Adolescence

Adolescence, Adulthood, Aging, All Poems, Friendship, Holidays, Memorial Day, Pleasure

On a Breeze

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It was a breeze lifting us down the street.

A current making us buoyant, light.

Invited to spend an evening with friends.

Marking Memorial Day and camaraderie.

Reminiscing about schools, trips, adolescent adjustments.

Adult adjustments.

To children bearing children.

Having to move over.

Make space for the newest.

Shifting chairs as we shimmy down the line.

Children approaching middle age.

Theirs, teen years.

Our parents, gone.

What would they think of the world today?

Dependence on social media?

Boosters with wifi?

Alexa, Siri?

Likely, they’d shake heads, sigh.

Bewildered, as, at times, am I.

In truth, preferring old fashioned ways.

Face to face conversations.

Sparking stories, laughter.

Till tears run down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath.

For the mirth.

You pass it around.

Like another supper course.

Everyone smiling.

Holding on to anecdotes.

The room breathing.

Animated, moving, alive.

Till table cleared.

Signaling adieu.

Time to carry away joy.

Stow it in your core.

Spirits taken care of.

Nourished, attended to.

Summoned and belonging.

In simple rendezvous.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 27, 2024

Adolescence, All Poems, Change, Cousins, Emotions, Family, Memories, Regret, Wisdom

Then and Now

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That was then, this is now, said my ninety-year-old cousin to me.

At her baby brother’s eightieth birthday party.

The then, my adolescent behavior at her parents’ overnight camp.

Fussing, crying to leave.

Return home.

To play according to my own whims.

Out of step with community activities.

The now, over sixty years later.

Still taunting me.

In the presence of this family.

Wanting to erase this episode.

Delete it like a paragraph in a Word document.

Wishing I could have blended in.

Enjoyed my time away.

Instead of resisting.

Causing a stir.

But, Selma’s words gave me pause.

Perhaps it’s I, not they, making much of it.

Indeed, time to let it go.

Like all things parted with on downsizing.

The now has no space for regrets.

For childhood embarrassments.

Only for compassion, kindness.

Exhorted by a matriarch.

Able to shrink humiliation

with one simple sage remark.

Lynn Benjamin

May 8, 2024

Adolescence, Aging, All Poems, Change, Children, Family, Grandchildren, Time

Who Can Tell Me?

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Who can tell me where the years have gone?

Didn’t I make countless trips to New York?

To help Roseanne with babies?

Change diapers?

Push them in strollers?

Wheel them to Central Park?

To the Museum of Natural History?

Is it possible I sit today on a subway car with teens?

Heading to see a musical?

Do they, too, sense the flash of time?

Or are they so occupied with themselves, they don’t notice?

Don’t see my wrinkled face?

Old age gait?

But, we don’t discuss me or things past.

Just the theme of today’s play.

Kimberly Akimbo.

Ironic, the topic, time.

The rush of it due to illness.

Whose message, enjoy the moments you have.

So, they do.

Focusing on what to eat,

on laughing, making fun.

A tender, gossamer gathering.

Another memory spun.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 15, 2024

 

Adolescence, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Memories, Mexico, Playa del Carmen, Trips and Places

Whistles, Hoots, Caws

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Whistles, hoots, caws fill the air.

Early in the morning in Playa del Carmen.

Animating a now paved jungle.

Sending me into reverie.

As I remember being fourteen.

Was I like Liora?

Looking for my face in every mirror?

Checking my hair?

Fretting about my body?

Primping, grooming?

Thinking all eyes on me?

Judging harshly?

I believe I was.

Instead of toting an iphone, a transistor radio.

Carried in a pocket.

Feigning helplessness.

So one boy or another could feel strong.

It’s been a long time for me.

Days not lived tranquilly.

Worries and anxiety.

Sweet, Liora, you set free

sleeping teenage memory.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 23, 2024

 

 

 

 

Adolescence, All Poems, Change, Christmas, Family, Food, Grandchildren, Health/Illness, Holidays

My Daughter Wanted Treats

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My daughter wanted treats for Christmas Eve.

Hors d’oeuvres, dips, sauces.

So, in the spirit, I enlisted Liora.

To make two quiche Lorraines.

From a vintage recipe.

Given me by a friend over forty years ago.

When quiche was a popular luncheon dish.

Liora whipped up a custard.

Four eggs, cream, salt.

Sauteed onions, peppers, spinach.

Par-baked two crusts.

Blanketed them with cheeses, vegetables.

Then poured the custard on top.

Baked fifty minutes.

And voilà, two golden quiches.

Two gleaming suns.

Julia Child would be proud.

As was I.

My granddaughter, fourteen,

holding in hand a whisk.

Where have the years flown?

So fleeting and so swift.

 

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 26, 2023

Adolescence, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Love, Thanksgiving

For As Long as I Can Remember

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For as long as I can remember, Black Friday was a tradition.

Day-after-Thanksgiving sales.

Appearance of Santa Claus.

But, in recent years, I’ve shied away.

Why? you ask.

Crowds.

Pandemic.

Reports of intermittent violence.

Ease of ordering online.

This year, an aberration.

Departing from my avoidance.

