Todays and Tomorrows are Made of Moments
I hail tomorrow
as if this day I have is
not nearly enough.
Or dread tomorrow
as if this day I am in
is all that matters.
Lord help me embrace
the moments and hours of now,
before time slips by.
Help me spend my time
in ways that venerate You.
Not frivolously.
Not indifferently.
Kindly. Considerately.
In lockstep with You.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
#seventeenintwentysix
Mom and Dad used to live
two doors down from us.
Some mornings
Dad would walk over,
sit down for a cup of coffee
and a few laughs.
Eventually, coffee became
an excuse for a talk.
For questions.
One day his question was,
“Will you keep this in a safe place for me?”
He opened a tiny matchbox-sized box,
pulled out a piece of paper that was
folded, and folded, and folded, and
he read it to me.
It was a poem. The first he’d ever written.
He was a young boy, and it was to his dad
who had unexpectedly passed.
I watched him fold and fold and fold
and carefully put it back in the box
while I pondered why suddenly,
after close to 7 decades,
did he need me to keep it safe for him?
One day his question was
from his doctor:
“Do you have a plan in place for if
she becomes violent?”
One day his question was,
“Do you think I need to worry
about her beginning to wander?”
One day his question was,
“What will I do
the day we wake up
and she doesn’t know me?”
Two doors down from us,
Mom and Dad used to live.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Mom passed February 9, 2018. Dad passed 35 days later. They were interred together on September 8, 2018 — the anniversary of their wedding.
Taking Time
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
First came playful pokes,
but I don’t think folks were fooled.
They saw the romance:
How his blue eyes danced,
and he would conceive a way
to leave together.
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
First came the warm smile,
with smiling eyes that crinkled
on the sides, and seemed
content as they gleamed,
holding a gaze long enough
to raise my heart rate.
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
First came the strong hand
that tenderly caressed mine,
and didn’t wander.
First came the strong heart
that tenderly addressed me,
and made me feel safe.
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
First came what makes me
feel prized. Believe it or not,
it's rubbing noses.
First came music that
always made me think of him.
First came spending time.
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
First came the months of
proving the worth I thought I
saw. The honesty.
Seeing how his dad
treats his mom opened my heart
to both of these men.
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and I’m glad it did.
The first kiss took time.
When it came, it came from a
heart of tenderness -
a heart that took time
to make sure it was ready
to say, “I love you.”
Attraction came fast,
but our first kiss took some time,
and now he is mine.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Photos by Keith R. Good, who attracts and cares for our birds
IF YOU FEED THEM, THEY WILL COME
Aging comes with what seems almost an expectation: Bird beguilement. But my own love of birds began in junior high on Audubon Lane, where pheasants favored our backyard. And though those days have long passed, I can still enjoy the crimson male cardinal singing to his autumn-color lifelong partner. Our bluejays, if not for being common, would be coveted. I’m captivated by the bold ladderback and bright red splash on the red belly woodpecker. The soft sorrowing song of mourning doves does not sadden me in the least. It makes me smile. I giggle at the quirky little honk of the nuthatch as he darts up and down our trees. I find the cheerful little black-capped chickadee entirely enchanting. Goldfinches, bright as lemons, titter as they sail the air as though on waves. When we hear the intricate trill of tiny wrens, we know spring has entered. Orange orioles take our breath away with their arrival. And, of course, the minute emerald body and ruby throat of the hummer is electrifying. These and countless more captivate and delight us. They make our home, home.
Doing what we can
to attract the vocalists
that color our yard.
© Marie Elena Good, 2025
And This is Love
No need for Hallmark-
gold-sealed card with fancy words
that someone else wrote.
I’ll take morning jokes
and/or hand-drawn hearts on a
yellow Post-it Note.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Life’s View from My Recliner
The chair Mom rocked me in when I was a baby,
and when I wasn’t ready for her to stop.
The chair from which Grandma would flash that playful grin at me,
holding out the adorable ceramic kitten she would let me hold,
as long as I was in her lap. (That kitten is now mine.)
Decorative pillows Deanna brought home from Nepal for me
that now enjoy both my mom’s and my grandma’s touch.
