Friday, December 31, 2010

New Zealand Poem II: Fox Glacier

rocks move in its sinuous
streamlines, huge boulders reappear
on the surface, popping up
from under the ice, surprising as a
jack in the box, only to melt
the ice under them seeking to
rejoin the mysterious below.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

New Zealand I: Horizontal Rain

dark and sodden skies,
windows rattling against horizontal rain,
the skies awaken them from that heavy sleep that
accompanies the music of tapping raindrops.
still bleary eyed reaching for raincoats
to walk trails filled with waterfalls.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

wellington snapshots

walking inside clouds of
mist and jetlag, droplets
coalescing on sleeves only
to roll down to the ground
in an endless cycle of  wet.

shorts replace pants,rain boots
are removed for ballet flats
before dinner  at the waterfront
in a small restaurant warm
smells delight the tongue.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Off to New Zealand

it's amazing how much can fit into a suitcase:
socks, raincoat, grape nuts, medicine to combat
sea sickness, toothpaste, underwear,

dreams of glaciers, wine over dinner, tramping
in deep forests overlooking the sounds, long naps,
flocks of sheep spread across hillsides

maybe I'll swap it all for summer rains,
afternoon hot tea, a vacation in paradise.

Le Poeme will be off-line until I get back. Happy Holidays to all!

Friday, December 10, 2010

Hot and Cold

hot and cold stream in separately
 only to intermingle briefly, merged
with soap and human flesh
before draining into the sink,

water against water,
soap embracing cells and sorrows
reflecting from unforgiving mirrors.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Dried up and half eaten

Triangle of chocolate bliss
drizzled with chocolate glaze
left me in a daze

of uncertainty, desire and restraint
afraid of yet another complaint
of cake offered, then eaten

half way, left out to dry
so when S would see it, he would cry
that once again his cake was half eaten.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Tortured eyebrows

she could not decide
which was best after she
plucked, dyed, shaped,
removed, extended, thinned,
plucked them thin,
grew them thick,
left them dark, bleached
them light.
she asked her boyfriend
which was best to which he
answered what?

Monday, December 6, 2010

The treatment of stomach aches

red wine soothes stomach aches
as does chocolate cake and crackers
she said while writing poems
about dancers, poets and other

eccentrics who read dictionaries
in their spare time, think fysics
is fun and host Thanksgiving parties

in summertime heat so that
food doesn’t get cold so quickly,
and gravy does not coagulate
on your mashed potatoes. 

Sunday, December 5, 2010

The Reading

after all that
she stepped onto the stage, graceful
as any dancer

white cashmere on black,
tasteful heels, silver pendant
slightly cockeyed, no doubt

still askew from her last
pirouette; slightly breathless,
apologetic, she read

as a flurry of snowflakes
blew in the open door and a 
Rabbi wearing a Santa Claus hat rode by

bells ringing, bike lights flashing 
 Merry Christmas to All. 

Friday, December 3, 2010

Charles Simic writes a poem

he writes one thousand times
the same poem, over days, months, years,
one word changed, one word kept,
always keeping the same spirit alive

at times whispering in the dark,
scraping each word against the other,
 lighting a match to
watch it all go up in flames
only to start again from memory,
words partially reemerging from
the ashes.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Empty refrigerator

I'm hungry; I swing the door open
like a starving teenager, my head disappearing
between the shelves, eyes pivoting from side
to side, emerging with a scowl. 

a meager offering:  eggs and some moldy cheese
that could be cooked into a delectable, fluffy
omelet fit for a queen.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Hot Chocolate

he told me to write about hot chocolate.

it’s the good stuff, ground gourmet chocolate,
local, organic, the expensive stuff mixed into
steamed milk, and it’s ok, not great.
it cools in the mug, each small sip leaving
behind a chocolate ring.

A pleasure taken must be worth the calories.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Being sick

the injustice of a runny nose, sore throat
and headache, leaving me sleepless

in my bed littered with dirty Kleenex,
old magazines and Nyquil.

I spilled tea all over the stack of papers
on my desk, otherwise untouched
in spite of “working at home” posted
on the white board at the office.

a neighbor brings over cookies,
I’m too sick to be interested.
I watch a Netflix movie, and
wait for sleep in spite of this

Monday, November 29, 2010

High School Physics Class

 The last poem I posted had this within it, but I shortened it to this...

