Pink Medicine


Here I am,
Kneeling by your bedside,
A bottle in my hand and a spoon.

There you are
With eyes shut tight,
Nose pinched between two fingers,
Mouth open,
Body all tensed up and ready,
OOOOOOOOOOOOO down it slides.
Pink medicine.

                                                                    Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                    About 1990

Boy on the Bus

       KOLKATA, INDIA - FEBRUARY 08:People on the move come in the colo

         On our way home from church Sunday,
         We caught bulging bus Twelve,
         Laden down with teaching materials
         We stood in the aisle,
         Wobbled side to side,
         Back and forth,
         Hung on to the bar and each other,
         As this dragon careened around corners,
         Bounced in and out of rough places,
         Leaped pot holes,
         Jolted to stops,
         Gobbled up and belched forth people. 

         Suddenly in accented English a voice called,
         I looked around as
         A boy about eleven stood,
         Showing his gleaming young white teeth
         In a broad smile,
         He gave me his seat.

         I smiled too,
         Thanked him in my best accented Spanish,
         And gratefully sat. 

         Recipient of a junior angel’s kindness!


                                                  Cerita M. Hewett
                                                  May 17, 2009


With school out,
We sat on the wooden back steps
Sucking out the sweet green middles of the deep blue grapes,
Spitting the seeds into the lawn. 

The warm September afternoon soaked into our lithe bodies.
We joked about the day,
Talked about the substitute teacher,
And discussed who was running for president.

I was at that moment thirteen years of age,
Physically mature,
Complete in my own mind,
All knowing.

You asked, “So, who would you vote for?”
Knowing you were listening, not judging.
I shared unabashedly, “I like Ike.
Since he really knows war,
He will work for peace.” 

Two women sharing grapes and the day,
Somehow I didn’t notice then that
You were thirty years older than I,
That we were mother and daughter.

                                                                                                Cerita M. Hewett


                 Autumn Lake Reflections A waterfront home in autmn, near Sandpoint, Idaho.

Sometimes when I am troubled
I wander through the photo albums of my mind
To places of peace and love.

I lie near the pine of our old backyard,
In the tall early morning grass,
Just after dew tears have dried,
 Watching mountains of marshmallow clouds drift by.

I sit on the deck of an Idaho cabin,
Where I gaze at magnificent pines,
And observe busy chipmunks,
As they open brown seeds for lunch 

I watch the flames of a campfire
Melt from dancing yellow and orange,
To a red, red glow, and
Slowly expire into flickering black embers and white ash.

I rock a baby,
Feel a soft cheek against my neck,
The pressure of dainty feet upon my leg,
A tiny hand curling round my little finger.

I perch in the sheltering rocks of a windy beach,
See the white caps forming at sea,
Watch Roger playing with the children on the shore,
Smell the salt and hear the gulls.

I gaze from a schoolroom window,
At the oaks and pecans of the woods,
Listening to the murmur of children,
Busy with reading, writing, and painting.

I stroll the temple grounds,
Pull grass spears from among the flowers beside the walk,
Sit looking up towards its towers,
Sense the trumpet’s soundless plea for peace 

Remembering through each scene,
Knowing how I have been understood and loved,
Feeling the Spirit wash my heart in a quiet hush,
Then, in the stillness, the calmness,
the silence, comes serenity.

                                                                   Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                   July 12, 2009
                                                                   (revised 2014)


Ecuador, Ethnic Latin Woman

                 Ocean, rivers, desert,
                       Verdant mountains, volcanic rock,
                                    Tropical jungle,
                  Whales – millipedes.
                           Humming birds – great parrots,
                  Changing surfaces – changing people.


                  Large cities – tiny villages,
                           Supermarkets – open markets,
                                    Stairwell shops – modern malls,
                  Sidewalk cafes – food courts,
                           Street venders – department stores
                  Flower gardens – dirt yards.


                  Painted and unpainted homes dot the land
                           Mansions, high-rise apartments,
                                    Cinderblock, adobe, cardboard dwellings and huts,
                  Painted gray and black by the earth,
                           Or by cheerful people
                  Green, pink, orange, or blue.


                  Cement highways – dirt streets – narrow pathways,
                           People riding in cars, airplanes, buses,
                                    Trains, vans, pickups,
                  Ships, boats, dugouts,
                           Or on burros and horses,
                  Some walking, walking, walking.


                  Agile young soccer players competing on dirt,
                           Cement, or sparse yellow grass surfaces,
                                    And on sandy beaches,
                  Professionals playing in giant
                           Manicured stadiums,
                 Cripples with canes, crutches, wheelchairs.


                  People spread across the land
                           Smiling young faces with sparkling white teeth,
                                    Sober, wrinkled, toothless, faces.
                  Crying babies, shouting venders, whispering breezes,
                           Brass bands – classical orchestras,


                  Traditions of home learning,
                           Training from the fathers and ancients,
                  Schools of private or public education.


                  Men, women, and children working the land,
                  Terraced corn, beans, and potato patches,
                                    Spacious rice paddies – Cane fields,
                  Banana plantations.


                  People filling shops and offices,
                           Wearing jeans, suits, or native dress.
                                    Living off the land,
                                             Living off the streets,
                  Clean and dirty.


                  Tourists looking on,
                           Old people looking back,
                                    Young people looking forward!


                  Ecuador, a land of contradictions,
                           Ecuador, a land in flux,
                                    A place to live, love, and serve.



                  Traveling we experienced something of this land’s
                           Ugliness and beauty,
                                    Sound and silence,
                  Perfume and odor.


                  Then we returned to the peace,
                           The studied formal gardens,
                                    The refuge of the temple grounds,
                  Here we found the same peace
                           That the people of this land find as
                                    They come one by one
                                             Family by family,
                   To worship in our Father’s house!

                                                            Cerita M. Hewett
                                                            August 16, 2009
                                                            (revised Oct. 2014)

Mailing Packages

                                         The neighbor’s lights are up,

                                         They are in the Christmas spirit!

                                          I can see their tree through the window,

                                          It shines out to encourage me.


                                           Our children are out of the dolls and play truck ages,

                                           They have marched past the name brand clothing stage,

                                            I will need to mail their packages,


                                           What will delight their hearts today?

                                            It’s hard to know.

                                            I want to please them,

                                            But really can’t be sure

                                            How to get that adult face

                                            To shine once again.


                                            Perhaps it is not possible now,

                                           Now that they know so much of the world,

                                           But I will try.

                                                                                                                        Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                                                        2002  (revised 2014)