Friday Night

Friday night and broken hearts
gathered around the pink dinette,
red wine fills glasses instead of tears,
but I see them brimming anyway,
there is no way to hide sadness.
We're talking about broken hearts on
Friday night, she's a cold one, never
a nice word, and he's not around anyway
so no matter if he's nice or not.
I wish there were no broken hearts
tonight but there is nothing to be done
but drink to it, and move on.

Raining and Cold in Florida

dreaming of sun and long walks on beach,

learning that dreams are not reality, that even

government agencies cannot determine the weather

even if well funded.

I watch the rain drip down the NASA sphere and

ponder $50 tickets to get out of the rain for an hour, 

I pull up my rain  hood instead and head back to the  hotel

for a long nap.

there is always tomorrow when it will rain again

and I will return to the NASA globe, pluck down

my $46 for being 55+ and enjoy the ride.

all dressed up

business dress means a suit

I never bought, but a new one, 

tags still attached was hanging 

in my closet, thank you

Mother of Susan, a clothes 

horse in her day, now gone but

still remembered how elegant she

was in her gallery, clients dancing

around her vivacity and charm.

they bought art, after all,

me, I just sell

satellites.

Working on Sundays

working on Sundays should be illegal,
punishable by chocolate cake and red wine,
we know it's sinful, yet Monday beckons
and Friday's work is not yet done.
a sunny afternoon gave way to a cold wind
and snow as I ventured outside to savor
the beauty of nature, good thing I do
not mind the cold.

Simple Pleasures

he reminded me that simple pleasures are best,

even if there are no pictures, only a painting

on the cover, peeled oranges bursting with flavor

one can almost taste just by looking, just listen

for a familiar loving voice, that smell that makes your

mouth water, in the late afternoon, the peels

has dried enough to curl at the edges.
I notice this as I carry them on a 
small plate to the kitchen.

making memories: musings on the Ted radio hour

he learned to memorize 40 random numbers
and the order of cards in two decks of cards,
but couldn't remember the name of the girl at the party,
he thought she was so attractive and funny.
one year a journalist covering a geeky conference,
the next, the winner, takes all, but not sure where his
car keys are, and where did he put the prize money.
making memories of something worth remembering
may be worth consideration, or least the names of
those you love, those you want to love, your neighbors,
co-workers, children, that puppy that runs to the door.

Re-use

 

they say "re-use" is holier than recycle, 

and creative use is better than no use.

a slide rule, about the right length, 

it's handy, it's in my bag along with my

new headband, colorful and cheery.

it was a gift for this purpose and no other,

who remembers how to use a slide rule

for its intended purpose and the soft fabric

feels good on my wrist, it stretches

perfectly around the ends of the slide

rule, my wrist rests comfortably,

unique and practical, what else could

be better.

Going, going, gone

 

he burns through brain cells on every plane trip,

in every meeting, during dinner, on too few hours

of sleep.

maybe he doesn't realize our lives are going, going, gone,

fading like the water drying off a Buddha board, an impulse

purchase that speaks to me, each brushstroke 

can be replaced only as long as the palette

is wet, seeking a new taste, a texture,

a sound, an embrace.

plane seats do not embrace,

nor do meeting chairs, the ink will fade

from documents and she will walk out of the

restaurant holding her Victoria's Secret bag,

emptied of its vanities onto your hotel bed,

nothing there but cold trinkets.

tread lightly along these keys

tread lightly on the keys
while holding steady, firm against your lips,
the ones that kiss me every day, the arms that hold me,
my arms hold this flute, elbows bent slightly, a rhythm
I have never known flows from me, up until this day
I have never heard this, or seen this,
but this is another day, another second,
it flows from me as if along a
verdant bank with well known
shores.

the day after my birthday

a few glasses of Sauvignon blanc,
a few Yukon Gold potatoes draped with molten Raclette cheese,
a few miles traveled by ski under brilliant blue sky,
a few hours to read and nap,
a few hours to enjoy friendship and love,
many pleasures, much thankfulness.

the night before my birthday

the night before my birthday
I am eating biscottis my maman made for me,
writing a card with a pen my friend sent to me,
waiting to open that birthday card that says
"do not open before January 18".
i am guessing what book my love bought for me
and looking to see if the raclette grill survived the flood,
my skis are being waxed and my suitcase is waiting
to be filled with slippers, jammies and socks
for our trip, the night before my birthday
i am playing the flute with delicate fingers
and waiting deliciously for tomorrow.

puppy teeth

A perfect case left on a

pink dinette too close to a 

playful puppy.

Cross

I wasn't cross at all, delighted when I saw

the box, birthday wishes granted, if only

life were so easy, to say what you want

and for it to arrive on your front steps

even before your birthday.

yes, I opened it before my birthday, unlike

the card which arrived that I eagerly

tore into, at the last minute seeing the

small text "Do not open until January 18",

then I was cross for a moment, a microsecond,

happy then to have something to look 

forward to.

