Miracles

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Miracles, Spouses

It’s A Miracle

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It’s a miracle! said Bob. We were just at Independence Hall, now in Elkins Park.

As we traversed streets from train station back to our house.

A twenty-minute walk uphill.

I, struggling to match him.

Looking his way as we marched apace.

No, I countered, the miracle is that you’re walking, not driving, to and from the train.

Well, he answered, it was seeing Barbara do it.

Barbara, the eighty-nine-year-old neighbor.

A woman we run into at the gym.

Once, waving to her on the train platform.

Returning from a class in the city.

No, no, no, I insisted.

It’s your new stamina, resolve, determination to exercise.

He turned to me, maybe you’re right.

Having resisted this trek before commitment to strengthening.

Grumbling, it bothered his hip.

Now looking energized, healthy.

Nary a complaint.

Moving forward with alacrity.

Complete unrestraint.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 29, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Birth, Emotions, For Children, Miracles, Mother Love, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Stories

April Morning

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The April morning, glorious.

Crisp, cool, but not cold.

Early sun warming hands, face.

What was that honking?

Rhythmic, loud, incessant?

Coming from nearby?

I searched in all directions.

Till I saw a goose perched on a rooftop.

As though making a pronouncement to the kingdom.

In a flash, I knew exactly what was being bellowed.

Despite my ignorance of the words.

The babies, born.

To the goose and gander by the pond.

So I dashed over to take a look.

Seeing father on duty.

His partner shielding yellow chicks under one wing.

I counted three.

Then a fourth waddled out.

Four, I whispered to a woman on a bench.

Then, a fifth.

Five, I breathed.

Taking in the miracle of the scene.

Then, to my amazement, a sixth.

Six goslings, the color of bright sunflowers.

Creeping in and out from under mother’s wing.

Beneath pink weeping cherries, sending out bouquets.

Surrounded by carpets of lavender vinca blooms.

A village of frogs and turtles.

Graduate students, neighbors.

All having waited, now rejoicing

the wonder of new birth.

In a season bursting with color

sprouting from tender earth.

Lynn Benjamin

April 26, 2024

All Poems, Family, Humor, Miracles, Santa Monica 3/24, Spouses, Trips and Places, Worry

It Was Early

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It was early, the morning of departure from LA.

I, out walking in Palisades Park.

Committing each plant to memory.

Bob, asleep, awakened by a ringing phone.

A call from the pharmacy.

Three hours ahead in Philadelphia.

To discuss a long awaited script for me, not him.

Requiring a prior authorization and an interview.

Still groggy, he grabbed his favorite reading glasses.

The tortoise shell ones.

Dialed to merge me in, transfer the call.

Then jumped out of bed, rushing to make farewells.

To children, grandchildren.

But, in haste, he couldn’t find his glasses.

He searched the room.

Sheets, pillows, blankets.

No luck.

Later, I, too, scoured the space.

Closet, dresser drawers, desk.

Completely gone.

Bob moaned off and on, my best glasses.

But, miracle of miracles, they reappeared.

The next morning in the dryer!

Having been washed with underwear.

Bob texted me the good news.

Incredulous, he found his glasses,

lenses cleaned and shining bright.

Once he popped them on his face,

voilà, clear, limitless hindsight!

Lynn Benjamin

April 2, 2024

All Poems, Art/Arts, Change, Children, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Mexico, Miracles, Playa del Carmen, Pleasure, Stories, Trips and Places

It Felt a Miracle

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It felt a miracle.

Cancún in the morning.

Philadelphia, late afternoon.

Tropical heat.

Bone piercing chill.

Vibrant palm fronds.

Naked oaks.

Warm Caribbean waters.

Semi frozen Schuylkill.

Sonorous Spanish sounds.

Flat Philly English.

Once in the house, the cell rang.

The children’s mother, our daughter.

How was the trip?

Amazing, said Elias.

Excellent, his sister.

They went on to elaborate.

I asked each, what was your favorite part?

I, thinking cenotes, pools, holding butterflies, the beach.

One said, the temples.

The other agreed.

What about the temples, I asked.

Their decoration, endurance through time, history.

I have to say I was gratified

by interest in Mayan shrines.

How ancient carvings in the stone

revealed beliefs, storylines.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 29, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Miracles, Time

Unexpected Miracles

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It was an unexpected miracle.

Arriving to JFK an hour early.

Though not sure how, I didn’t question it.

Just counted extra time as treasure.

Fortuitously found.

An hour to grab daylight.

Wander through it when I got home.

Where it awaited me.

Took me by the hand.

To the pond at Salus.

To see a half dozen ducks, five geese.

Flapping, playing in February’s chill.

Were they there to check out mating spots?

Find cozy corners for nesting?

Or just to glide upon the water?

I don’t know for sure.

But the sight of them pleased me.

Sent my spirits sailing.

