Happy Birthday, dear brother

Happy birthday, dear brother

the one who fixed my post box after a spree of vandalism

the one who held my hand through the flood of 2013

and who listens, sometimes with a wry smile.

happy birthday to my big brother who knows everything,

or at least thinks he does, I've learned to rely on him,

90% is good enough for me, the other 10% doesn't matter.

we used to promise to keep each other company in the nursing home

we both have wrinkles on our necks now

but have younger spouses

Stephen might be pushing me in my wheel chair

Chris might be pushing yours

maybe we will be pushed along side by side

things could be worse.

I'll treasure every day and every conversation with you,

dear brother, every fantastic dinner, every shared bottle of wine.

most of all, dear brother, I am so thankful for our 

conversations, our lunches and laughs, our dinners and delights,

thank you, dear brother, for being my friend. 

Color memories on paper

 this color memory on paper

leaning against the kitchen wall in a

house next to a lake.

boats rock in the water nearby

Christmas lights blink in the darkness.

I captured this image digitally

as was the parent of this color memory

on paper

on a Fall day a couple years ago.

there was a beautiful bride and a proud groom

to have finally captured his love

long enough to put a ring on her finger

and call her his wife.

she turned away to capture this color memory

on paper 

to admire her beautiful daughter and niece,

then turned back and smiled.

Still making cookies...two of us anyway

This year, they are healthy.

Whole wheat organic flour, sugar and butter,

they melt in our mouths.

One reads the newspaper and drinks milk.

The other two mix the dough, roll it out and

make cookies.

the one reading the paper eats them.

maybe one day his straw house will blow down

and the two women will be safe and sound in their

brick homes eating cookies they saved in the

freezer for such a day.

Finding happiness

Finding happiness in a half empty peanut butter jar,

A quiet spot at the kitchen table amidst the wrapping paper

And an empty suitcase

We have too much to justify.

my mother-in-law's T-shirt hangs loose on me

Everyone is winding down, books are open

Hallelujah, the TV is muted.

I'm nibbling a corner of chocolate chip cookie

Savoring a glass of wine and watching the second hand

Move around the clock.

There are Christmas lights reflecting off the lake

I'll go outside in the darkness,

In the silence with my half empty peanut butter jar

And realize it's half full with more than enough to share.

Capturing the holidays

Christmas eve
polenta and mushrooms
watercress salad and freshly baked bread
children who tower above me
a missing husband who is missed

Christmas morning
waffles, fruit divided into three bowls
so we all get some
otherwise it will all disappear into one mouth
we know who it is
presents of calendars of poems
pie server, agave, wine, an electric mixer
to replace the one from my first marriage,
the one that finally broke, was it the marriage or
the mixer
this new one,  sleek aqua body
completely redesigned beaters silently whip
the egg whites
I was amazed at their efficiency.

Christmas Eve Day

I promised I'd write a poem to
capture her disappearing into the distance on
her skate skis, a novice no more.
a few lessons from yours truly, and off she goes.
a rather awkward gazelle, still finding her legs,
but with boundless endurance, energy and
enthusiasm.
As soon as I catch up, breathing hard, she asks
if I'm ready in a cheery voice and takes off.
Ah, youth!
And so it goes, two rounds of Buckeye Basin,
back on Peterson's and up Roller Coaster.
I am so proud to have survived,
it was even great fun,

joy

the ion source lit up
that is joy after waiting a month
after another day of no success
that is joy
that means I can take a few days off
and not worry about science,
her reluctant secrets
buried in molecules, soils
and the open sky.
i'll sleep well tonight after
dodging capoeria kicks.
I launched a few of my own
in joy
and then we danced
until late into the evening.

Wandering through an iPhone

my brother isn't here.
he's the one who patiently shows me
the ins and outs, the pluses and minuses,
the right buttons for delete.
I think I deleted all my photos, or at least
some of them, the important ones.
maybe I stored them somewhere on the cloud
that doesn't really exist since I don't know
how to get there
do you
we all think our stuff is safely somewhere
since we will never need it again
it's probably all a scam
lots of money is made
my brother is watching a woman
dance with fire on a beach in Mexico
it's cold and dark here and
I have lost my photos
precious photos.

the new you

the new you
shinier, more colorful, topped out!
smiling, radiant, ready
for the new year,
the new job,
the new place!
but alas, away from me,
your dear mother, so keep the
smile going for me, dear daughter,
it warms my heart,
it makes me smile
your topper of a green bow and
red and gold trailing tresses suits you,
my Karen, who will always be my little
girl, no matter how grown up.

Making quiche

I gave away the cook-book,

but don't tell Steve, it was such a thoughtful gift

except I couldn't read most of it.

such specialized language for cooking!