Identity

Swiss-American, mother, lover,
daughter, scientist, with freckles
and what-color-are-those eyes,
I heard a story today about identity,
gay, lesbian, disabled, multi-national,
black, where-did you-come from,
where is your home, where does that
name come from, identity is empowerment
if you are weak, identity is limiting if you
have the world at your disposal,
what if you like to warm your toes
by the fire and eat warm chocolate chip
cookies, identity as happiness.

A very short poem

my eyelids are drooping, even my flute gets short shrift,
the salmon is settling into my belly, there are no dishes to be done.
thank you, brother.
i'm hot, i'm cold, my shoes are stuck to my socks,
my pants swish against each other on every tired stride,
my pajamas are calling to me.
i will go to them.

Her aging was very sudden

it seemed her jowls bloomed overnight,
her hair brittle and lusterless, the wrinkles no
longer looked like dimples gone traveling for holiday.
her part was accentuated with a half inch bar of grey,
abruptly changing to the solid brown from an
inexpensive home color hair kit.
I only look a certain way in the mirror, from
just above the cheekbones to just below the eyebrows.
I know what is happening elsewhere.
her aging was so sudden, from youthful and
fresh to "mature" and withered.
One day all I will look at is my smile,
signs of happiness never age.

Death by Puppy

eviscerated.

every last white puff of stuffing

scattered over the living room floor, 

once a happy hedgehog, now a mere shell of

faux fur, she's had an exciting, albeit, too short, life.

the Puppy, satisfied for the moment, falls into

happy dreams of biting and jumping, 

chasing and eating treats, so warm nestled

into her dad's puffy down coat, 

so easily pulled down from
a nearby hanger,  the bliss
of puppy-hood.

Names of flowers

I'd name a dark  rose "black leather jacket"
and a cosmos "penultimate princess".
I'd plant them next to each other, their twisted stems
like a young couple leaving their wedding
on a Harley, her braided ribbons fluttering
in the breeze as they pull away from the curb.

AARP

They have slowly worn me down, the letters,
the offers, the justifications, for why I should join AARP.
I have succumbed, signing up for a 5 year membership
for $63, I spend that in a month on coffee, what a deal.
discounts on dentures and defibulators,
help selecting hearing aids and home health care,
priority on prescriptions and pill cutters,
it's all part of the package, AARP offers
it all, we reluctantly admit we need it.

Commuting

cars, trucks, buses and

bicycles all have wheels that go round and round,

round and round, over snow, ice, asphalt, gravel

but only the last glides over this narrow bridge,

a whiff of fresh ice floats into my nostrils

the view fills my eyes and ears, the beauty

and the gentle sound of water rushing over

melting ice, each piece bobbing slightly as 

it releases from its parent, wavering 

in the ripple as if sad to say good-bye.

Even on this Sunday night

Even on this Sunday night, after family dinner,

children gone home, dishes done; it's late,

she's tired.

she goes upstairs, reverently releasing the two clasps

to open the flute case, delicately sliding the head joint onto

the body, then the foot onto the two joined pieces.

she raises it to her lips and plays,

first softly and slowly Moon over Ruined Castle, 

faster through Madrigal and then fastest yet through

Sonate,

dishes long forgotten, the upcoming work week of 

no concern, only the sound and the feel of her flute

vibrating in her hands, everything falls away, eventually

even her flute drops to her side as she delicately 

separates the head joint from the body, then the foot,

reverently placing each piece into the velvet case, 

pressing closed the two clasps, click, click.

even this Sunday,  late at night, this ritual

that ends as the moon rises overhead into an

otherwise velvet dark night.

A new book to read

it was a carefully selected book, you know,
since he reads voraciously and he may have read it.
I wrapped it in a rush before dinner, along with another
book that he would perhaps scoff at about careers
and life, but I'm his mother, I can give him these things.
he'd read the book, and loved it, and offered it to me
to read first, then he would read it again and we'd
talk.  that works for me, I am his mother and I
am always happy to find common ground with this
young man who towers over me, on his way to
interview for his first real job, carrying this book
I gave him that perhaps he will read on the plane.

Performing

it's over now, the well-practiced notes tumbled over each other
like a stream over rocks, sometimes big, sometimes small, each making
their own kind of music.
it was fun.

transient

water on a wall

soon to disappear under blazing sun,

a passer-by with her brush, dripping wet

she presses it against the smooth  hot stucco

the moisture transfers, droplets form and run

until they are gone again to air, it will

happen again and again until her brush

runs dry, and the road ends.

More smiles in 2014

I heard it on a Ted talk, that smiling makes

people have more confidence in you, that it erases years

from your appearance and best of all, most people smile back.

This year, I resolve to smile more and bark less, even when

I see teeth, or a growl is uttered under their breath, 

I'll smile anyway, that crooked one I have where my

gums show more on one side than the other, even 

though when I see it I'm a little self conscious about it.

smiling is good and it comes naturally, 

I hope everyone will smile back.