That afternoon my friend said 
You know, you seem to  
have lost your mojo. 

I searched for it today in a Cuban café and left instead with a café con leche. 
I looked online for it, 
Mojo?
Mojo? 
I called but 
It didn’t call back.
I had to run fast from the internet, what with its
500 likes
and 600 friends and
323 connections.
My mojo seemed even farther away then

Like if I could hear its voice
it would be in some indiscernible font and 
1.1 point
smaller than that and 
fainter than the shiest whisper
  
I searched at the beach and under the front seat of the 
car and and in the piles of notebooks,
down in the basement just behind that box full 
of tiny mittens and boots.

Not there. 

Mo-
Jo?
I called again 
out into the wind
like I’d call the kids in from kickball
to dinner.  
 Only it didn’t swoop in, sit down to
the wooden table and say,
What are we having?

It stayed outside
or down some far away 
hallway,
or up some hill,
out of earshot 
out of 
reach, 
gone. 

Unfettered

This summer I want to be like this yellow air dancer: 
light, exulting in the wind.   

Waiting

I happened upon this fellow at a postcard patch of beach, didn't
even notice him at first. Driving past, I'd caught a glimpse of a 
group of seagulls lined up like sentinels on a dock and a gathering
of eight or nine swans paddling below in the water. I
pulled in for a look.  

As I turned to head back to the car, here was this small teddy bear,
careworn, graying, fur matted, seated on a park bench. If black button eyes could look forlorn, his did. He'd sat there, it seemed through any 
number of rainy nights, but also an abundance of sunrises.

In marker on the park bench the words read "Please don't take me!" and 
attached to his wrist was a  sage and citrus air freshener.  
I wondered who'd placed him there and what he meant to somebody. 

I looked at him again and this time, as the sun was rising up, he didn't look
so sad. He just looked like he was waiting. 

By the time I spotted this rainbow it was faint, 
its colors just a hint on the horizon, but it was there,
the first rainbow I'd seen in perhaps 16 or 17 years. 

Minutes before the day had been dark, the water
storm tossed. Suddenly, with a light rain still falling, 
the sun pressed on through the clouds and there 
was the rainbow, stretching straight on down 
to the water. 

The gray clouds scuttled off and in their place were 
soft white clouds and a blue sky. The rain stopped. 
The waves slowed and the sea grew glittery with the sun; 
it was an entirely different day. 

I sat down on the rocks and smiled, thinking how close to
Mother's Day this rainbow had arrived and how much it reminded 
me of my mother. 

Her whole grown-up life has been about working 
that kind of magic for her kids and her grandkids, taking the dark
moments, the worries, the scrapes, the falls, and replacing
them with something lighter and better, reminding us always to 
wait for the blue sky.        

I suppose this is why they invented Sunday drives,

so we could pass by a bit of whimsy like this.