Conjuring Posters

posters rise from piles of powerpoint slides
scattered across parquet floors, we partition
them into peculiar places, one on the upper right,
one below, then promptly play them out again,
over precious days better spent outdoors partaking
in nature, watching poppies sway in the wind,
we, such peculiar people, spend out time parked
at a kitchen table, or a picnic bench and ponder
the placement of photos and petite sketches
across the poster, pray for me!

Strummin' in Vail

lots of white people here
down home fiddle and guitar
singin' songs from Texas.
loud enough to cover the conversation
I am not having, quietly sitting over here
in this small table happily watching the crowds,
solitude such a special something
in a crowd
I just watch.

New Friends

she's so new that her name doesn't quite stick yet
but you love her smile, her words, her being so her,
so fresh, so fun, so smart.
new friends that you somehow stuff into a spot in your schedule
when someone else you love is away, he takes up so much time.
the old friends, the dear friends, the ones you have loved for so long
that their names show up in your dreams, and your words stumble
over each other in the confusion of happiness that you are so
lucky to have them wired hard into your neurons, you smile
in your sleep thinking of them, you feel their embrace when
times are hard.
new friends are like fireworks far up in the sky, you watch
the blue and yellow and red flares drift towards the uncertain
Earth.

The Most Dangerous Day: Bike to Work Day on the Creek Path

It's dangerous out there,
the new riders, blind curves, it's hot
and the sun shines in our eyes.
It's lovely out there, all the legs discovering
they can move bodies in a different way from
pressing the gas pedal.
I am wary on this route today, the inexperienced
mixed with the regulars, blind curves
I can't afford to hit my head again.
Bike to Work Day, wonderful
and oh so dangerous.

It's Late

It's late,
the windows are painted shut.
It's hot,
the windows are painted shut,
I can't open them, it's hot,
the fan blows hot air around the house,
the dog pants, I pant.
It's hot, it's dark, the raccoons are rustling
in the bushes, the squirrels are sleeping.
It's hot, let me break open the seals
and open these windows, turn on the
fan and cool this house
off.

25 and One Day

she's 25 and one day and she thought
the celebrations were over.
the earrings are put away, the chocolate has
been nibbled, she found a chain to hang the copper
gasket around her slender neck.
who would have thought we'd be
done celebrating twenty five years
of mother and daughter, through chubby cheeks
and pimples, Science Fair awards and Harvard,
cycling in France and drinking wine once she
was of age, and even before, making cookies
and eating them, discovering cool grains like
farro and barley, greens like kale and chard,
watching her build her skills at the perfect,
oh so complicated oatmeal.
who would have thought we'd be done
celebrating when every day is a chance to
celebrate that deep river of love
of mother and daughter.

Lightning, No Moon

we may have climbed the hill to watch the Moon
tonight, instead we stroll by graveyards, releasing
squirrels into the night in the company of lightning.
The strobe light catches the last view of the tail
disappearing behind a gravestone, may he rest in
peace this one, that chewed my drip lines and
savored my strawberries, that one that chattered
outside the window at me to come fill the bird
feeder for his personal use.
The Moon would have risen beautifully into the sky,
instead it feels creepy and the fur on the dogs neck
is standing up, we know there are others here
even if we can't see them, with the Moon
behind the clouds they can dance in front of
us and we cannot see except through a flash
of lighting.

Ancient earrings to celebrate the birthday of a precious daughter

what color are her eyes,

blue and green, grey

changing shades throughout the day
variable, beautiful like Roman glass
blue mottled with green

and grey, copper mixed with iron,

manganese, cobalt and Egyptian blue.
from ancient times,  days spent in

exploration, science, thinking and doing,

nights of dancing, drinking and laughing
she still does this, this young woman
with the blue/green/grey eyes

that sparkle mysteriously

like Roman glass

Too many things to write about for today

should I write about shopping for a sports bra and buying a dress instead?
I jumped off the trail when I spotted a mountain biker, and she barely moved to
the side while continuing to walk.
the BBQ egglplant and portobello mushrooms were delicious, we decided
to call eggplant huevosplanta in Spanish since we don't know the word.
she did not have a single picture of Daniel in the suit I got him for his
birthday, I was incredulous that only the professional photographer got his picture.
it was so hot today and the bottom leaves are yellow on my tomatillo.
the house is 98% done in purple, yellow and toothpaste green and it looks awesome!
I wonder if Cecile's butterfly bush came back to life like mine did.
why not write about my plans to relocate unwanted rodents to another neighborhood
or that my brother asked me to have lunch with him which he almost never does.
I could write that improving my flute technique is getting harder and I need
encouragement or that I may not have shared that I hate doing dishes, and
all other domestic chores.
I'll close with telling you that it's been a long, hot, wonderful day and
I'm ready to fall asleep in my nice bed, holding the hand of the
one I love.

