Passing the time in another meeting

Crossed ankles, rocking heel,
jiggling one leg, jiggling both,
the slow fast toe tap,
the quick bounce off the ball of a foot,

sandals, high heels,
Dr Scholl’s, mules,
flip-flops, sneakers and socks,

quiet feet,
left behind right,
tucked in and still.

All this movement,
an extension of our thoughts –
anxious if she’s called on,
or eager to be heard.

My own foot sways,
slow and comforting,
marking time like a weight
on the end of a pendulum.

The woman next to me
eyeballs the motion.
“My mother would have said
to stop that.”

My mother said,
“With all these meetings,
when do you have time
to get anything done?”

The Second Sunday of May

If you were here today,
to celebrate Mother’s Day,
I would plant an herb garden for you.

Come summer, you could have
the bright taste of parsley in chilled tomato soup
and quirky lemon balm in your tea
– in winter, a leaf of sage
in your favorite butternut squash.

Year to year, some of the plants,
like basil and dill,
would need to be replaced –
but who doesn’t like an excuse
to buy a new Easter dress?

Heartier herbs go round and round.
You’d always find steadfast rosemary
right where we’d put her, while sweet mint,
that gadabout, would spring up
wherever space allowed

amidst spires of pencil holly,
among the showy iris, rubbing
leaves with the sociable butterfly bush.

And versatile lavender, cool and warm,
would be heavy enough to touch you,
its scent woven into the memory of air.