weedingI was reminded again today,
How important it is to weed
My own garden and
How difficult and even dangerous it is,
To try to weed,
Someone else’s ground.

Not knowing what is planted in that soil,
It is easy to pull a flower in its beginnings,
Mistaking it for a weed.
Leaving a gaping wound whose
Healing takes such time
And effort that one tires into exhaustion.

In the heat of the moment,
One is served best by
Searching out and extracting,
Personal weeds as carefully as possible,
Leaving the care of another’s plot,
Safely in the owner’s loving hands.

Cerita M. Hewett
July 2009
Revised November 2014

Air Conditioned Pants

Air Conditioned Jeans

A beautiful girl with
Faded blue,
Air conditioned jeans,
Sat next to me on the flight.

She talked on her phone,
Wrote text messages,
Read from an autobiography of Gandhi,
And drank a coke without ice.

That is all I know about her
We didn’t talk.  

                                                      Cerita M. Hewett
                                                      June 5,2015
                                                      Revised July 6, 2015

Captured by a Campfire

                                     Burning Log in Hot Fire and Flames

(for Sharon & Gordon)

                                          Everyone else went inside
                                          To shower, snack, and visit.
                                          I wanted to go too,
                                          But the dying coals of the fire
                                          Held me captive, motionless,
                                          Quietly staring into its depths,
                                          Watching embers glow,                                                 

                                          Flash, and die into white ash.
                                          Remembering, savoring, storing it up.
                                          Gordon called from the balcony,
                                        “Are you ok?”
                                        “Yes,” I replied and sat longer
                                        Drinking in the quiet,
                                        Inhaling the aroma of smoke and pines,
                                        Until there was no more warmth
                                        For my hands and face,
                                        No glow,
                                        Then at last I was released.

                                                                                         Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                          February 2015


a softball field at night after a game with the lights on.

Rake lines now covered the infield
Like a newly harrowed farm field,
Lights glared down over
Un-run base paths and
Silent benches stood at attention.

Ten-thirty p.m.
The evening breeze kicked up a bit of powder
Near third base
Wafting it into left field.
My cooled face no longer
Dripped sweat.

Lakeview park was closed,
But I stood on the top bleacher
Savoring the victory
Looking out over a deserted
Brown and green

                                                                        Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                        (revised 2014)


Today, for lunch, I ate a Klondike.
Yes, the luxurious ice cream bar,
The one that is covered with chocolate,
The one that melts in your mouth
With the taste of cream, sugar, and, Uh-huh, chocolate.

It cost me two hundred and fifty calories,
Which I needed to work off on my bike,
Walking the trails in our forest,
Or shooting endless hoops in the hot summer air.

Once we each devoured three Klondikes
On the fifteen minute drive from town to the cabin.
I didn’t feel too good in my stomach
That time, but I was cooler.

Maybe it is the long
Hot summer of Texas
That compels one to such excesses,
Looking for chilly, refreshing food.

Still today, the memory of its smoothness,
Richness. . .
Was a magnificent way
To refrigerate a hot summer day.

Cerita M. Hewett
August 24, 2015


               Stray Dogs

                 The dogs in our neighborhood
                 Take very seriously their jobs.
                 Perhaps it is because there seems
                 To be so few of them in Guayaquil.

                  We rarely see them in the daytime,
                  And only hear them as we lie in bed,
                  On nights when our minds are over active,
                  Wishing for the sweet refreshment of sound sleep.
                  Then it seems the chorus begins.

                  Woof, woof!
                  Oooo, oooo!
                  Arf, arf, arf!
                  Rrrrr, rrrr!
                  Owoo, Owoo, Owoo!
                  Close and distant they holler.

                  I wonder,   “Are they talking to each other?
                  Is a rat running across their patio?
                  Perhaps a cat slurks along the top of a nearby wall?
                  Has a well known thief entered the garden?
                  Is some old dog ill?
                  Has there been a death in the community?
                  Did their retirement fund collapse?
                  Or are they debating some compelling political question?” 

                  At last their conversation ceases.
                  Perhaps the danger passes,
                  Possibly their pain or sorrow is soothed,
                  Perchance a truce or concession comes to pass.
                  At last night-quiet peace reigns supreme once more. 

                  We remain awake, alas awake,
                  Quiet, yet awake,
                  Musing over all the possibilities.

                                                                                      Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                      April 29, 2009
                                                                                      (revised 2014)

Time Out

               Woman with crutches

                I have experienced a few “time outs” in life,
                Some illness or injury that took me out of the active game,
                A loss or disappointment that paused my busy days,
                These “breaks” have been well springs of deeper reflection,
                Benevolent “rests” in my perpetual music and dance. 

                Though uncomfortable, even painful,
                They have enriched my soul and drawn me
                Closer to friends,
                Closer to my family,
                Closer to the Lord.

                They have made me more compassionate,
                A stronger, more joyous player.

Cerita M. Hewett
March 2013


                                Family Canoe River                                    The trees,
                                                   The canoe,
                                                               The paddles,
                                                                        The people 

                                             Shimmered in the still,
                                                      Clear as a looking glass
                                                               July water of Ratcliff Lake. 

                                             I sat on the shore,
                                                      Marveling at the
                                                               Duplicated images.
                                                                        Like the spirit and the body.



                                                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                               August 4, 2014