Lunch with My Sister

Today is my sister’s 77^th birthday. We’ll celebrate next Tuesday and (as mentioned) with our special restaurant closed, will look for another choice at the little mall across from the Larkspur Ferry Terminal. We did eat there occasionally with my folks before discovering the now-closed Left Bank Restaurant, so there’s a little thread of tradition intact. 

 

Meanwhile, another poem I wrote on the occasion seven years ago:

 

The boat’s engine thrumming under my feet

The wind tussling my paltry strands of hair

The spray of mist on my face

as I ferry over the waters to Larkspur Landing.

 

Behind me the skyline of the city I have loved for so long.

To my right, the span of the bridge that I first crossed

            so many years ago to my awaiting destiny

To my left, Alcatraz, Angel Island, each with their stories 

            of told and untold suffering

one now a tourist’s delight

            the other criss-crossing paths of hiker’s bliss.

 

In front, the waters part like a modern day Moses miracle 

All around, above, below, the unfettered feeling of freedom

  speeding across the Bay to lunch with my sister

     on the occasion of her 70^th birthday. 

 

 

We have known each other longer than anyone still living and here we still are. 

I’ll order a Jacques Pepin sandwich at the Left Bank Restaurant 

where we often ate with our parents. 

We’ll remember my father ordering his de-caf coffee, 

my mother shameless flirting with the waiter. 

We’ll talk of our children and our grandchildren and spouses 

and maybe spin off

                         into the news of cousins, old friends and neighbors,

                                       the long parade of our mutual shared life.

 

Then we’ll each turn back, me south, her north

       to our still unfolding lives

              our next steps on our mutual paths.