Birthdays

All Poems, Anniversaries, Birthdays, Memories, Mother Love, Pleasure, Siblings, Spirituality

Bouquet

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My sister and her husband arrived with a bouquet.

Revealing all the colors of June.

Illuminating the kitchen, buoying spirits.

Daisies, mums, Peruvian lilies.

Snapdragons, Japanese irises.

A toast to our dual festivities.

Birthday and wedding anniversary.

Only last week.

Already marked at the seashore.

But, they persisted.

Despite the cruelty of racing time.

Their own health issues.

Busy schedules.

Sibling and her mate.

Filling the gap.

Where our own mother used to stand.

At the forefront of congratulations.

Making sure each occasion acknowledged.

Duly noted.

Be it with party, card, dinner, gift.

So, there it was.

Perfume in a vase.

Wafting felicitations.

And memories of our mother.

A special visit remembering us

with a floral serenade.

Who expected maternal breath

to help us celebrate?

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 23, 2024

All Poems, Anniversaries, Birthdays, Emotions, Politics, Stories, Worry

Storm

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Humidity made the heat seem like steam off an iron.

The weather app didn’t predict rain until late tonight.

So I donned a sundress to drive to a birthday/anniversary dinner.

My seventy-fifth, our fifty-fourth.

But without warning, the sky bellowed.

Lit up like a chandelier.

First raindrops, round, heavy.

Falling like drips from a leaky faucet.

Then picking up speed.

Coming down in torrents.

Gushing waterfalls.

Doing battle with windshield wipers.

Winning the competition.

Making it hopeless to discern trees, shops, oncoming cars.

To step out into rushing waters.

Gushing currents.

So, we sat there, peering from the windows.

Awesome spectacle.

Hammering the roof.

Exploding all around.

Setting off turmoil inside my head.

Struggling to remain still.

Not to threaten the joy of the occasion.

Now impossible.

Sorrow, rage, lamentation.

Unleashed by the tumult.

For a sick grandchild, her family.

For corrupt politicians, their enablers.

A partisan supreme court.

Disinformation, repeated in media echo chambers.

Republican party rhetoric.

Preferring guns to safety.

Isolationism to global engagement.

Alienation to cooperation.

The heavens scream.

As do I in silent affirmation.

Mourning time’s twisting, whirling waves.

How can we bequeath this roiling world to our young?

Slipping backwards?

To before women had rights?

My mind, liberated by the chaos.

Ruminations swirling in the winds.

Wandering, then wondering.

Here we’re dry inside a car.

What about robins, bees?

Grounded like commercial jets.

Can’t go where they please.

Once the whirlwind over,

winged creatures again will fly.

Soothing agitated thoughts

in mellifluous lullaby.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 15, 2024

 

All Poems, Birthdays, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Seasons

What Month?

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What month were you born in?

Do you feel a special kinship to it?

Like I do after almost seventy-five years?

To the month of June?

What seduced me?

To emerge mid-June?

For I was due the end of May.

What is it about this month?

Granting the longest days?

Shortest nights?

I rejoice in tossing away sleep for daylight.

Running outside in tees and shorts.

Letting sunshine warm face, arms.

Breezes animate, enliven.

Each sense be aroused.

Smells of roses, magnolias, linden blooms.

Tastes of thyme, dill, basil.

Moving to melodies of wrens, robins.

Wandering in rhythm with feet.

Knowing the day lingers.

No cramming, no pressure.

Pace relaxed, not hurried.

Each breath in, a wave of ecstasy.

Filling heart, soul.

Titillating feet, hands.

Like tide pools on the beach.

Warm, balmy.

Each breath out, a wish for more.

A need.

Supplication to return.

Flood the spirit with joy.

The body with sensuous delights.

For June, the perfect combination.

Sounds, sights, caress.

If only she would stay with us,

I’d never seek egress.

Lynn Benjamin

June 11, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Birthdays, Siblings

Joyous Occasion

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It was, indeed, a joyous occasion.

My sister turning seventy.

I, five years her senior.

Remembering her return from the hospital.

Her jaundice, transfusion.

My mother’s long illness.

Landing her in bed.

Yet, here we are.

Baby sister, well.

Three score, ten.

Aging like the rest of us.

Sibling group still intact.

No holes in the cloth.

Taken care of, washed, hung to dry.

Ironed, folded, treasured.