I was the only girl

sliding wooden blocks down incline planes,
timing the period of a pendulum,
confirming Newton's Laws

as if the planets needed reassurances
as they hurtled around the Sun.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Science Lessons on Thanksgiving Day

I was the only girl in high school physics class
sliding wooden blocks down incline planes,
measuring the period of a pendulum, the
only one on the trail today walking
across frozen leaves watching the tall grasses
bend in the wind, only so far as determined by
the spring constant of each stem, the force of
the wind, and the cross sectional area.
There were no equations, no tests, no boys,
just the grasses, the sun, the wind and me.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Thanksgiving Eve

in celebration of family,
of those that are far away,
those that are so near their breath
intermingles with my own,
entangled in a familiar way while
sharing that which sustains us,
a home-cooked meal, a glass of
red, a few even, still
warm apple pie and ice cream,
entirely satisfied some wander off
we settle onto the old sofa to
watch a movie, not mattering
what as long as I have his
hand warm within my own.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A Second

so many clocks in the kitchen,
why don’t they all tick-tock in concert
do they not know what a second is,
so many billions of a cesium atom’s oscillations,
so many beats of a hummingbird’s wings,
a fraction of  a sigh, the time for an arrow’s
trajectory to finally fall towards earth,
the time they say it takes to fall
in love, the millions to stay
in love.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Watching the Night

two cars turn left onto a lonely street
tailgates curve around the bend into darkness.

a bus rolls by with a single passenger seated
way in the back; he is reading Lolita before heading
home to a loveless marriage.

Christmas decorations light the street,
two women stop in full view to deeply kiss.

a taxi stops at the red light, a streetlamp illuminates
a plume of exhaust, before it drives away
to destinations unknown.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Escape Eyes Closed

she sits at the dinette
in silence, eyes closed,
listening to her beating heart,
willing the day to lift from her
shoulders, to release her tight
shoulders with each footstep
across the soft bed of
pine needles along her favorite
trail, smelling her body as ice,
snow and rain rippling along
the creek bed, water lifting into
the sky as white cumulous clouds
building to black thunderclouds,
coming down again as rain over
cities, mountains, lakes and
oceans, her feet keep stepping
across the soft pine needle beds.
she raises her arms up towards
the moon rising in the east,
the north star, finally taking
a breath and opening her eyes,
she sits at the same dinette,
body intact, composed of
the same atoms and molecules
as the stars, the Moon, the
rivers and streams.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Melting Butter

launched from knife’s edge
a petite pat of butter arcs gracefully
through the air, landing firmly on edge
in the bottom of the sauté pan.
seemingly defying gravity, she holds
position, one corner pointing
skyward as if held in position by
an unseen partner on an ice rink,
only releasing in the warm applause
of an appreciative audience. 
Spent, she submits to gravity,
all edges find the bottom of the
pan now as the heat penetrates
from below, burners set to high,
the cook waits patiently for the
butter to melt before stirring in
minced onions, cranberries and
red wine, admiring the beauty
of butter spreading across the
bottom of the pan. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Picking Milk

standing in front of cooler at Sunflower
I wonder, a gallon or half?  one percent or two?
organic or in “natural” returnable bottles?  Horizon or
Farmers’?  this or that?  that or this?
cream or chocolate milk?  buttermilk or sour
cream for the chocolate cake?  salted butter
or unsalted?  cage free eggs, large or medium, brown
or white?  so I stand there in a stupor deciding
while people are dying in wartime, dying from
malnutrition; I stand here frozen in time,
all brain cells working full time, dumbfounded with
the stupidity of it all.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Sweeping the Stairs

dirt has filled every corner
swept aside by many footsteps
going up and down, up and down,
wilted leaves fallen from unwatered plants,
clods of dried dirt, dust bunnies.
blue fiber cloth in hand she starts
at the top, methodically moving
left to right across the back edge,
sweeping the pile across the front
edge and down onto the next,
across the landing and down the
last eleven steps to the
ground floor where she finally
pauses to look up at the gleaming
stairs, then carefully brushing
the pile into a small dustpan,
almost tenderly depositing a part
of her life into the trash can.   

