The end of the day, time for our FINAL walk. As we turn to cross the street, I am talking, about to share a story of an aggressive driver who frightened me today. My attention is drawn in multiple places. I feel emotionally off-balance. And it is mirrored in my body tilting, hitting just right, on the CREST of some storm debris. Stupid stick. Stupid shoe. Stupid me. Down I go, swearing loudly, feeling the CRUSH of sidewalk dust and sand, scraping my knee, banging my hands hard as I go down. You reach to help; it barely registers. Flashes of memory – falling on the asphalt parking lot that was our only playground at school. Familiar stinging sensations — my knee, my hands, my face wet with angry tears. Seven, eight, many ages in between, and now sixty-five — the layers of memory keeping us company as we walk home.

Georg’ann

My friend, so kind, gifts me
with 10 potato and pea patties.
Low on the hot spices
refreshing raita on top.
High protein comfort
for this hard to satisfy time
when taste buds fail, and belly
rejects things oh so quickly.

She’s ADEPT at Indian food.
Better than any local restaurant,
even Laxmi will VOUCH
for the authenticity of details.
With each bite I taste her care,
knowing the love in every herb
CRUSH and spice sizzle.
Sense her gentle hands patiently patting the rounds.

If intention could be cooked
I’ve been served a platter
of protection and wellness.
A delicious act of generosity.

Heather