Loss

All Poems, Electronics, Humor, Loss

Long Live the Dishwasher

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Long live the dishwasher, said Bob.

Filling it with drinking glasses, cups.

Turning it on for the first time.

After repair early in the morning.

A week of hand washing, drying.

Machine sitting empty.

No hum evenings after dinner.

No putting away clean plates in the morning.

No help with pots or pans.

After sautéing or roasting.

Simmering or baking.

Just rolling up sleeves.

Scrubbing, scouring.

The old-fashioned way.

Easy to do when just for two.

But when company comes to sup,

we exult to have a machine that whirls,

chivalrously cleaning up!

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 19, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Electronics, Humor, Loss, Time

Certain I’d Hear Back

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I waited, certain I’d hear back from the Apple Store.

That my new Mac Air was ready for pick-up.

That the data migration was complete.

From the Mac Pro to the Air.

Transfer decided upon to prevent problems.

Before the old laptop failed.

For it was from 2016.

Computer years are like dog years, Bob explained.

If each one is about seven, your laptop is aging fast.

Chips have changed.

Models have moved on.

It’s harder to update apps.

Nevermind I was attached to my machine.

Originally using it for work.

Taking it with me on trips.

Giving it an honored place on my desk.

It was easy to instruct.

Swift, reliable.

But, those warnings about future health, dire.

So, I waited, but no call came.

Which meant another morning.

Spent in the Apple Store.

Where I’m sure I’ll wander

among shiny new machines,

calculate my own old age,

and consider what that means.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 4, 2024

 

All Poems, Loss, Santa Monica 3/24, Trips and Places

Santa Monica Pier

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Yesterday, a shopkeeper informed us.

The iconic Santa Monica pier was bought by an investment group.

It would be reformed.

Made more upscale.

So, I went there this morning.

To study it.

Look at its contours.

Shops, eateries, amusement park.

Adjacent beach, buildings across the bay.

The tribute to Robert Waldmire.

Artist and cartographer who celebrated Route 66.

Running from the mid-west, ending at the pier.

Preservationist and environmentalist.

Wanting travelers to stop and enjoy nature along the way.

Rather than driving on a fast interstate.

Disconnected with the place passed through.

I’m glad I made it to the pier,

having been forewarned.

So I could see it in its present state

before it is transformed.

.

Lynn Benjamin

March 21, 2024

All Poems, Cousins, Death, Family, Health/Illness, Humor, Loss

Gallows Humor

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I was introduced to gallows humor in high school.

Alas, poor Yorick…, said Hamlet.

Holding his jester’s skull.

But, dark humor upset me.

When, Bob and other med students used it.

Which, they did, many times.

Laughing instead of crying over tragic events.

Encountered so regularly, they’d be in despair.

Without anxious chuckling.

But, only now, as I age, do I, too, engage.

As I, with others, approach expected unknowns.

Illness, accident, death.

I listen with new ears.

When my older cousin laments.

She, the last survivor of all her friends.

Talking about her pulled tooth.

Which procedure to fill the hole?

Bridge, partial, implant?

She’d have the priciest mouth in the burial park

choosing implant at ninety-one.

Should I laugh or weep at her musings

as she concocts macabre fun?

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 13, 2024

 

 

 

Aging, All Poems, Cousins, Death, Family, Loss, Time, Wisdom

Excellent Visit

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It was an excellent visit.

With my ninety-year old cousin.

At her Assisted Living Residence.

Where she maneuvered a walker.

To a seating area by a window.

With white wicker chairs.

A place to converse.

Catch up on goings-on.

Her children, grandchildren, mine.

Her first great-grandson.

Her sister, my siblings.

Discuss trips, past and present.

Her grandson’s visit to London.

To see the Harry Potter village.

The same month she and her late husband used to go.

It was, indeed, a pleasant meeting.

With smiles surpassing sound.

Till she said with wistful eyes

all her friends lie in the ground.

She has always been a magnet

for mates to flock around.

So her statement from the blue

sent a message most profound.

Savor all relationships.

Clocks don’t cease counting down.

Who knows who’ll be left above,

who’ll be buried neath a mound?

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 12, 2024

 

All Poems, Emotions, Farewell, Loss, Pain, Politics, Trees

Trees Shed Tears

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Strange that trees shed tears.

Little jeweled droplets.

Poised on naked branches.

Reflecting my own melancholy.

For a maddening world.

Where people hurt each other.

Innocents suffer.

Injustices grow like weeds.

Endings unravel faster than beginnings start.