Sunday, November 14, 2010

No more excuses

no more excuses
too dark to soak up the sun
leaves still sodden from snowfall
too dark to follow footsteps and dodge ice patches.
too full to get another bowl of ice cream, another
cup of tea, the dishes are done, the dogs are fed,
the boyfriend is busy, too.
no more excuses
to delay what needs to be done,
the opening of the mind, creaking
notwithstanding, night has
come, light shines on
books and papers,
sit under the light
and begin.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Snow the morning of Veterans Day

and birds perched on the empty feeder
looking at me dolefully, their red breasts
reminding me of those whose lives have
been lost at war this day, Veterans Day,
those in trenches, morphine coursing
through their veins to stand the terrible
pain, the cold, the loneliness, the bullets,
OK, I said,as I put on my slippers,
scrounged for bird seed in the basement
and shuffled through the snow, so little
to ask in response to such sacrifices.

I highly recommend reading Three Day Road about two young Canadian (Indian) men who go to war. The reference to morphine comes from this book.  This book woke me up to the horror of war.  

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

the impersonator

she sneaks into small dim rooms
with her pen in hand ready to
forge signatures for children who
have skipped school, for small time
felons, and single mothers who
want to divorce deadbeat dads.
her clients wait impatiently but
she takes her time studying each
signature, crossing every “t” and
dotting each “i” so no one will
ever know the difference. 

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

sun rain snow

in the morning the crackle of leaves
under bike tires, sun shining through
the few remaining leaves, jacket
stashed in the rear basket.
in the afternoon, heavy grey
clouds laden with rain falling
on my helmet, cold wind cutting
through my jacket on me,
no longer in the basket, no sunshine,
later, snow falling gently on
wet sidewalks and streets.
winter has finally arrived.

Monday, November 8, 2010

editing:a prose poem

the longest sentences without any punctuation spill across the page down the page across the page the reader no longer able to follow the stream of consciousness flowing from her fingers typing across the keyboard now no longer even correctin gtypiosthatseem to flowendlessless andmakethe readingevenmoreconfusing and teriblydifficulttoreadafterall and so I stopped reading and put in punctuation marks, brutally ending sentences.  Just like that.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Daylight savings

It’s dark already, before dinner
before a glass of wine the neighbor
brought over, bless her in the darkness.

It’s too early to go to bed,
the dishes are undone, the letter unwritten
next to the fountain pen, ink of darkness.

It’s too early to sleep, the pages
lay open waiting to be read, the
light is turned off, I am in darkness.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Language and Equations

to hold is to forget,
love means nothing.
the product of electric field
and charge is force;
automobiles start with the turn
of a key, trains run on time.
make nothing without words,
let me be the one you never
forget, but remember that
the sky is blue for a reason.

I've been taking a poetry class and have come to appreciate that poetry can have its own rules and patterns not unlike some we have in science.  Several of the lines pulled into this poem are from Kay Ryan's Languages Lessons 1976 where love means nothing in one line, but then make nothing without words in a line later.  Like we would say A = B on one page of a textbook, then B = C later realizing that A = C.  There is a beauty in both worlds. 

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Cours: a definition

qu'est-ce que c'est, cours?
she furrowed her brow,
they don’t have them here,
only in Paris, Madrid or Prague
the “cours’ where children play
behind solid stone walls, passersby
only glimpse a small segment of
the parabolic swing of a child
screaming with delight before
she jumps off onto a verdant
soft lawn sprinkled in fall leaves.
She wasn’t sure how to translate
this word “cours” because we
don’t really have them here
but I knew I wanted to spend
time there playing and laughing
where I had never been before.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Watching him wash the dishes

I watch from the dinette
as he puts on the too small yellow
latex gloves and my flowered apron.

He changes the station to KBCO
from NPR, the noise of hard rock
fills the air: I put an ear plug
in my one good ear.

Most of the dishes end up washed
but a few linger on the counter
waiting for me to finish
the job.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Fire Pit: A Clanging poem

Our poetry teacher works with mentally ill people and a common manifestation of schizophrenia is clanging, a type of speech where the person mostly talks nonsense but in rhymes.  This poem was written in poetry workshop last night during free write.

fire pit,
spit in my face
pace! space
me out, man
damn I'm real
peel off me, dude,
my mood,you're
lewd, man damn
spit at me
be see me lee
pee on me
wet debt, I'm set!
get regret, hot
fire, inspire
you're all a liar
admire me

Monday, November 1, 2010

Poetry Workshop

each carries a sheaf
of words in sonnets
rhymes couplets
offerings for a night
gathered around hissing
flickering flames
we bow to each other
capturing words
unspoken undertones
of lives not yet

