And of my tender-hearted son

by Claire Weiner

 

Today, on a leafy path along the Huron,

on the cusp of fall, where sumac

and dogwood entwine in flaming dance,

 

aspen and hickory compete for best

in show, I meet the Buddha.

He bows.

 

And of course, so do I. Then,

in his gentle Buddha-way, he

instructs me to think of death.

 

Not once. But many times. He

places his hand, soft as milkweed moth,

on my shoulder, reminds me,

 

Today’s resplendence will end.

 

Cessation, stillness and unflinching

gray will descend. I notice

a small knot in my chest,

 

a tighter one in my belly. I shake

my head, although I know

he speaks the truth.

 

He follows, his silence supporting

me. I think

about my parents—

 

my father singing with Pavarotti in

the paneled family room, my mother crocheting

intricate blankets. Both always

 

worried about money. Both loved me.

I think of my husband of forty

years—the heat of youth, the balm

 

of old age. And of my tender-hearted son

who makes all numbers add up,

and my daughter who dances with each day.

 

And of my grandson who places Matchbox cars

under his pillow, dreams of a world of string

cheese and pretzels.

 

The resplendence will end.

 

I shake my head, although I know

it is the truth.

 

***

Claire Weiner has spent most of her adult life in Ann Arbor, where she and her husband raised their son and daughter. She spent her decades-long non-writing career as a clinical social worker, helping people make more sense of their life stories. She began writing in earnest when her children were grown. She can frequently be found walking along the paths near the river.

 

***

This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, an Ann Arbor-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local Washtenaw poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at [email protected].