,,, and Loma Linda has the jewel

Leon came up to LA with his dad today
and explained all the paperwork so nicely
and his kind papa, so proud at the purchase of the
12 cylinder gas guzzler by his ample son
sat quiet , reciting psalms under his breath, while
we finished the paperwork,
Leon Tuppence, and there is a name,
handed me lots and lots of 100
dollar bills and that was that.

the perfect spot for the JAG really.
with Leon in Loma Linda
there dwells the same good heart
the same belief that there is salvation
in a sleek white ride
he says he will send me pictures.

and so it goes and it went.

and the balance of the day reconnecting with
a man i haven't seen in over thirty years
and then tonight my new play festival
and those kids trying to act so cool and
really so deeply surprised and delighted
that they have a place to
be heard
to get the words on a stage and into the world

not a bad day all in all

the next mountain to climb is placing the ashes
in a plastic canister
into a bautiful box and slipping them in the ground
with no one noticing
i choose dawn alone with a cuppa
and a quick slide into the earth before the sun is up
while the fog still embraces us and i can pretend that the
ashes in my hand are not the body that i embraced
that held me and warmed
to the way my feet fit under
his arch
and the bent finger that won my heart
that finger, damaged in the ceramic studio-- like so much else--
that finger bent
when i first saw it caused me to exclaim sympathetically--
' no worries" said t,' it let's me point around corners."
and that, that finger that was the reason i married the man.

so odd this insistence that we are up to the reality of such reality
a wife to hold the ashes of a husband
a husband to scatter a wife at sea

not for me. i never wanted ash to be poured from plastic to urn
and have me pretend not to wonder where is eyeball and where is bone.
i prefer the other fantasy of boxes lowered and earth tossed
as that ritual at least connected me with ages of ritual i understand
i don't think i was ever an Indian on the Ganges in any life.

so i choose dawn, solo and the mist softening the edges and
then a run far away until next year when the stone is set and
then, again , there i have a ritual to follow,
a script, an expectation and
understanding...

and yes, i know i am setting ritual for my daughter
but the whole exercise leaves me pitless and limp
and not happy to contemplate

sat kaddish , says the rabbi
magnify and sanctify His name
to avoid the idea that the dust between my fingers
once held my hand and laughed with me in the shower.

but no dawn for me.
bright sunday sunlight and bulldozers near by
and the sweet latino jardineros waiting on the side for me to say the words
place the box and be gone

no, rituals help. i highly recommend them
a treasure map of familiarity to help you thru the days
when these days come to you
as they do to and for us all.

but that's a few weeks from now
and life is waiting between now and death