The Tiffany-style lamp Dad turned from gas to electric,
and that now throws rainbows across my floor and onto my walls
and that sits atop the chess table he made
and the box that holds the wooden chess pieces.
The African violets started by my father-in-law.
They received the best upbringing, as he stroked and spoke to them.
Large windows that let in sun’s cheer, even as the scenes change
outside them. Visitors that grace those scenes …
colorful, talkative birds; various kinds of squirrels; chipmunks; deer;
delivery trucks that had halted during the pandemic;
moms and dads and grandparents pushing strollers or walking dogs;
children riding bikes;
the love of my life cleaning the gutters before tonight’s expected storm.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Robert Lee Brewer’s April 2025 PAD
Day 2 prompt: From where I sit
Remember When
you were a child, afraid
of trying something new
balking at the color
texture
odor
untrusting of where it came from
afraid it might hurt you
even though some you know
and even trust
happily partook regularly
and encouraged you
just try it.
Remember when
you thought about a sample
just a tiny one
and thought perhaps it might not be
as risky as you feared
and in fact maybe
it might be tolerable.
Remember when
you matured enough
to actually test those waters
and found them to be okay
and maybe even appealing
and maybe even begged
another try
and then you discovered
you loved it
and that you even felt better
when you had it as a regular
maybe even daily
part of your sustenance
and did everything you could
to make sure it was right here
where it could fill you up.
And maybe I’m not talking about food.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
#welcomethestranger
Eye of the Beholder
Some of the most
physically gorgeous
sincere
generous
intelligent
strongest
kindest women I know —
women I have the privilege of loving
and being loved by —
scream.
Not with their voices
but with their color
covering
accent
mother tongue.
They scream,
Foreigner!
Criminal!
Unsafe!
Unwelcome!
The beautiful truths in their hearts
are misperceived.
They are viewed as ugly lies
in the eyes of the listeners
who hear only what they are told
to hear.
If only you knew them.
If only you were willing
to spend time
communicating
communing
sharing food
exchanging smiles
searching their eyes
tracing their hearts
experiencing their generosity,
your hate and fear would
shut up
shut down.
Your heart and home would
open
expand
make way.
You would hear not screams, but
intelligent ideas
endearing emotions
liberal benevolence
soothing sentiments
and you would do anything in your power
to protect their lives and their hearts,
and protect your relationship with them.
Anything.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
COMFORT FOOD
Mom’s homemade pizza
and cinnamon rolls that she
made with extra dough
and her homemade pies
and cinnamon rolls made with
extra pie crust dough
chicken paprikash
rich with a sour cream gravy,
served with dinner rolls
stuffed green peppers, or
Italian sausage sandwich
with onion, pepper,
and mayo on a
bun, served with potato chips,
onion dip, and pop
oil-popped popcorn, made
on the stove in Dad’s old pot,
buttered and salted
Aunt Shirley’s cheese ball
Aunt Peg’s roast beef with gravy
and all the fixin’s
and her to-die-for
apple dumplings covered with
hard vanilla sauce
Grandpa Dunn’s bacon
Grandma’s pancakes swimming in
real maple syrup
Toast, and tea served in
my teapot from Grandma Dunn
when I was unwell
All that came out of
Aunt Dora’s basement kitchen
that begged us, “sit down.”
Aunt Judy’s version
of Aunt Dora’s sauce, which she
claimed was never right 😉
homegrown tomato-
spaghetti sauce with meatballs
that simmered all day
and was poured over
capellini (angel hair)
served with garlic bread
Grandma Marchionte’s mush
piled on a breadboard from which
we kids all chowed down
believe it or not
fried bologna sandwiches
blackened, with mustard …
But it’s what’s in the
air that most brings me comfort:
scents of memories.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
Teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) to Possible U.S. (United States) Citizens
We are too different to unite.
I will never be convinced
Integration is possible.
I see
Insurmountable hurdles.
Listen: Don’t be fooled into thinking these are
U.S. citizens in the making
© Marie Elena Good 2025
A reverse poem. Now read from the bottom line to the top.
pictured words 