To the Man Who Makes the Mylar, To the Woman Who Makes the String

I wonder what time you start your day
and if you wear a uniform to work
is it hot on the factory floor
beneath unfiltered shafts of light
descending through unopened windows
or cool like wet concrete
a panting dog would lie on
to escape a too warm day

Do you make your lunch in the morning
side by side with your child's brown bag
or is there a cafeteria where coworkers gather
dreading the whistle blow
marking the start of the shift
that seems to come much too quick

Perhaps you do not think them useful
these things that you create each day
and so lament your life's work
manufacturing frivolous objects
that hold air and tether it
before the inevitable pop

But I am here to tell you
that the heart shaped pink balloon
with the shiny silver string
suspended at the intersection
of Santa Monica and Yale
saved my life today

As it inexplicably appeared
bobbing along the road
floating free like an apparition
no, like an invitation
to purge the gravel of disillusionment
settled deep within my belly
to wrap the silver string around my wrist
and let love lead me where it will

From Time to Time

I recommend sitting on an old stone fence
from time to time
especially if you can sit high enough
to easily swing your legs
like you once did at the kitchen table
all those years ago
when your mother made you eat liver
with peppers and onions

Recognize what a comfort it was for her
to make the food her mother made
when she was small enough
to kick her legs beneath
the polished walnut table
that cost three months of her father's
steel mill worker salary

Imagine how tall your papa sat
at the head of his very own table
just one generation removed from the old country
and yet able to see his three small children
well fed and happy

Picture the glint in his eyes
as he admonished them to clean their plates
so they could all go watch a show
on the brand new television

No one had ever eaten liver and peppers so fast

Forgive yourself for turning up your nose
at your mother's simple offering
for declaring the sacred profane

And though you have been a vegetarian
for some twenty years
go back in your memory
slice a small strip
of the dense pungent meat
savor it with the gratitude
that while your mom's feet now easily touch the ground
she still likes to swing them a little
from time to time