So easy to let bad tidings flood the mind.

Especially after holiday farewells.

When guests distract from the usual diet.

Daily news, social media.

With their good cheer, enthusiasm.

Involvement in activities.

Baking, group walks.

Outtings, theater.

Now behind us.

Leaving a hollow.

Easily filled with sorrows.

For the multitude of them.

Ceaseless, never ending.

So, let me have my tears.

Legitimate, justified.

But also stock the void.

With good deeds, comaraderie.

Helping neighbors with a meal.

Marking the new year with friends.

Preparing for adventure.

Focusing on those I love.

Scattering kindness seeds.

Tapping into my own self’s best.

Relief from bleak unease.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 30, 2023

All Poems, Art/Arts, Family, Holidays, In-laws, Jewish Holidays, Loss

Almost a Year

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It’s almost a year since my mother-in-law passed.

This, the first Chanukah without her.

Festival of Lights, her favorite.

Chanting prayers around the menorah.

Grandchildren by her side.

A familiar print on the wall.

Right in her dining room.

Now ours, on the landing.

As you ascend the stairs.

One of those things admired.

Never asked about.

Till now, too late.

Wishing you knew the back story.

When she bought it.

Where?

Why?

Portrait of eight indigenous children.

Circling a grand menorah.

Lit and glowing.

The artist’s signature, bottom right.

DeGrazia, Arizona.

Dated, 1980.

So, I googled him.

Found the number for DeGrazia Gallery in Tucson.

Talked to Lance, who identified the work.

Called Hanukah!

Pointing out the saguaro cactus at the bottom left.

Explaining the children from Papago tribes.

Overjoyed with a gift from Ethel

whose presence I could feel.

Come to share an anecdote.

Her way to reappear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 8, 2023

All Poems, Change, Emotions, Loss, Natural Beauty, Seasons, Worry

Milkweed Plant

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The perky milkweed plant.

Sitting outside my window all autumn.

Succumbed to approaching winter’s cold.

Snow and chill turned its sunny disposition.

Downward into a dozen frowning leaves.

Mirroring my own melancholy.

On dark, damp mornings.

The myriad worries I could scatter on warmer days.

Now sit heavy on my heart.

As trees, flowers surrender to a new dominion.

What do you do when problems hang like dead weights?

You cannot lift them?

Change them?

Terrorism?

War?

Democracy in peril?

Environmental ravage?

Moral erosion?

That’s when I seek tiny signs.

Little unexpected lights.

To move the mood.

Vibrant lavender phlox amid snoring cacti.

White candy tufts.

Tall green spruces bearing cones.

Pines, atlas cedars, arbor vitae.

Ivy poking through juniper hedges.

Reminding me that life rolls on.

No matter season, time of year.

Though disquietude enfold like clouds,

natural beauty sweeps them clear.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 7, 2023

 

Aging, All Poems, Death, Electronics, Humor, Loss

Only Five Years Ago

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Only five years ago, my father passed.

Moving me to think about mortality.

Obituaries, bequeathals.

To bid my children remember me.

As they ate cakes, pies, breads.

Left to them in my freezer.

Each tagged, dated, prepared by me.

But, weeks ago, the new upright freezer failed.

After a handful of years.

Compressor no longer up to the job.

All its contents defrosted, soggy.

Sitting in heat, not cold.

Carried to trash.

Freezer, empty.

Waiting for resuscitation.

Quite unexpected, the freezer died

before my wish satisfied.  

Unlike me, components resupplied.

When I go, new parts denied.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 6, 2023

All Poems, Hope, Loss, Pain, Trauma, Violence

Broken

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When you think broken, what comes to mind?

A bone?

Toy?

Tooth?

Sidewalk?

Relationship?

I, too, image those things.

But, Friday, I knew it was the world.

When Hamas ambushed Israel.

Slaughtering, capturing, brutalizing.

Yes, the world breaks.

When people murder innocents.

Listening to music.

Celebrating a holiday.

Spending time with family.

The world breaks.

When people rip up basic human contracts.

The ones I taught my children.

Be kind.

Respectful.

Empathic.

Solve problems with words, not violence.

How do you fix a fractured world?

Is it even possible?

When, though past wounds still burn, people walk away.

Avert eyes.

Numb senses.

Forget the misery, loss, grief.

Needless suffering.

Till new catastrophes slam down.

Breaking us again into pieces.

It’s easy to lose all hope.

Fall into despondency, despair.

Instead, let each of us be healer.

Lift up one shattered shard, smashed prayer.

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 13, 2023