January 6, 2026
(Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota)
At seventy, the luxury
of not rushing to fulfill
daily demands from industry bosses—
only what I want,
and gratitude
for arriving with bounty: spring’s
greenness whirring me awake;
in winter, icicles outside our window;
the smell of pine logs warming
our 60’s fireplace; melodies of weather
and chickadees; coyotes howling
in the night and swallowtails studying
the landscape for phlox nectar,
right here, with me and Josep Maria,
in our home in Minnesota. I have arrived
at a point where endorphins flow
remembering I don’t have to enter
the clashing brawl of Mondays;
rapture moves through fingertips
and out feet, energy pathways open
in body and mind, grasping it
I can do exactly as I choose. I
have arrived a little plumper
and achier—chocolate indulgence,
headaches from too much wine
and tiny satellites in my ears to hear
what the world is saying.
I have arrived at 48 years of love
with Josep Maria in the Barceloneta,
on the crunchy white slopes
of Bloomington’s Hyland Hills,
and in the brimming Lake Superior forests
listening for the squeaky whistling
of an eagle and searching ponds. No
deadlines, just waiting to discover
a perfect memory: in the marsh, at dusk
a muskrat feeding on cattail roots;
on the tundra-like grounds of Superior
airport,at midday, a snowy owl quartering
for voles; in the autumn woods, the sudden
scurry of a ruffed grouse searching
for acorns on the forest floor. How fortunate
to arrive this far with no fear
that how I look on the street
marks me alien; but we were
aliens, now naturalized citizens, Josep Maria
and me, from Canada and Catalonia; now
we worry about him talking in public—
that accent. So I have arrived at a point of fear for
my family, my community, because so many
are not able to do exactly
what they choose, hiding
in their homes from an occupation
right outside their doors. Here on the icy streets,
the outrage, the terror, the killings.
But I have also arrived at certainty.
I will not be paralyzed by federal belligerence.
I will not let the masked invaders feel triumphant.
I will not let my neighbors feel isolated.
I will not solve everything, but I can repair the world
locally
at the grocery store, gently
talking to people in fear, slowly pulling
their stories into the open,
being interested—their view
of mangos in the produce section,
my recipe for sofrito; locally
in a waiting room, smiling at a person
who feels devalued; nodding
my thanks to a Somali-American driver
as I merge onto a freeway in Minneapolis.
In these small moments
I will help people
who don’t feel welcome
feel welcome here,
in Minnesota
in their own lives,
inside their own homes.
.
Laurie A Derechin
.