Too bad parents not with us,

sharing in each milestone.

But I’m sure their spirits hover.

We’re never here alone.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 24, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Birthdays, Change, Friendship, Loss, Memories

Discovery and Rediscovery

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How do you feel when you discover something?

Something novel?

A new place, new food?

New word, new flower?

Perhaps it spices up your life.

Gives you a sense of adventure.

Animates, enlivens.

Tickles the spirit.

What about rediscovery?

Something you knew in the past?

Lost, misplaced, forgot about?

A recipe, book?

Song, photo?

Perhaps a person?

Someone you lost touch with?

For the hustle bustle of life.

Career, marriage, childrearing.

And, then, reconnected with.

Finding out you still had much in common.

Adolescent memories.

Values, opinions, perspectives.

Even birthdays.

Exactly one week apart.

A fact I held onto for decades.

After going our separate ways.

Always remembering my friend’s birthday.

Acknowledging it in silence.

Even when apart.

Mourning the loss.

But, also, honoring her, the past relationship.

Despite disconnection.

So, when this year, I could offer her birthday wishes, I did.

Putting a bounce in my step.

Lightening each breath.

Feeling blessed in older age,

rediscovering a person dear.

Now we’ve found each other,

not possible to disappear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 7, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Cousins, Friendship, Homages, Prose/memoir, Thank-You

Lessons from My Cousin (To Aaron on your 80th)

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Aaron, do you know how much you’ve taught me?

Giving me lessons for many of your eighty years?

Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred twenty days?

My cousin from the country.

Only son of Cel and Lee.

Brother to three sisters.

Husband, father.

Only five years older than I.

Though, when small, age gap, enormous.

You, a strapping teen.

While I, a child.

Through the years, you instructed me.

First, at camp, to float.

A feat failed by others.

Only accomplished by you.

Because I trusted you.

Then continuing to educate me from a distance.

Mentoring from afar.

Transmitting lessons.

How a gentle man acts.

Relates to family, wife, girls.

Values engagement.

With relatives, friends, colleagues.

Stays in touch.

Purveys news.

Displays curiosity about roots.

Takes time to make a genealogy.

Invites others to contribute.

Updating, sharing it.

Writes a memoir.

So others can understand.

Your background, context.

Offering a peek into you early life on the farm, at camp.

Honors the nation.

Making it a goal to visit each state in the union.

While your children, young.

Admires other cultures, customs, mores.

Seeking adventures in many countries.

Makes friends everywhere.

Recognizes limitations.

Still travels, though alternating two destinations.

Keeps physically fit.

Participating in, organizing golf tournaments.

Aaron, teacher, historian, athlete, family man.

Kind, honorable, thoughtful.

Our age gap has diminished,

though I’m still five years behind.

Your many worthy lessons

enlighten, guide my mind.

 

With lots of love,

Your cousin, Lynn

May 5, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Invitations

Surprise Party

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It was supposed to be a surprise party.

The one my cousin’s daughters organized for him.

By evite many months before his eightieth birthday.

But since it didn’t say surprise, guests told him they were coming.

Informing him of the event.

Which then became known as the surprise party.

Always mentioned with a knowing giggle.

See you at the surprise party!

Which, indeed, rolled around in May.

During unrelenting rain.

But, the house was a beacon.

Welcoming the wet and soggy.

A lighthouse, decorated for the occasion.

Filled with joyful faces, good will, abundant treats.

Old friends, new, children, siblings, nephews, nieces, cousins.

A hub of festivity.

Party hats and favors.

Introductions and catching up.

Harmonious conversations.

Inflating corners of every room.

The birthday boy, decked for the occasion.

Red sneakers, blue birthday ribbon, seventy sixer tee.

Antennae on head, slacks with multicolored design.

Setting a tone of fanciful gaiety.

Like the parties we used to throw for a child.

At five and eight and ten.

Just reversed.

Adult children making one for a parent.

Though the celebration let slip,

the girls still managed to amaze.

A cake with teenaged photo.

Memoir in print, Aaron’s essays.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 5, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Emotions, Family, Farewell, Holidays, Homages, Love, Memories, Natural Beauty, Parents, Passover, Trees

I Wish I Could

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I wish I could take my father’s hand.

Amble together through Spring’s annual spectacle.

He’d be one hundred three, the first Seder.

Moving to this town before I did.

Passing away before I settled nearby.

