Poems Appended to Christmas Gifts

For Mom

This odd windchime made of stone,
pearl- and ocher-whorled slices
of agate dangling from a drift-
wood stick worn smooth as bone.

Hang it in a window till
spring to adorn the view
of bare trees, gray sky, snow.
All winter let it be still

except when you daydream,
warming the chimes with breath
to hear icicles crackling,
the clear trickle of a stream.

In May hang it from the eaves
near the porch swing and listen
to the wind playing “Caprice for
Sunlight Shimmering through Leaves.”

For Dad

This cherrywood carving of the joyful Buddha:
bald, basset-eared, with the paunch
of a woman nine months pregnant.
My impulse-buyer’s wish
was that you’d make him a household god —
just kidding, of course.
Call him a joke, or a charm.
Pat his belly often enough
and maybe you’ll find
yourself with his zany grin,
eyebrows arched like leaping dolphins.
The sleeves of his gown
trail from his upraised arms, his hands bent back
as though he were the Orient’s Atlas,
supporting the heavens — such a light illusion —
on his fingertips.
He could have tutored Solomon.
Take his advice:
Try softer.
Put your shoulder to the pillow,
your nose to a flower.
Want not; what’s needed comes.
An idle mind is the Buddha’s playground.