Anticipate, Plan and Hope

Jerry, Wispy clouds float in a sky blue,
most of the snow is gone
puddles dot the field,
the grass looks like shredded wheat,
lawn mowers sit undercover
waiting.

A squirrel darts from nowhere,
I grip the steering wheel tighter
and squeeze my eyes shut,
just for a second and exhale
thinking that was a close one
for that little guy.
How lucky.

I ran into the grocery store
the other day
at about 7 pm
the parking lot empty,
the store too quiet
I picked out a cantaloupe
on sale
unripened, too hard to eat.
It sat on the counter
until this morning I pierced the
webbed rind with the tip of the knife
and after a couple of cuts
I popped a chunk into my mouth
and I thought of you-
morning fruit medleys,
your favorite.

George our neighbor
met me half way between
our house and his
to open a bottle
of Maple Syrup
the one you bought me this summer,
my hand too weak to muster strength,
my heart too sad to
register all the ways
I miss you.

This is what the living do,
straddle between the before and after,
the what ifs and the what is,
the what was and what could have been.

Meanwhile, the compost needs to be dumped
near the strawberries you planted.
I can't help but wonder
what the harvest will yield.
On your hands and knees last spring
a year ago you anticipated years of picking
because that is what the living do,
Anticipate, plan and hope
For a future that may never come.

(This was inspired by Marie Howe's What the Living Do.)