Sharing Fears

if I whisper will she hear,
if she does, will she hear what is behind those words
the love, the vulnerability, the fear, the hope
that she hears all this and maybe more,
the attachment, the desire to be close
on this journey through life, this journey
where a warm hand in mine, or in hers, will
lighten the steps, will lift the heart, but only
if whispered words are heard,
will she hear me?

On Indefinite Hold with Cigna On-Line Pharmacy

it's the third forty-five minute call,
each time a cheerful representative promises to refund
the $335 bill for drugs that never arrived,
never mind that the drugs never arrived and
presumably I need them.
meetings missed, a repetition each time
starting from the beginning, names you write down
for accountability mean nothing, who are they
anyway and are they paid to drag their feet
and collect money for what is never delivered.
would they do it to their grandmother,
for enough money, they probably would.

Margaritas with My Daughter

Professor Material,
almost 25, serious, thinking clearly.
Not me after two margaritas, being a lightweight and all.
Serious at work, as a mother, as a quasi-wife, not tonight.
No worries as they are all lined up doing it themselves,
finding jobs, partners, cleaning basements and doing dishes,
I can drink a couple of margaritas and wobble home on my bike.
It all gets done, the chores, the to-do lists, the career development.
All I have to do is get up tomorrow, eat breakfast and head out
clear headed and eager to figure it all out for myself,
the others will do it for themselves.
How relaxing.

Hiking Buddy

I'll hike with her
with those sparkly eyes and long blonde hair,
that smile that will melt away the frustrations of any
first grader.
I'd hike with her in a minute, even though I know
she can leave me in the dust if she wants,
she won't,
she'll dilly dally along as if it were really her pace,
even though she told me she wants to burn
more calories so she can eat a bigger
serving of ice cream.
I did hike with her up to a beautiful lake,
surrounded by high snowy peaks,
we rushed back to town to
get two extra large
ice cream
cones.

Attracting Hummingbirds with my Striped Red and Orange Cap on Cottonwood Pass

whirrrrrwhirrrrwhirr
they try again
whirrrrwhirrrrwhirrrr
left ear, check, no nectar
right ear, check, no nectar,
top of head, neck, back of red chair.
whirrrrwhirrrrwhirrr whirrrwhirrr whirr
wonderfullllwonderfulllwonderfulll
in sun dappled shade dancing
across bare legs, toes basking
in flipflops, the bikes off to the side,
a novel, dirt, warmth,
whirrrwhirrrr
wonderfullllllll

They Watch Each Other's Back

they watch each other's back because
they never know when they might be  held accountable
and need some sort of excuse, some ally for whom
they can return the favor later.
loyalty is key, rather than workmanship or
competence, they will watch each other's back
because the customers prefer reliability not
loyalty.
they only watch a select group of each other's back,
the rest they stab in unison in protest,
how dare we change the system leaving them
tangled in their dirty sheets, let them
lie in the bed they made for
themselves.
we will not join them.

Homeland Security

No guns, AK-47's, or even small handguns to stash in your purse.
No pepper spray, Bowie knives or baseball bats.
It' safe behind the purple door, the toothpaste green signals
what goes on inside; we brush our teeth in front of a tiny
mirror hanging over the kitchen sink.
There is no violence here, no harsh words,
no put-downs, no power plays,
only an old black dog, mostly blind and deaf
asleep on the couch, barking in her sleep at
invisible intruders walking by.
violas spread across the backyard
silently spring forth purple blossoms,
the bleached, slightly rotten Adirondack chairs
invite us to sit on a hot day, to listen to the
lingering laughter of last night's dinner
echoing among the blades of grass.

