Act of Love: O my God, relying on your almighty power and infinite mercy and promises, I hope to obtain pardon of my sins, the help of your grace, and life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Redeemer.
From a pharmacy in the Bronx
to washing dishes in Vero Beach
the years pull away from the core like
rough layers of palm unwrapping
a softer more tender (wiser) heart.
I gather them in fronds of tokens and traces
weaving the basket of our time together.
Carved in the delicate bark of these fern-like trees
(seen only through life's rearview mirror)
are questions never verbalized:
How to define love?
When did I first know joy?
It was in that moment when I found
our first kiss in your eyes—
before we had ever touched,
before we knew each other so well.
It was all of you breathing my name.
It was when we held our firstborn.
I saw your face (then mine) revealed in his.
This miracle that united us in our own trinity,
ever so innocent, dependent, embraced us
as no flesh-bound sentiment or being
we had known before.
I whispered his name and yours.
It was in the first steps, the first words.
One child's voice growing four-fold.
We made a symphony of ourselves.
Each child's melody so different—
Richard, Anthony, Thomas,
Theresa, Christopher—
Each some composite of Dot and Jake—
who we were, who we are.
We changed our name to family.
It was mixed into the seasoned gravy;
part of the meal like pouring the wine,
the serving, setting and clearing
the supper plates, the holiday table.
Rituals of togetherness like the finocchio
healthy, green, tasting of freshness
and all of life's familiar licorice flavors
binding our family's volumes.
It was the golden risings of calling others
to knead dough with us to break bread,
to make community and take communion.
Parents, children, siblings, and neighbors…
you were there, with me,
to fix a car, to share a recipe.
We extended our branches, provided summer shade.
This was how we embraced and bared it.
How many definitions of love can I count with you?
As many as the triborough bridges and tunnels and more.
I have spent 50 years learning to count.
I have spent my life finding you in the weaving.
We have the same name, the same god, the same home.
I see my whole world in your hands
and in the legacy of children and grandchildren.
No material good could add more blessings.
No one has more than us.
I was born in sin and have been reborn in grace with you.
Today before God and family I renew what has been said
in so many ways, but never aloud.
Forgive me, my life's companion, if I ever doubted these truths,
spoke too coarse, too quick, or not enough.
It's been a long island from the Bronx to the beach.