"Umbrella Paradiddle"

 

 

walking in the morning rain
steps confidently secure
not a single fret for pain
morning’s aura warm and pure
thunder threads a distant plane
raindrops offer a soft cure
bold grackles dive into drains
tempted by the water’s lure
paradiddles tap refrains
against my shelter’s contour

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

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"Be Still"

 

Loss and grief wrap around my spirit
They drag my steps, pull me into silence,
Hone my thoughts down to brittle bits of despair
Loss and grief echo through my dreams
They invade my nights, snap me into vigilance,
Pace with me from room to room
Loss and grief whittle away my heart
They cause my tears, push me into darkness,
Force my days into protective stillness 

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

 

 

"Dental Floss"

  

Cheap dental floss    

—not the desired brand—    
            Frays    
            Leaves strands    
                        trapped    
Frustrated before sunrise    
            I fling the new container aside—    
                        thumping it into the trash    
                        announcing my irritation    
Temper flames my words,     
            “We had an entire conversation about this!”    
Feeling trivialized and minimized
            I cut to make him smaller   
And I braid those fine wax fibers 
            into Porter’s rope  
                        Giving it weight—
                                    Importance
Until 
            my snarling reflection    
            snaps me to The Big Picture 
It is—  
            after all—    
Only dental floss   

 

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

                       

"Saying Goodbye"

 

Koi's first night with us-2009

            Our beloved Koi lost his battle a few days ago against kidney disease. No matter how hard I tried to prepare for this loss, heartbreak envelopes me. Entering the house, I glance for him waiting by the window. No one answers my query, “Want to check the mail?” with a mad dash out the door. The wonderful Black Box, which Koi ran to for cheese treats, returns to just being a refrigerator. When I grab a book and say, “Let’s go outside to read” silence greets my words.

            I woke up the first morning and tossed out old leashes that belonged to both Koi and Bridget, who died many years ago. I emptied a drawer in the cabinet that holds urns from other pets to make room for the little white sheet Koi loved to sleep with as a puppy. I placed his brushes into the same area along with his first set of bowls. I tossed out the old leashes that both dogs used along with dog treats and the specialty food Koi never liked.

             This morning, I hand washed all of Koi’s stuffed toys. He loved stuffed animals that made noises when he chewed on them. Sometimes, we’d ask, “Where’s Baby?” and he’s sort through the pile in his basket in search of a koala bear that giggled. These toys will dry in today’s sunshine. I’ll pack them away in a bin along with a few other items that belonged to Koi.

            Koi’s beautiful spirit graced our family for sixteen years, like all of our pets over the years. Koi will be our final pet. 

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

           

     

“Within My Reach”

 

            Each day, I watch friends, acquaintances, and strangers tirelessly work against the administration and its goal to destroy the foundations of our federal government. I diligently read Heather Cox Richardson’s letter, listen to both Senator Bernie Sanders and Senator Elizabeth Warren every time they stand up for our rights. I hold onto our young representatives like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Jasmine Crockett who relentlessly honor their Congressional duties. I know there are concrete, real-time steps I should take to resist the devastating lies sprouting from every person within this coup.

            But . . . right now all I can handle is grief, loss, and worry within my immediate family. My brother’s dodging of a visit to his home revealed his growing inability to live alone. The coping strategies he’s used his entire life to compensate for his learning disorder has devolved into a rigid, step-by-step routine that shows his inability to problem solve unexpected situations. A light bulb going out translates into eventual darkness in every room of his home. The bolt to his toilet stripped making it wobble in place, and thus breaking the seal ring and making the room unsanitary. That same bathroom grew mildew up the shower tiles and into the old caulk. His bedroom had one wall three feet high of clean clothes needing to be hung or folded while dirty laundry took over a section of his garage. Coins cluttered every piece of furniture and sprinkled on the floors of every room. His vacuum, which he thought was broken, had something blocking the hose. An easy, quick repair by us, but something he couldn’t solve on his own. He resisted mentioning that the engine warning light had appeared on his dashboard a few days before our visit. One catalytic converter later, and an unexpected hit to our credit card, means he’s back on the road again. When only cold water came from the faucets, we added a defunct hot water heater to the repair list. He reluctantly admitted that he’s been using cold water only for a year.

            So focused on all of the things wrong, I missed the important news my brother repeated like a litany over and over again. “I called the air conditioner man and had the thermostat replaced because the house was hot. I did it on my own. I paid for it on my own, not with the emergency account.” He told me this the moment I entered his darkened home. He repeated it during dinner. His recounted it again as I tried to organize his bookkeeping for 2025.

            All I needed to do was say, “I’m so proud of you for handling a major problem on your own.” I should have hugged him tightly and thanked him for taking care of such an important problem without even contacting me. All I could see were the dozen things wrong within his home instead of the one thing he’d done alone.

            Before leaving this time, I broached for the first time the fact that he needs to sell the home he’s lived in for almost fifty years and move closer to either my sister or to me. We help him with insurance, property taxes, and repairs. That repair list grows as the house ages: new hot water heater, new roof, new bathroom tub and tile . . . That’s all I noted within our twenty-four hour visit.

            As the bigger world around me moves on a destructive path, I’m allowing myself the luxury of letting others step in with letters, phone calls, town halls and resistance. Right now, all I can care for will be the people within my reach.

 

Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman