One Afternoon with Lily

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One afternoon, she
named me “Popsidoodle,”
and I wondered out loud
where that had come from.
But she just giggled and
told me, “Hold still, Popsidoodle,”
’cause she had to put one more
barrette in my hair.

She’s my first grandchild, you know,
and I had long since forgotten
how to say “no” to big,
saucered, four-year-old eyes.

So I crawled under the table
about a dozen times that day and
dutifully whinnied while being
led from the “barn.” I consumed
scores of imaginary tacos,
drove a fleet of fanciful limos,
and surrendered meekly as she
dressed me again and again
in ways that would tickle a clown

And at afternoon’s end,
when I lifted her to my chest,
crooned a smokey version
of “Rubber Ducky”
and danced her to sleep,
I smiled and decided:
there must be a “Popsidoodle”
roosting somewhere
deep inside us all.

© 2006 Dennis Ference

in praise of the scab

(A lighthearted take on one of the amazing
“small” manifestations of the Creative Presence
we so take for granted. First posted 6/23/14.)

i celebrate the scab big and small
sacrament accessible to one and all

reminder we are more than machines
equally helpful to beggars and queens

it stays no longer than required
with little fanfare it’s retired

a creation of promise and salubrious dreams
a little miracle built into our genes

so all hail the scab and praise to its maker
in the business of health it’s a mover and shaker

© 2005 Dennis Ference