Last Night

I dreamt we kissed gently
And I said I love you
It was as simple as that

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY

Yes
The sunset was
Spectacular

The reclining figure's forehead
Was on fire
And
There was a patch
Of pure blue
Through a kaleidoscope
Of white cotton batting

But the story
Was to the south
Of the valley
Where blueprint blue clouds
Were suspended
In a hologram
Under the deep blue sea
That this once was

Dreams

like sky lanterns
come floating down to earth

Dark Knight

Orion poised
on the horizon
ready to leap
over the ridge
into the kitchen
where I sit
sleepless

Chastened

Chased from waking thoughts
Only to appear in dreams

I am a simple woman

I like beer
Ice cold
Hot coffee black
Whiskey neat
Straight answers
Direct gazes
Clear pictures
Drama in love
But not life

Young Sons and Lovers

Go away
Don’t leave me
He looks over his shoulder
Pleading
Don’t touch me
Hold me
Sullen
He shrugs
Inveigling attention
He rejects
She remains
Steadfast

ONCE UPON A SUMMER NIGHT

A million little space ships
Lights blinking
Ferrying passengers
to and fro

A Puzzle

A Crossword
A walk
A bath
A book

Memorial Day

Once on a Memorial Day weekend
We were promised a day at the beach
Instead we were met with Police
Coming out of my mother's bedroom
I raised my eyebrows and thought
What has she done this time
It wasn't entirely unusual
To see the police
There was the time she totaled her Corvair
My mother was dead
But I didn't know it yet
The neighbors who took us in
Murmured about blood on the pillow
But I didn't know it yet
I knitted my eyebrows
Cocked my young head
It couldn't be true I said
To myself
She can't be dead
She promised to take us to the beach
It wasn't the first time
She broke her promise
It was the last

A Wake

I dreamt
Of standing on the Bridge
Regarding
Mountainous waves
On the horizon
Repelling
The draw
Of the tide
Gravity
Gaining sea legs
Riding out the storm
Sailing on a wind of change

To Wind in Lonely Fences

A hot dry summer
Afternoon
A maelstrom of dust
In light shafts

He drips cool water
Slowly
In the gully
Between her ribs
It pools in her navel

He inserts his tongue
It overflows
In rivulets down her sides
She shivers

A Tree Falls

Sheets wafting in the wind
Of cold rain
Hillsides blanketed
In mauve chenille
Acid green covers
Ground and solitary trees
White filigree stands out
In isolated tufts
I’ve made my bed

A Trace

I'd count the hours
Until ninety-six
And exasperated with arithmetic
I'd count the days
Then the week
And the days
And then the weeks
Until at most six
And rejoice
At some faint trace
The reward for my patience
And thank something
For this slim glimmer

Homework

My son
Thinks of four lines
To translate
For French class
My Mother
She is very patient
She has olive eyes
She is very nice
She has gray hair

It's Spring, Again

It's all I can do
To contain my hysteria
At the first sign
Of pale purple wisteria

April Ode to Milne

John had
Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh-
And John
Is Tired
Of That.

Daily Poetry

I have committed myself to a poem a day. Starting April 1. Watch this space.

To Right the Ship

15 March 2010


My son turned twelve today. I looked to the horizon and wondered if I am doing the right things for him. Am I giving him the skills to navigate a happy and productive life? On this small sloop of a life, it’s a constant balancing act. I need to guide him but not control him. I need to teach him but not lecture him. I need to let him develop his own knowledge and opinions. I need to respect his desires and needs and help him figure out what they are and whether they serve him well. I need to teach him to chart a course to achieve his goals hopefully without gaffs, to keep him on an even keel.

I want to help him learn what is important in life. I want to teach him reason while at the same time to accept that some things happen without reason. I want him to learn to be realistic. I am sometimes strangely relieved when he is disappointed, hoping that he can learn to overcome it and move on to something more positive. I want to teach him that there are more good things than bad, without going overboard. I want to help him understand why things happen and that, all in all, most of it is good. I want to be here if he needs me but not smother him.