Sunday, October 31, 2010


You don't have to like this poem and it's really not my usual writing style, but we are studying the Poet Laureates in the poetry workshop I am taking. The poet for this week is Kay Ryan, who writes poems which simultaneously draw you in, but for reasons you don't understand. Well, some of the poems, anyway.  Some of them are just too out there.  She has rhymes in her poems in weird places and most of the poems are really obscure. 

mind forged
from dawn
spent, hours
at the bench
night traps
the blind
eye maps
drenched in
sweat, she
naps finally

Friday, October 29, 2010


capture moment photo
send to other side of earth
white clouds billowing
over rain soaked landscapes
she opens it laughing

Thursday, October 28, 2010


fresh bread and butter
red wine food and drink
of the gods planning trips
spending money boats
planes the most comfortable
beds on the other side
of the world so weary
as to drop me into bed
my tummy full of soft
warm bread slathered
with butter, red wine
and happiness

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

I'm too tired to write a poem

I'm too tired to write a poem
to get up from this chair to read
Kay Ryan how did she become a
poet laureate while falling in love
another woman who made her words
flow so effortlessly from her pen
onto white and crimson pages,
to tired to listen to NPR explain
the mortgage crisis, too tired to listen
to the dishwasher complain or the
broom sweeping up dog hair.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

the day

no space between the cracks
to slip out unseen like the wind
that howls in the afternoon while
sleeping with warm feet nestled
against corn bags ears plugged
no longer disturbed by nightmares
unfinished to-do lists reviews
days bursting from uneven seams
no pattern to make a beautiful
fitted skirt, just a rag to thrown
in the laundry and dry in the wind.

Monday, October 25, 2010

to grandmother

seventy years ago you knitted this for me
an old lady color, cornflower blue, cable knit
pearl buttons i should have hated it
but i loved you sitting on the rocking chair
in mom’s room someone finally there
with warm hands who spoke a language
whose words i did not understand but whose
eyes recognized me for the first time.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

to that place between sleep and wake

my favorite red patent leather shoes
are floating away from me as I tumble
towards earth the rabbit is
chewing the apple I put out for her
my shoes side by side
at the end of the bed my pink
fleece pajama bottoms warm against
skin as my left leg twitches a
snore shifts me to my side
flying over buildings now far away
from danger men running below me
looking down alleys I
soar higher finding a solution to
the problem I left at work
on Friday hope to remember when
I wake up.

Friday, October 22, 2010

To the fifteen mice

to the fifteen dead mice who
slipped silently through the
small gap behind the Kashi
cereal into the cabinet smelling
fresh peanut butter so innocently
wandering into the warmth
of this house where so many
mice have lived so comfortably
over many generations only
to find the final darkness

note to readers:  I hope as much as you that I have 
terminated (!?) all the mice for awhile.  This is an
annual fall event in this house.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Ice Cream

I stood at the freezer case
studying the ice cream options:
Cherry Garcia, Phish Food, Crème Brulee, Peach, Key Lime Pie, Lemon Sorbet,
Chocolate Chocolate Chip, Coffee Macademia Nut,  Coconut Crunch
I wanted all of them at once in as many different bowls with chocolate
sauce and roasted nuts on top, with whipped cream and sprinkles of
all different colors, especially the ones that are coated with metal
so they zing against your fillings.
I walked out with one tiny pint
to eat in a small white bowl,
with no whipped cream,
chocolate sauce or sprinkles
but I’ll be happy

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The Good Death

twenty-eight eyes,
fifty four tiny feet,
fourteen mice licked
delicious peanut butter
and found ecstasy
in their last moments;
may we all die so

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The After-Haircut Shampoo

I’m afraid to wash my hair,
the spray-on wax, the gel,
the moisturizing cream, the perfect
curls (slightly smashed from sleeping
on them), the bangs that tickle
my eyelashes but don’t obstruct
my vision, the hairstylist’s magic.
Once I wash my hair, my haircut
won’t work anymore; my bangs will
curl up in a flip, all the curls will
frizz, and I’ll look like a doofus.
My daughter will wrinkle her
nose with distaste, oh why do I
have to wash my hair of stylist

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Stress Therapist

she calls me promptly at 9:30 every other Monday
to talk about stress, my stress from dealing with
co-workers way too young to be Republicans,
the ones who know everything about nothing,
my inability to keep calm in spite of it all.
she is stressed from talking to people all day,
people who don’t want to talk to her about
the fact they are obese, have high cholesterol
or need to exercise more; me, I like to talk to
her.  I make her laugh hysterically at my stories.
My stress level goes down.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Remember this

the softness of the forest floor
caressing your feet with
each step, the rustle
of leaves falling through the
trees decorating the trail
in yellows, reds and oranges.
remember the sun warming
your face, the wind at your back,
the swaths of grass brushing
against your legs, remember
the boulders, the walls of rock.
remember all this when you
are surrounded by sheetrock
and glass, where there is no
softness or color, nor caresses
for your soul.  

