Luxuries

The sun is gliding toward the horizon on this gentle spring day. I always look up the street at dusk. We live at the bottom of a hill, and the top borders the wooded area that surrounds the water tower, little ski slope, and various cross-country trails. This time of day, just before the sun glides behind the old town garage where our cars pass or fail inspection and the owner walks to our house for emergency jumps, just before the children in the house behind ours are called in to bath time, the light filters over the forest a reddish, pinkish, orange. I often say a silent thank you at this moment. I get to live here, in this place, with my family.

A year ago I wrote this poem:

It is war.

You hold the line.

You know you must maintain strength and mental acumen.

But physical needs are necessarily secondary;

Aside from temporary relief - the toilet, a drink of water,

Nothing else matters.

Not your life before;

Any accolades you received, accomplishments ~

Useless.

Your mental focus, your physical energy, your emotional resources,

Everything must be channeled toward the one goal:

Pushing back the enemy until your child is free.

Anxiety, administrators, prejudice, disdain, judgment, shame.

You will fight until all impediments are removed.

Today, the day that is one year and one lifetime later, you read poetry. Today you ran up your favorite hill, listening to your favorite music, and then stopped to listen to the peepers in the tiny pond, loud as a hundred kindergarteners having lunch. Today you took a photo of the first bee softly visiting the pollen-yellow carpels of the weeping pussy willow. Today you raked the yard and drove to the dump with your son, the son who helped you dispose of the recycling and rake the brush out of the truck, the son who gave you a hug and kiss as you buckled him in. Nothing else matters.