden created for you

by your hand. A stand of strands gathered—
a feast for eye, and lightly batter-fried,
all your stomach wants, all it demands,

a mouthfeel of crisp color, fresh-picked zip,
an imagined cuisine, a nascent, growing dream.

RFK28

Winter Break

Through the whishing-swish of wiper blades
across the teary glass,
he saw the house in murky light, its
spire seemed determined to rise above the gloom,
the windows were closed eyes, the door a pursed mouth,
the warning signs were there–but still
he did not hesitate to knock, the structure,
his school friend’s home. A hand without an arm,
beckoned him to enter,
the Addams Family house.

For Day 28 of Paul Brookes’ annual ekphrastic challenge, my poems were inspired by the artwork of Karen Pierce Gonzalez and Robert Frede Kenter. You can see the art and read other responses here.