Friday, October 15, 2010

Come to mama, little mousie, mousie

the traps are empty, their jaws
gaping, waiting, their almond
butter offerings untouched.
I wait expectantly, every hour
opening the cabinets hoping for
Come, little mousie, mousie,
come to your mama who
will take you to your grave.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

MIce are Not Nice

I opened the lid, flying down
to the floor, skittering under
the stove to safety;
S. jumped on top of the dinette,
 the dogs wandered in, too little,
too late being incompetent
at such things.
What a way to start the day.
a few hours later, I went to wash a few
dishes and a big fat mouse emerged
from under the single bowl in the sink.
Quicker this time, I captured
it under a yogurt container, slipped
a newspaper underneath and carried
it out to the dumpster on the other
side of the alley, where I am sure it
will tunnel its way down, find
a tiny hole and run back to my
house where it believes it will
again roam the land of milk
and honey until it smells that
little spot of almond butter
on a little black plastic plate
and everything will go
Make my day,

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Cereal for Dinner

she lives alone
enjoying the freedom
of eating cereal for dinner;
there is no man around
requiring meat, a vegetable
and dessert for dinner.
A bowl and a spoon sit
on the countertop at the
end of her nutritious meal,
not dirty pans, spatulas,
cutting boards and the
odor of cooked meat hanging
in the air.
Life is so much simpler
this way, if only it weren't
so lonely.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


finally I wake to the sound of rain,
a steady drumming on the skylight,
the sky dark and brooding, holding
promises of many hours of rain.
my bicycle sits in the rain and will
sit all day, alone, in the rain; the
windshield wipers will squeak on
every sweep, complaining, when
I leave by bike alone in the rain
and drive the old red heap to work,
she hates to move from her
favorite parking spot where she
can look skyward and watch the
hours of rain stream across her

Monday, October 11, 2010

too much to do

poems to write
that have meaning;
making eyes move the
way they’re supposed to;
watching rockets launch
while washing dishes,
speed reading a few articles
for self improvement
and learning to relax
curled up in bed
next to warm
corn bags.

Sunday, October 10, 2010


street lights reflecting
into downcast eyes (lashes
shedding raindrops).

Saturday, October 9, 2010

A Painting

I always wanted that painting hanging on her wall,
the pastoral oil with fields surrounded by stands of trees
scattered across the rolling hills of the Jura.
I wanted the life I thought was there, with grandmothers
and grandfathers, aunts and uncles, assorted cousins,
where we would all play together surrounded by
the Alps in our own mountain chalet, our breakfasts
of whole fresh cow’s milk and French bread, homemade
jam, all delivered that morning by the neighbors
before I awoke to sun and blue sky, wiggling
my toes from under the feather bed and blue gingham
duvet cover, so fresh from drying in the sun.
Today, I bought a
my own painting of soft Colorado hills covered with
fields surrounded by stands of trees.
It hangs on my wall reminding me
of long hikes in the mountains,
bike rides along county roads
through acres of grazing cattle
with people that eat peach pie
with me, that hold me in their
arms, that love me just
as I love them.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Pink Flannel Pajama Pants: A Life

