Gratitude

by Anna Bernard

"Hey Fred! How ya doing? I just heard this quote last night and it's been running in my mind...Life is a cement trampoline."
"Naw. I don't think so, Bob. I think it's more like that super rubber material, that stuff they're using now to make Skyballs. You know - you can launch yourself so high, you can see for miles. You're hanging in the air admiring clouds and mountains and a carpet of treetops across the valley like you have no gravitational pull and just when you're feeling absurdly free and happy, the downward plunge will begin. You'll be scared the whole way down and finally you'll hit bottom only to be thrown back up really high again and eventually you'll start becoming desperate to stop the whole up and down cycle thing but you won't know how. You'll be trying to curl yourself into a dense ball of bone and flesh but that will just make you bouncier and finally, you'll just lie prone and go up and down, up and down muttering 'Woe is me' until somehow the whole torment comes to an end."
"Geez, Fred, that is the gloomiest picture of life I've ever heard!"
"Geez, yourself, Bob. A cement trampoline? What does that suggest? Life is one miserable crash with broken bones?"
"Well, I was thinking of it as a joke!"
"Some joke, Bob! I am completely depressed now."
"Okay, Fred, I don't think we should be engaging in light banter so early in the morning when we meet out here picking up our newspapers."
"Yeah, I'm going to go read my paper now and try to cheer myself back up. Geez!"

A Chest of Childhood

by Anna Bernard

Small cotton blankets
Food provided by others
A bunny, a teddy, a froggy, a lamb
Bedtime when the sky is still blue
Way too much darkness in the night
and far too much night.
Constant expectation
dovetailing with fabulous ability
to learn
to observe
to express
the happiest laughs
The most despairing tears.
The feeling that if you run,
you can fly
Your feet will tuck up like birds' legs
like plane wheels
and you will soar - wind in your face
air making a cushion
on your lizard blue belly side.
Baby fine hair
streaming like Maypole ribbons
and in the air you'll stay
until you want to come down
and do fish swims
until dinnertime.

Embroidering Flowers

by Ruth Aroni

I have a memory of myself in the garden,
Embroidering flowers
And soaking up the sun,
Gazing at the lush green grass
And the vines of leaves
Gracefully intertwining from
The massive oak tree.
I have a memory of myself in
The Chapel,
Chanting to God,
Then quietly meditating,
Bursting with joy
And hearing the sound of the
Universe.
I have a memory of myself onstage,
Twelve years old
In front of thousands of people,
In Cinderella
Singing and bellowing the words.
I played a mouse and got to
Be in almost every scene,
What joy...
I have a memory of myself
In the window,
Gazing at my reflection
And asking myself, "Who are you?"
"A poet," I answer
Again, "Who are you?"
Over and over again, "Who are you?"