From one suitcase to another

I did wear the flowered dress at the High School Reunion,   

the raincoat, the pants, the shorts, the extra underwear never unpacked

the socks, the flute wrapped in the waterproof bag all still resting in 

the suitcase, the one given to me by someone who had no right, now what is

ready to jump into the gaping red duffle, its mouth spread open like

a whale ready to voyage across the sea, as that is what I will be doing.

but what shall I bring on this voyage of unknowns, the days pass

and my uncertainty must come to an end.

I am leaving, in two days, I am leaving. 

The 50th

Nancy and Paul, and Carly and Steve;

Andy and me, at the 50th, 50 years since we have seen each

others' faces, dear Nancy who hurtled south instead of north

only to arrive at Ogilvie Transportation Center so warm and lovely

I still see her youth in her smiling face, and Paul, the boy so many girls

swooned over now working the crowd like a seasoned politician

who never was, but could be

big Andy towering over me, the biggest bear hug

a conversation about important things that no one talks about

but needs to anyway, and dear Carlyn who leads us 

fearlessly into places where we have nor tickets nor experience,

we follow her with trust and confidence, and how could I forget

Steve, the inimitable Steve, opposite of his brother, the one who

held my hand way back, Steve, who makes me laugh in this

dive into old memories not always welcome from 50 years ago.

A grand time at the 50th perhaps, our faces will fade into the

mists of memory and there will be no reprinting.  

 

one can find new friends anywhere anytime

 

he invited me to sit next to him

he said that the empty seat on the CTA train was waiting for me to arrive

so we talked of such things, of Mount Trashmore where I recalled the 

rope tow that burned my small hands, the cold and snow on the hill made

of trash, the man sitting behind us was also amazed that such a 

thing had existed, finally shut down due to liability concerns

we can't have fun anymore - is that it

and we looked for the Forest Preserve, and on the bus,

yes, he took me to where I needed to get the bus to Kenmore 

and there, crammed into the crowded seats, we talked about James Webb

we talked of such things, crazy things, like the coefficient of thermal expansion

of the struts, and when his hand grasped mine in farewell, I did not

know if we would see each other again, but there is no doubt that

one can find new friends anywhere and anytime, on a bus,

on a train, in a car, on a plane, anywhere.  

The submission that wasn't

Yes, I worked on that one poem, ABCs, so many revisions, 

visits with the poetry coach, obsession, suffering

so much that, in the end, I killed it, the spirit gone in 

the rereading, I couldn't stand the poem anymore

I threw it in the waste bin of the mind and selected 

the other one, the one written on the 6th floor of the hotel

the one that wrote itself with pen and paper, delivered

itself to the clerk and I walked out on it, left it to 

drift, unmolested, untouched, no revisions, no edits

I submitted it to the contest, the one and only one that 

I had committed to, the last one, my poems are not meant

to be caged with the editor, we need to be free. 

 

Good-bye and farewell to the best dog ever, Bella

 

So many tears, sobbing, I'll admit, for her, for

Bella, our Bella  who was no ordinary dog, she's the 

One who captured the heart of a little girl named Mira, the

One who said that Bella was the only dog she ever loved,

Bella was that dog, the one who loved every visitor,

who loved to go to camp when parents were away, she was the

One that called up the word Sweet on everyone's tongue,

Sweet Bella, who rolled delightedly in grass, her long thin

legs batting the air with abandon, the dog who pounced like

a fox at the edge of the trail, retrieving unsuspecting mice.

and eating them in front of myriad hikers passing by.

She woke us in the morning with the clicking of her nails

on these old wooden floors that have seen it all these last 140 years.  

Oh, Bella!  I miss you more than I could ever have known

Yes, the one who wasn't the dog lover in the family, but who loved

you more deeply than I could have realized until it was 

time to let you go, to release you from suffering.

Bella, I will hold you in my heart forever. 

Nothing to See Here

I had to get this book out of my house,

yes, the best seller, NYT amazing book, they told me so.

yes, the book that was on the Staff Picks at NoBo library

that I grabbed because it was about children that spontaneously combust

and although the ones in Baltimore did not literally start on fire, smothering

them to stop the screaming did occasionally occur to me, but please never tell them.

the library was closed but the door to automatic conveyer belt obediently opened

soothing my beating heart and the book slide silently out of sight and mind

I have too much on my mind as it is

 

Where the wealthy live