Why You Should Never Trust a Poet

They distort words to make a rhyme
or build their own personal fantasy, the one they could never
pull off in real life,
they hide behind poetic license and false sophistication,
the more obscure the better,
snooty poetry journals go for that, those with less
circulation than the number of people in this cafe
late at night.
The lies roll out in green ink at this very moment,
she's not in a cafe but a rolling hillside lush with pine,
trolls hidden behind lichen coated boulders,
mountain bikers festooned in flowing cloaks of gold.
Poets are not to be trusted, their truth can never be
verified, their minds do not follow a straight path,
they are difficult to understand, play music late
at night through open windows and murmur
to themselves.
Follow them at your own risk,
you may fall in love.

A new pen

after months of blue fingertips and smudged papers,
of freckles covered in ink, and the ensuing embarrassment,
a new pen.
the old one relegated to the rubbish bin, sadly, so
many memories, so many poems written in that  ink-stained
hand, no smell of cigarettes, only Poussiere de Lune, my favorite
color of all times.
times like this end, as do all times, the smell of summer evenings
and empty glasses of wine, the drifting off of their voices
after a dinner that lingered a bit too long, our
energies have drifted to nothing but
fumes.
now, the box open, I gaze at my new friend,
tomorrow a poem will roll off her tip
in green and arrive here
in electronic glory.

Massage to Margaritas: A Very Good Friday

at first, I
rode past the FREE MASSAGE table,
work responsibilities called,
but not as strongly as she did, a smile
and an unoccupied massage table.
U-turn on the bike path, kick off the shoes
(in happiness) and dive aboard.
any dutiful thoughts of work were kneaded
away next to a blooming bed of flowers
under a blue sky on a
beautiful summer day.

(Ah, what a great massage!  Thanks to Melanie Peddle for volunteering her time for Bike To Work Month.  I'll be seeing her again.  You could, too.  www.goldstarmassagetherapy.com)

New Colors

Bold in middle-age, maybe not a Red Hat
but Purple will do, and Toothpaste Green.
by the time our Home needs a new paint job I
will be into my 8th decade and still going
strong as purple and toothpaste green, bright
yellow like a canary just learning to really
sing.

$50 at Farmers Market

let's stop by for a bag of greens,
and maybe a few more seedlings, mine
look unhappy and cold.
oh, and that goat cheese is so good.
let's have a salad for dinner,
heirloom tomatoes? no, c'mon,
the Beefsteak will do.
oh, but English cucumber for $1,
that would be delicious,
no, dear, no $12/lb. granola,
there are limits,
somewhere.

Unhappy Tomatoes that Don't Grow

Forty five degrees at night, then ninety, they shiver, then roast, then
rain, thunder, storms, wind, cold, hot, cold, hot,
too wet, too dry.
Curled leaves, stubbornly refusing to grow.
Fiddlesticks!
Seeds, seedlings, lights, fertilizer, so careful
and now!
the audacity not to grow, ingrates,
those tomatoes!
let the sun shine on their leaves,
let their roots seek the earth,
and darn it, grow some darn
tomatoes before the winter
comes!

Pick up the Tempo and drop the Gems

it doesn't feel right holding the gems in my small hands,
talking across phone lines and intranet, the tempo is too
fast and in the wrong order.
I need to drop the gems quickly and get out of the way,
someone else will pick them up and put them in their pocket,
not realizing their tempo will pick up, their hair will fall out
and their children will leave home from lack of attention.
maybe it's what they want instead of traveling to launch
sites and counting particles behind thick glasses pressed
against microscope eyepieces, I don't  know that,
only they do, but I know I'll feel lighter with the
gems scattered across the parking lot, sparkling as
if they were valuable.

Bad Movies Recommended by Friends

how to gracefully diss their taste
hating the movie they loved, a word
to let them know, a note to self to remove
them from "reliable source of good movie suggestions".
mine, "the world is more interesting with diverse opinions",
his, "you're a poet, how could you not love this movie",
me, "so?  I still like plot and character development."
and so on, until it stops and I feel slightly guilty.
ok, I don't trust films in black and white unless
they are Woodie Allen films and even then.
was it a bad movie, or a bad night, was it just
that the movie I wanted to see was sold out
and this theatre was filled with those of us who
didn't want to be here, except we did not know
how badly we didn't until it was too late.