The heat, the blessed sun. Let this much be mine. The morning dew, the cobwebs, the yellowing leaves. My breath, my wrinkled skin, my shaky hands, let this much be mine. The wind, sounds of nature, human sounds, the smell of decaying leaves, of ripening fruit, and of honey. Let this much be mine.
The first sip of bitter coffee and all-day sips of hot tea, the first words of my favorite books Stuart Little, Trumpet of the Swan, Charlotte’s Web, Narnia. Where an entire world was created: the wardrobe and the lamppost — Let this much be mine.
Vows, commitments, rings, chuppah, high up on a chair. Love, forever, busy, argue, airplanes, telephones. Hotels, vacations, stress. Houses, taxes, wine. Let this much be mine.
The memories of my daughters’ births and fluids and sticky and tiny features. The sensation of milk letting down into my breasts, let this much be mine. The miniature clothing, the diapers, the toys, the books, the happy, the sad. Pat the Bunny, Goodnight Moon, Harry Potter. Sweet potatoes, bananas, oatmeal. Waffles, mac & cheese, tortellini. Highs and lows. Let this much be mine.
Words in languages I still recall: da, oui, ja, dui. Chai, tee, cha. Art and culture from other lands, seen and heard. Black Sea, Llasa, Bali, Vietnam, St. Petersburg, Rome, Madrid. Let this much be mine.
