Elders have stopped reading the news. We dream / of serious play down on our knees— / cat’s eyes, jacks, the kiss that’s for keeps.
When summer releases its hold, this isn’t my place / to hunker with a knife and cards / / and watch day delay starting.
belts out Cyndi Lauper, but it could’ve just as easily / been Saint Teresa of Avila crooning for Jesus: / nothing replaces the feeling between me and you.
Lord, bless the undertaker who makes the news / for burying the Boston Marathon bomber / when no one else will
This is no self-pitying record of defeat, but a book of rebirth and restoration, a fact suggested by several poems’ titles: “O Forgiveness,” “Therapy Dog,” “The Art of Meditation,” “Battered Victory,” “Stand Up,” “As I Meditate,” “Learning to Glide,” and “Inner Work.” It is a book of candescent triumph.