For my fourteen-year-old granddaughter needed clothing.

I needed to bond with her.

What better way than to shop?

Neither of us likes shopping.

So, we started out on common ground.

Moaning, groaning about selecting, trying on, winnowing.

Counter to expectation, both wear size large jeans.

Another mutual sympathy.

So it went.

Traipsing store to store.

Elbow to elbow with bargain hunters.

Peering at pants, tops.

Curbing my boomer perspectives.

About flimsy cut-off shirts offering skin, no winter warmth.

Appreciating Liora’s inclusion.

What do you think of this one, Yaya?

And relieved after two hours.

When she announced she’d had enough.

Three slacks, three tees, a skirt, one sweater.

Our Black Friday spree successful.

Weighed down, clothes up to date.

More precious, the relationship,

refreshed, strong, intimate.

 

Lynn Benjamin

November 29, 2023

 

Adolescence, Adult Children, Aging, All Poems, Bar and Bat Mitzvot, Change, Family

Role Reversal

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Strange how roles reverse over time.

My daughter, as young teen, not interested in clothing.

Unwilling to shop.

Dress up.

Even for her own Bat Mitzvah.

To which she wore a simple cotton outfit.

Which got me in trouble.

With her grandmother, the rabbi.

Who both lobbied for organza or lace.

Now an adult, my daughter has taste.

In shoes, bags, jackets, dresses.

Always looks her best.

At holidays, graduations, theater debuts.

Apparently, while traveling.

For we are heading to Maine.

Bob, Roseanne and I.

A state I’ve never been to.

My suitcase packed with hiking gear, tee-shirts.

Mom, my daughter said, I brought dresses. For dinners.

In response, I enumerated my casual wardrobe.

Mommmmm, she intoned, stretching the m.

Pack something good. Something for a fancy dinner.

Just one button down blouse, she cajoled.

I stood firm.

Feeling the adolescent fire up in me.

I’m taking a bra, I said.

Something, I rarely use these days.

Earrings, lipstick. It’s enough.

I didn’t stamp my foot.

But, I imagined doing it.

Taking ten minutes to concede.

Like a kid, I stuffed a blouse into an already crammed case.

Wondering how many years it would take for me to become eight.

Then four.

In relation to my daughter’s mounting age.

I’m on my way to second childhood

while my child, parental, wise.

I hope she knows it will happen to her

when her daughter starts to advise.

So, my recommendation to her

whilst I still have wits to prize,

is: treat you mother with compassion.

Be kind and empathize!

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 8, 2023

 

Adolescence, All Poems, Change, Love, Pleasure, Thank-You

Note

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Have you ever rifled among stuff?

In a bureau drawer?

Only to come upon a note?

Tattered, torn, worn.

Written almost sixty-five years ago?

From a secret admirer?

Like I did yesterday.

I knew the handwriting.

The class.

The boy.

Now my husband.

Nearly fifty-three years!

Observer of my accessories.

My smile.

Academic fitness.

How must I have felt at sixteen?

Singled out? Praised extolled?

In metaphoric prose?

Somehow that message clung to me

among shirts, pantyhose.

I’m sure I was flattered

by sweet hyperbole.

I thank the boy who wrote it.

Now at seventy-three!

It clearly meant a lot to me

surviving through the years.

A few lines penned in class.

Now music to my ears.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 11, 2023

Adolescence, Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Siblings

Lamentation

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My daughter called.

To lament the fickleness of her daughter.

Who begged to see Into the Woods.

Only to refuse at the last minute to go.

For the noise of the orchestra.

Her delicate sensibilities.

Was that a ploy, a manipulation?

To permit her to stay home?

Chat with friends online all night?

The truth is impossible to parse.

Her older brother, coerced to stand in, brainstormed, pleaded.

What about ear plugs?

You can still see the action.

You pledged to go.

Requested a ticket.

What about honor?

No amount of problem solving, persuasion had effect.

On this teen who dug in her heels.

Flatly resisted.

Preferred to be by herself.

Have her own evening.

Be sent to her father’s.

For her alone, phone time.

To be minded, taken care of.

Though people bandy twos

as the terrible age,

adolescents are bigger.

And so is their rage.

Like when they were toddlers,

they oppose, they stamp no’s.

They recycle defiance.

Gift parents accurst woes.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 5, 2023

Adolescence, All Poems, Humor

Skaters

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Once, I saw skaters on a frozen canal in Princeton.

Dozens of people gliding on glass.

That was many years ago.

When my son attended the university.

I’ve seen similar images on cards, in paintings.

But, I haven’t seen skaters on a lake since.

Till a few days ago while walking past Salus University.

Near my home.

Where I noticed four boys on skates.

Practicing ice hockey.

On the pond in front of the school.

Back and forth, sliding under the bridge.

Propelling the puck this way, that.

I could not stop myself from calling out.

How is the ice holding up in forty-degree weather?

One of the guys answered.

You should have seen it yesterday. It was really thick.

He held apart his thumb and middle fingers to demonstrate.

Be careful, the mother in me cautioned. Don’t fall in!

The next day, I sashayed past.

Saw water instead of ice.

Hoped the boys were safe at home.

Had considered my advice.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 30, 2022