For those of you who grew up with winter snows: May your dreams be filled with the snows of childhood With snow angels and snow men With sledding on nearby hills and trying out new Christmas skis With the taste of brittle snow candy made by pouring hot maple syrup on fresh snow With the smell of wet mittens drying out on radiators And with the sound of snow falling softly all around you in the winter's night. Sleep well, sweet dreams.
January 2, 2024
November 5, 2023 Lining up in silence while the music plays Holding the taper to the small candle in the sand Silent with joy or sorrow, intent on the job and the moment All woven fine And the tiny flame catches and glows And the candle passes down the ranks of the waiting To the old To the young To men To women To those of no gender at all To white, to black, to colors in between From hand to waiting hand Sometimes with a smile Sometimes somberly But the flame passes From hand to hand Kristin Moyer
Sitting under the snowbell tree-- Around me the patio covered With blossoms the color of old bridal veils The sweet scent rising I am remembering the birth of my first child Brought into the world after hours of labor “Hello Tiny Tim!” said my doctor And then they bore him away Not to be given to me until half a day later And my second baby Arriving like the whirlwind after induced labor Laid on my belly as they rolled the gurney Down the hallway “Welcome to the world, my daughter” My blood pressure dropping And no men allowed those days Relegated to the waiting rooms 20th Century births The blossoms fall like gentle rain I pick one up from my lap It is as delicate As lovely As mysterious As those babies Born so many years ago --Kristin Moyer
I celebrated my 80th birthday a month ago, and one of my friends asked me how it felt to be 80. Mostly I feel surprised and amazed.
You would think I would know that 80 comes after 79, but I feel as though this 80th birthday came out of no where. It snuck up on me. I don’t feel 80, though when I see candid photographs I have to acknowledge that I am old. I don’t have as many wrinkles as some of my friends, but there is that jawline and the aging neck.
I also hear the clock ticking more loudly. Both my parents died in their early 80s. My mother had a heart condition, and I was recently diagnosed with a heart condition, too. I am trying to take care of that problem, with medications and a cardiac ablation, and I need to build my stamina back, too.
I have great plans for this new decade, but perhaps I will not get all ten years. The road behind me stretches back for many miles, and the road ahead cannot be as long…nor would I want it to be. But I hope to travel, to explore new places, to spend time in beloved places. I hope to self publish two books. I hope to spend time with family and friends. I hope to stay healthy and in my home.
A dear friend told me that her rabbi gave a blessing to one of his congregants who was turning 80, and told the woman that according to Jewish tradition, she had now reached the age of strength—strength that comes from eight decades of life experiences and lessons.
So I have reached the age of strength. May it be so. And may the road lead onward.
Kristin Moyer
February 3, 2023
The tattered books are over fifty years old Thick board books, with moving wheels Showing trucks and fire engines Beloved by my son And I hand them now to Kevin the store clerk Kind and caring to me at the wild bird store Whose little boy Henry was two yesterday And who likes books… That the adventure may go on. Kristin Moyer July 12, 2022
Pre Roe v. Wade
We lined up on the Mall In the hot summer sun and waited In our white dresses and slacks and shirts With our signs Freedom of Choice And finally the march began to move Off the Mall onto the streets, all of us chanting, Around a narrow corner where enraged faces Screamed and shook jars of tiny bodies Then onto Constitution Avenue And the marble dome of the Capitol Floating like a mirage of Justice Kristin Moyer June 24, 2022
In the darkened room Gel cold on my chest “Hold your breath” And like a diver looking for treasure I hold my breath and turn my head to see for the first time Beating for eighty years The chambers of my heart May 5, 2022 Kristin Moyer
The man walks down the lane Between the rows of elms he planted To the mailbox by the dusty road Opens the door on the box Empty No letter from his girl His first born child so little at birth Tears had come to his eyes Fearing for her life But she survived and grew Smart as a whip A good girl Now off in the city Gone to college Too busy to write The man turns Empty handed Chores to do in the barn No foreshadowing Of the stroke that will come In the spring Kristin Moyer For my grandfather
March 5, 2022 With every wedding we attend We are there again Facing our loved one Our hands clasped Faces aglow And with every deathbed we attend The river smooth or storm tossed We are there again Holding a hand Seeing the light fade held in this cradle Of memory and love Kristin Moyer
March 3, 2022 I unzip the case, remove the dulcimer Sleek and shining, walnut and redwood Lay it on my lap, take up the pick Strum the simple melodies from memory The lone wild bird Shenandoah The ash grove Amazing grace And my dying friend in the bed Closes her eyes and smiles “The lone wild bird in lofty flight” I sing softly “Is still with thee and in thy sight” I never sang for you, dear mother, on your hospital bed Or for you, dear father, dying alone in the nursing home But I sing for my friend “Great spirit come and rest in me.”