I bask in the summer sun on the clothes line
after being pulled from the bottom drawer
of her dresser, examined for stains and holes;
passing muster, into the washing machine
and called back into service, soon, to warm
her skin in the night’s darkness and chill.
I know I am her favorite; I have only grown
softer with age, with her years of sadness, now
much more happiness and content, I often
brush against S or he strokes me while they
watch “24”, her secret vice that I hesitate to
I love her and she loves me; she wears me
every night until even I agree that it’s time
for a shower and so I go in the washer and
hang forlornly in the basement (as I
will not dry outside anymore, nor will she
go out to hang me in the sun) until
she comes to me again, pulling me onto
her petite legs and takes me off to bed
with her once again.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Summer Thunderstorm and Dog

the hair stands up on his haunches;
he rises up from the floor, his back arching and stiff,
his hind legs stretching behind him, his nose pointing up
as we innocently continue reading our novels,
oblivious, perfectly content in the quiet of
our evening, our comfortable companionship.
The lamp flickers, the living room is flooded
in the electric flash of evening lightning
followed by the crash of thunder;
he jumps up, barking wildly to hush the storm.
his attempts to quiet the storm have succeeded
once again, he settles back onto the rug, we
pick up our books returning to our comfortable
companionship on this summer evening.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Strangers in the Office

she has dogs; I see their pictures posted
over her monitor in her corner cube,
she always wears ribbons in her hair
like they do when she shows them on weekends.
a large diamond sparkles on her ring finger;
she’s been married a long time, diamond
solitaires are no longer in fashion
diamonds are no longer in fashion
she is no longer in fashion in her slightly
baggy jeans, pink Crocs and floral t-shirt.
we smile at each other in the hallway
when there is nowhere else to look
without seeming rude, besides I
like her in her simplicity, she demands
nothing of me, nor I of her.


Monday, October 4, 2010

The "f" word we say with pride

to those who
burning bras
hating men
unshaved armpits
do you really believe that is feminism,
to those who spit “I’m not a feminist” as if it’s a dirty word
who are you
we who do not burn bras but wear those that are comfortable
we who have married, or not,
have raised children, or not,
who have loved men, stayed with them,
left them or not.
we who rally for equal rights or not,
we who carry our heads high in spite of barriers,
we carry on, yes we are

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Peach Pie

raccoons hover around the
electric fence sparks jumping to
whiskers, the smell of ripe peaches
pulling them closer, a growl and
dash under the porch shrieking in
frustration calling the dogs
barking to the back door,
pushing the screen door open
they rush the raccoons
snarling at them, at each other
while the smell of peach pie
fills my kitchen and he happens
to wander in to tell me he loves
me I know his tricks.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Making Gazpacho Soup

the tomatoes are gathered from the garden,
voluptuous orange globes ribbed with sun-baked
tears barely containing the bursting flesh,
tossed into boiling water in summer heat,
she sweats over the stove, retrieving
each tomato, peeling away each blistered
skin before slicing each one into quarters,
pressing each seed from the fleshy folds
of fruit, each lip holding so many chances
for new life in the moist earth of spring.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Highland Avenue

they all knew how to ride a bike;
Tony Fiatta kicked my ball with his
pointy black shoes as he rode by,
the hiss of the escaping air followed
him down the avenue.
the others screamed down the
hill, slamming on their brakes
on the cardboard at the bottom,
sliding across the street only to
crash into the cement curbs which
recently arrived in our neighborhood.
I so wanted to learn to ride a bike
that they finally walked me up
the hill, put me on the seat and
pushed me down the hill, releasing
me after only a few yards
in their hurry to ride their bikes
again, skidding across cardboard
at the bottom of the hill where I
sat alone, wishing I could ride
a bike, too.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The Perfect Haircut

she breezed in to the restaurant,
every man turned his head to watch
her go by with her perfect haircut,
the women fingered their hair, wondering
if it wasn’t time to update
their look after all didn’t he
used to look at her the same
way his eyes now followed
the woman who just breezed
in with her perfect haircut.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Brand New Shoes

maybe my new shoes
will take me to the Moon
where I can kick up lunar dust,
leaving behind my size 7 footprints
next to Neil’s left behind so many
years ago, undisturbed but by
the many tiny micrometeoroids
lofting tiny clouds of dust;
across ceilings free of dog hair
and dust bunnies, of rabbit
droppings and black scuff marks.
my old red shoes alternately
trudged, danced and skipped
across the earth,
I’m ready for new

Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Best Nest

 I watched the  young
couple scout the neighborhood
looking for the best nest,
flitting here and there;
they landed on the railings
of the toy gazebo decorating
my front porch.
They looked, he tilted his
head at her; she finally approved
and the nest building began,
twig by twig, strand by strand.
The little blue gazebo swung
in the wind, but rain did not
fall on her tiny head as she sat
patiently on her three eggs.
One morning she was gone,
the three tiny eggs had
disappeared; a crow
called out from the tree
across the street, quite
pleased with himself.