The first moments of my return,

wonderments unveiling.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 7, 2024

All Poems, Food, Madrid, Miracles, Spain, Trips and Places

If Only the Train

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If only the train hadn’t broken down, lamented Bob.

As we rushed down stairs to another track.

To catch a functioning one to Madrid.

From Alcalá de Henares.

Where we’d meet friends for comida.

Worrying the delay would make us late.

But, arriving on the dot.

A miracle just like the one we were about to experience.

Returning to Madrid after many years.

How do you embrace a city?

You knew well in your youth?

Coming to see her often.

Walk the old neighborhoods.

Visit friends in the new.

You, deteriorating, wrinkling.

While the city refurbishes.

Keeps up with the times.

Perhaps exceeds them.

We know only to retrace familiar steps.

Plaza Mayor, Arco de Cuchilleros.

Casa Botín.

Itself a witness to three centuries.

Early on, feeding traders.

Becoming the world’s first restaurant in 1725.

Keeping its hallmark oven.

Using wood of the evergreen oak.

To make Castilian asados.

Today, its tiled walls still inspiring.

Its smoky aromas arousing appetites.

After eating, we go off with friends to wander.

Royal Palace, Gran Vía.

Point out places we once took our children.

Ourselves.

Where we met older friends, long gone.

Though the train broke down,

we made it to Madrid.

While we slip by in time,

the city will us outlive.

 

Lynn Benjamin

February 5, 2024

asados: roast meats

All Poems, Friendship, Miracles

Signals

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The universe sometimes sends signals.

Unannounced.

Unforeseen.

Like the phone call.

Pushing aside a podcast.

An old friend’s name illuminating the screen.

Ann, I called. How are you?

Her voice hesitant, did I call you?

I’m on hold with a doctor’s office.

We both laughed.

Hung up.

Till she rang back a few minutes later.

Explaining she must have hit a wrong button.

Dialing my number.

Both of us agreeing it was meant to be.

A way to catch up.

Share news.

Exchange New Years’ greetings.

It could not have been by accident.

Rather, serendipity, fair fate.

Mysterious happenstance.

Nudging us communicate.

 

Lynn Benjamin

January 4, 2024

 

All Poems, Holidays, Hope, Jewish Holidays, Miracles, Trauma, Violence

Chanukah Slipped In

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Chanukah slipped in.

Almost unnoticed in the heavy gloom.

Weeks after the assault by Hamas.

On October 7th, Sukkot.

World Jewry desperate to free hostages.

Root out terrorism.

End darkness.

Melancholy, grief.

A thousand shadows lurking.

While each night adding another candle.

Remembering souls snuffed out too soon.

Praying for the marvel of the Maccabees.

Oil enough for one day, kindling eight.

Though miracles be legends,

they seed needs for hope.

For light to fill a vengeful world,

enmity revoke.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 8, 2023

 

 

All Poems, Maine, Miracles, Stories

Postscript at the Airport

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Bob rushed in waving three new boarding passes.

To Bangor, Maine.

An alternative to Portland.

I got the three of us on the flight, he called.

Fairly singing.

Till he sat down to try to get a new car rental.

To drive from Bangor to Portland.

Calling every agency in Bangor.

Told by each, impossible.

So, he dashed back to the help desk.

To change the ticket back to Portland.

Either by standby at 1:00pm.

Or, on the delayed flight at 8:30pm.

By some miracle, we made the standby.

Though our luggage flew to Bangor.

But, we got to Portland.

Picked up a car.

And drove.

Stopping in Freeport.

To get necessities for people who have no bags.

Toothbrushes, paste, soap.

Underwear, socks, jackets.

Continued on to Damariscotta.

Picking up keys to our cottage.

And a meal.

Since by 8:30, resilience was wearing thin.

But we made it to the country house

Across a bridge, the moon asleep.

Welcomed by mosquitos, moths.

Seeking respite from forest deep.

 

Lynn Benjamin

August 9, 2023

 

 

 

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Father's Day, Holidays, Miracles

Appearances in June

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Each day in June is a concert.

Trilling, whistling, chirping.

A new burst of olfactory sensation.

Jazmine, citrus, rose.

A blooming festival.

Milkweed, cactus flowers, echinaceas.

A smorgasbord.

Peas, purslane, parsley.

Who knew it could even get better?

The appearance of Zev and a friend!

Wending up the east coast.

From Maryland to Massachusetts.

After days at Vibe Camp.

Dancing, playing games.

Celebrating talents of peers.

Arriving on Father’s Day.

In an age when children live far away.

Are unable to offer hugs.

Other than on Facetime.

So, this, another pop up miracle.

Surprise snap of brightness.

To celebrate a father.

A son.

The meaning of a parent-child bond.

That flourishes.

Despite distance, rain, drought.

Years, pain, aging.

No matter.

Reunion sparks memories.

Makes joints supple.

Hearts glad.

One more June wonderment

knocking at the door.

With tales to tease the ears,

Rejuvenate, restore.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 20, 2023