I do not try to be perfect for him. I want him to accept me and others, including our imperfections. I want him to be strong enough in himself such that he doesn’t look to others for sustenance. I want to instill sensitivity toward others while ensuring that he also takes care of himself. I want him to be strong enough to simply turn away from those who are not kind to him.

I want to set him on a straight course and let him sail.

My mother self-destructed before our eyes. My parents furled the sails and were sucked into the maelstrom of their mutual destruction. They neglected to batten down the hatches. My brothers and I were the flotsam and jetsam on the tempestuous sea of their relationship. We went adrift when they divorced and almost drowned when our mother committed suicide when I was twelve.

My son turned twelve today. I was twelve when my mother blew her brains out. Have I exorcised her demons by redeeming myself as a mother. When we have successfully passed this marker will it be clear sailing. Can we ever start over? Can we ever right our parents’ wrongs? Can we ever exonerate ourselves for the perception of being responsible for our parent or parents’ heinous self inflicted crimes? Can I grant myself absolution for someone else's transgression, for which I have felt culpable, although I should know I am not?

He is twelve and I am twelve again. Have I healed myself by raising him. Have I grown as he has grown. Did I right the ship.

Pandora

Great heaps of jewels
Spilling over the side
Carnelian glows
Tourmaline sparkles
Deep luster of chains
Of tarnished silver
Jet glints
Anthracite refracts
Ruby glitters
Gold gleams
Topaz glistens
Jade
Jasper
Mountainsides of treasure
Struck by sunrise

Relativity

At 675 meters
An old woman stands
Before an ancient church
Watching
Slack jawed
An older man
Wield
A loud machine
On dead leaves
An older woman strides
And stands quietly
Looking out
Over an older church
And drinks from a timeless fountain
Gathering strength
For the road ahead

Trading in Futures

Or penny stocks
If I had one cent
For every time
I’ve said go brush your teeth
I would be rich

What is the value
Of fixing a cup
Of hot chocolate
Or
A bowl of oatmeal
Mm that was good
Is the
Return on investment

What is the value
Of patiently waiting
For a sullen child
To finish his meal
Or his homework
Payment in Kind
Will have to suffice

The Importance of Being Earnest

Lay no flowers
For Algernon
Poet man or mouse
The measure of wisdom
Is not
Intelligence
She had that in spades
Though she had never used one
Before he was Jack
She loved him as Johnny
His identity was no ruse
And I am left
A de facto member of Al-Anon
With the unredeemed legacy
Of sarcasm irony and ridicule
Her weapons of choice
When
In an earnest effort
To assail her pain
She had not yet used
A .38

Dorian Gray

The camera doesn’t lie
No matter what deal you make
With the devil
Or how good the lighting
Or from which direction
The lines are there
The shadows
The southward drift
The dissipation
The swag
The jowls
The wattle
The problem is
When I look in the mirror
I see a friendly face
A face I know
And someone loved
Once
It’s a strange game of Dorian Gray
With the devil
Of the camera
And the camera doesn’t lie
And the only thing left to do
Is smile

Joyful Noise

I’m hearing voices

There’s a ringing in my ears

An echo and clatter

And ambient music

And I know
I’m not going crazy

I’m hearing voices
And not just in my head

There’s a ringing in my ears
It’s the Cathedral bells

The echo and clatter
Of people in the street
The joyful noise
Of babies crying
The ambient music
Of people talking
Dogs barking
And not
Just the sound
Of my own voice

At 55

Shock and horror
registers
my heart sinks
like being hit in the chest
my breath is taken
the heat
of every embarrassment
humiliation
shame
indignation
fear
anger
relived
when a warm wave washes
over my face
and shoulders
and ribs
I take a deep breath
and wait it out
knowing
this too shall pass