Jane Tree Corner

While I am on sabbatical this year taking writing and poetry classes, I thought I'd step briefly into the public domain to share my poem, Jane Tree Corner. 
 
Earlier this month, Rubin, my sister, Kath, and I travelled to Albuquerque for the Memorial Service for mother’s twin. Mother, almost 95, decided the trip from Michigan to New Mexico in the midst of the spiking coronavirus, could jeopardize her health and ability to live independently. I agreed to videotape the service and the weekend celebration for her—to include interviewing family and friends. I returned home overwhelmed with my uncle’s love of life, laughter and family. I was reminded of the importance of creating magical moments with those we love . . . like the time my uncle and members of his family travelled to Holland to celebrate his 90th birthday with his twin. In the almost-seven years Mother has lived in Holland, that weekend’s visit to Windmill Island is the only time she has seen the windmill turn.  Truly, in Mother’s words, “A Magical Moment.” 

To learn more about the creation of the Jane Tree Corner, see “The ‘girl’ on Windmill Island.”

Miracle of Small Things
 
It is how we begin every morning;
she in the recliner, me sliding down the bed
to the floor at her feet for our chairside chat. 
 
But this morning, there is heightened excitement 
in her voice and a mind as alert as I’ve seen 
in many months. It is not the snow-white blossoms 
 
outside her window, the sight of the male mallard 
creating circles on the pond, the animated chatter 
of the robins, sparrows, and red-winged blackbirds, 
 
the yellow flowers of the mock strawberries 
dancing across the green carpet bordering 
the beleaguered remnants of the cattails. 
 
Contributors, certainly. 
But this surprising youthful exuberance 
is the result of a decorative tree in a city park 
 
with a bench that will soon be placed nearby. 
On the bench, a plaque celebrating a poem, 
her poem, and the lives of a pair of twins, intertwined. 
 
Had I known the effect this simple request 
would have on my mother, I would have cared more 
about their decision and possibly ruined everything. 
 
As it was, I let go and am watching a miracle unfold, 
just like the pink buds on the small magnolia tree 
we will visit this afternoon.

---

In Gratitude 
to my grandmother, who, in 1948, began gathering her seven children once a year to celebrate life as family. 
Prior to 2020, the year of the pandemic, the family gathered 71 consecutive years, long after our grandmother passed. It makes sharing memories a fun-filled, meaningful experience.