What is the nature of wanting?

Of contentment?

How can those slippery not-quite things

be found?

be sated?

be kept?

be held on to?

–Charla M. DelaCuadra


I’ve been thinking a lot lately about disquiet, and about contentment and happiness.  As we step forward into the week, here is a poem I wrote some time ago, compact in size but broad in scope.  Some thoughts to ponder.


Daddy and me, 1982


so passes

the golden autumn

of this world

into a dark/light place

made of lengthening shadows

and warm tender moments alike.

poignant relief marks the passing

of each second and season,

pearls on a string slipping away

through fingers

roughened by time,

all the more cherished

for that which has gnarled them.

fear not,

though a shadow passes over your eyes

at the thought

of things unknown.

in the end,

you are loved.

–Charla M. DelaCuadra


One of the difficulties in getting older is watching your parents age.  It is bittersweet, getting to know your parents better as adults and as people, while also watching the twilight years of someone you love.  I wrote this poem with my dad in mind, who is in his eighties and is having some health issues.  While we all struggle with things like money, our houses or vacation time, or our goals both long-term and fleeting — I think in the end, we all just want to be loved.