All is One, All is Different

The rain has stopped.

A damp hush falls.

Sea, sky and sun

turn silver

as if spun from the same stuff

or turned into something else entirely.

Rhetorical Question

Is there anything

more wonderful than being

the mother of boys?

Old Man's in Winter

It's still winter, water in the fifties.

I paddle stiffly and scramble for waves

until my hands get to feeling like they do

when you rummage around in an ice chest

for too long,

looking for the last cold beer

at the bottom.

I peel off my wetsuit

and rinse under the cold outdoor shower

in a clump of bamboo,

then fumble for my car keys

and climb into the driver's seat.

Wrapped up in the deliciousness

of a dry towel with the heat on full blast,

I can't stop smiling.

Portrait of the Artist

An artist alone

an empty beach, wind-tossed sea

and so it begins

Creatures of Leisure

Iguanas creep out,

then stretch and bask by the pool

as if they owned it.

On Visiting Waikiki

Waikiki Beach

is one of those places

I feel like I should hate

on account of its many hotel towers and tourists--

Like Las Vegas or Disneyland--

except that I love it.

I love looking at the faded green hills

and Diamond Head off in the distance.

The aquamarine water

and bright yellow catamarans;

the candy-pink umbrellas dotting the beach

in front of the old Royal Hawaiian Hotel.

Even the throng of oiled bodies on the sand

and high-rise buildings that crowd the shore

take on a warm, pastel glow

under the Hawaiian sun,

like figures in a vintage postcard.

High School Winter Formal

It’s that time of year again.

There’s a panicked attempt

to tie one of Dad’s real bow-ties

per an instructional video on YouTube

which proves too difficult

and is abandoned for Plan B:

the faux, pre-tied version.

Well-scrubbed boys

in shiny rented formalwear

posing for pictures

with long-legged, glossy-haired girls

who exceed their dates in sophistication

and height.

The customary exchange

of corsages and boutonnieres,

the parental admonitions to

have fun and be safe,

and the flurry of goodbyes

as the kids all leave for the dance.

There, again, is the lump

that lodges somewhere between my throat and heart

at seeing my boys dressed up like young men,

rehearsing for adulthood.