Departing on his ninety-seventh birthday.

So, this April stroll, fitting.

By turns, under fickle drizzles, sunny skies.

Admiring lindens, oaks, maples.

Unfurling leafy banners by the thousands.

After restful winter naps.

Or, flowering cherries, crabapples, plums.

Already sailing blossoms along gusty currents.

Assembling petal carpets along roadways, grass.

How about magnolias?

A favorite for the seed pods he collected.

Tended to on a windowsill.

Or dogwoods, like ones he cultivated years ago?

Blooming in flamboyant abundance.

While Viburnum bouquets perfume the air.

Making our passage regal.

Then, parades of flowers by our feet.

Though daffodils fading, tulips, lavender, yellow, red, stand.

Rows of heavenly chalices.

Grape hyacinths, irises spilling over in purples, yellows.

Phlox, violets, bushy clumps peeking through rocks.

Hosta lilies poking up in clustered stems.

One last tree before farewells.

The potted lemon, now outside, imbibing April breezes.

Popping buds to deliver fruits in December.

Once his to water, trim, fertilize.

Now my household, its steward.

If only wishes could come true,

how blissful I would be.

To watch the springtime world renew

in my father’s company.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Food, Holidays, Humor, In-laws, Passover, Stories

Ethel Always Wanted

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Ethel always wanted a place in my kitchen.

Especially at Passover.

The springtime feast.

One she used to prepare herself till she handed it to me.

Some forty-five years ago.

A complicated celebration with many dishes, courses.

Seder plate with Haroseth.

A make-ahead paste symbolizing mortar.

Used by Jewish slaves to build pyramids.

Gefilte fish.

Matzah ball soup.

Entrée and vegetables.

Desserts galore.

An elaborate menu to be sure.

But, one I preferred to prepare alone.

Set the table for solo.

Making little place cards.

Placing wine glasses.

Clearing a spot for Elijah.

Today, though, I had no choice.

She accompanied me in the kitchen.

A yahrzeit candle lit for her birthday.

On the day chosen to prepare matzoh balls.

Wrap and freeze them.

For the soup on Pesach.

I tripled the recipe.

Eggs, matzoh meal, seltzer, salt, pepper.

Refrigerated the bowl before shaping balls.

Dropping them into simmering water.

The process, going well.

Ethel watching from her perch.

Saying nothing.

Not criticizing.

Not yammering.

Not competing.

Till I filled my eight-quart pot in the sink with water.

Lifted it to set upon the stovetop.

Not quite reaching the target.

Slamming it against the heavy metal burner.

Splashing water everywhere.

Filling the cooking surface like a swimming pool.

I turned my eyes to the candle.

Still burning, looking intently.

Grabbed a towel to mop the mess.

Heard a quiet laugh.

Chiding me for not using a pitcher.

To fill the pot on the stove.

An excellent point.

Though I wished she hadn’t witnessed my mistake.

But, I acknowledged her assessment.

And though the project, delayed,

in the end, sixty balls fluffed up.

Floating to the top, homemade.

Lynn Benjamin

April 21, 2024

All Poems, Birthdays, Family, Gardens, Homages, Humor, In-laws, Philadelphia, Stories, Trips and Places

April Tulips

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Only last summer, I went to Amsterdam.

Known for its tulip harvest.

But, by July, it was over.

Though I spotted a few.

Likely cultivated late for tourists.

Yesterday, though, I happened upon dozens.

On street corners in Philadelphia.

Pink, yellow, red, lavender, variegated beauties.

Show stoppers halting me in my tracks.

Their mouths open, heads tilted upwards.

As if in prayer or conversation.

I wondered to whom they whispered.

Could it be Ethel, my mother-in-law?

For she thought them divine.

So, I moved closer.

Thinking I might overhear the exchange.

Perhaps Ethel boasting her birthday, the next day.

For she expected homage be paid her.

Tulips likely answering, we bloomed for you.

Heralding spring and your ninety-ninth.

Along with daffodils, hyacinths, irises.

Bringing to earth repose.

Little spaces to find relief.

From political angst.

Environmental woes.

Savage global wars.

She, like I, mesmerized.

Her voice fading in the rustle of a breeze.

Back from where she came.

Tulips equally enthralled,

awed by the grande dame.

Lynn Benjamin

April 14, 2024

Ethel’s birthday was on April 11th. Had she lived, she would have been ninety-nine.