A Hug From Dad ©Gail Lipe I cried when he didn’t say good by. I was little. He always hugged me and said good by before he went to work. But that day, the sun drew me outside to play. He had to leave before the sun let me go. I cried when he spanked me. I deserved it. I lied. I tried to get my sister in trouble. It didn’t work. He always knew. He taught me honesty and trust. Sometimes it hurt. Mostly by the way he lived. I cried when he moved us to Minnesota. I was…

A poem about the complexity of a relationship with someone who was in hospice before contracting COVID where she became comatose, and yet pulled through. How Are You Really Doing? ©Gail Lipe”How are you really doing?”A simple question,you would think.How do I tell her that a full parking lotoften scares me?”I can do this. I can do this.I can do this.”My mantra as I enter the store.How do I tell herthat panic sets inat the most inopportune times,like when I can’t find the candy canes?”I can do this.”How do I tell her that one minute I’m fineand the next thing…

I love the way spring smellsthe sweet euphoria of crab apple blossomsand apple blossomsand lilacsand lily of the valley,smells so intoxicatingthey leave a perfect tastein your mouth.My grandmother’s yardwas filled with fruit trees apples, pears, cherries, mullberriesand flowers, especially lilies,not lily of the valley,the big white lilies,her namesake.We gave her onenearly every year.Long ago, when she was alive,we often visited in early summerafter spring smells turned pungent, hot mowed grass, marigolds, zinnias, wheat field dustthough the lily blooms hung onthe longest, leaving hints of sweetnessfloating in the air,as summer bloomstook their place.I remember sitting on a chairin the pea gravel…

©Gail Lipe I am in a holding patternhovering above my life,waiting to respect myself to live each dayprocrastinating untilthe time is rightbut that time never comeswhen I am oldI will travelI will writeI will create…But I am old now.