I know where it is, on the bookshelf of my 

Canadian friend and she sent me the one

recipe I desperately needed

quiche lorraine with four eggs and 30 cl of 

creme fraiche.

better yet, my daughter will make it for me

for the double Eve of Christmas Eve.

how yummy,

how delightful!

capoeira in a tiny space

i fear
i will kick the iron radiator behind me,
push over the music stand in front,
on one side the wall, a bed frame across.
the rug burns my feet, but the wood floor will freeze them
i'm too old for this
but i'll keep trying like a baby learning to crawl,
a little every day, a few minutes to go with
flute or a poem.
ah, the dishes call to me and then nighttime
will cradle me in her arms and sleep will
come quickly.

Friends

the woman in the back is eating cake,

I know, because I could hardly pull myself away.

Diane was wearing a black sheath showing off her

sculpted shoulders, I was wearing red at my very own

little black dress holiday party, I was holding a glass of

red wine, but had to put it down.

who are these people, my friends, 

Michele, who speaks six languages fluently,

LeRoy, we carpooled for several years, always

dropping my kids at school on the way, we repeated

ourselves so many times we had hand signals to indicate

another repeat.

Barry and Paula, his family, a woman in the back who I

can't quite make out, but I think it's Susan

who works too hard and needs to find a way to

have more fun and the big goof in the back,

my husband, Stephen, peeking over everyone's 

heads.

and me, looking happy, being happy

amongst all my friends.

a little boy grown big

milk shake with whipped cream on top,

3-d glasses in hand,

a smile as wide as a Nebraska horizon

his whole body wagging like a puppy

in heaven,

he's ready!

Movie night at the cinema,

Star Wars!

Storm Troopers against Rebels,

Flying machines, mid-air collisions,

Darth Vader and the Force of the Jedi,

the milkshake will somehow disappear

even though we're on a diet,

and we'll forget politics for a moment,

Good will triumph in the galaxy!

I remember

I remember.

a small boy running hell-fire around

the house, sputtering, roaring, his fighter jet

whirling and spinning, finally crashing to the

ground amidst the sounds of explosions,

the cries of wounded soldiers and tanks

rushing to the site of the crash.

it was this jet.

the paint job could be improved

but otherwise not the worse for wear.

the small boy is now a man

chasing after other things that fly

for real this time, although

not intended for war.

the only sounds are those of the birds,

a rushing river, the sound of a city street,

the drone of a motorcycle climbing impossibly

steep hillsides

his flying machine is a mere glint in the sky

it watches him from on high.

The disappearing RSVP

What happened to the RSVP?
You know, where you let a host know you'll be coming,
That little nicety of saying hey, thanks for the invite,
I'd love to come,
That little nicety of saying hey, thanks for inviting me,
So sorry to miss it
Let's catch up soon
Happy holidays.
What happened to hand written invitations that
Reliably arrive in a mailbox
Eagerly opened, treasured
Now an eVite, never received, or worse,
Viewed, but never replied,
Maybe something better will come up.
What happened to the RSVP, gone the way of
Other good manners I grew up with
I must be old.

Contamination by silicone

 silicone creeps along surfaces

from the oven mitts you treasure in your kitchen drawer,

the hand lotion you love, the bathroom caulk.

it crept into the cleaning lab and contaminated the

surfaces and their minds

all of a sudden unable to process the simplest things

their words sticky against each other, their minds

dulled as if encased in glue

silicone contaminates a meeting

it's no longer engaging or new, it's the 

same old same old, who did, what happened

when and how to rearrange everything in 

their tidy compartmentalized jobs

silicone is messy but so 

is life.

between the snow and the sky

between the snow and the sky

a verdant hillside of pine trees

their lovely smell reminds me of Christmas

their branches are covered in snow, like

icing on a gingerbread house

on the hillside,  

our skis find a path through the forest,

the silence broken by an occasional bird

the twang of skis flexing and releasing

on every glide.

this strip of dark green

held between the overcast clouds and

snow holds beauty, smell, feel,

sound and vision,

we hear the silence between

our skis.

(not) losing weight

really

calories don't count because the scale keeps 

                  going up and up and up

even though we're not eating any more than usual,

my friend and me,

a cup of yougurt:  137 calories

half cup of fruit:  42 calories

all said and done, less than allotted for today

and yesterday and the day before

she says she's puffy and bloated,

the little pouch on my tummy is still soft

and little spare tires are growing

but today I started counting and

I'm hungry

I don't like dieting.

my new bike

I got my new bike today

tomorrow I'll kick ass.

those  who have whizzed by me all these years

they will only see a streak of red go by

and feel the wind against their faces

I'll disappear into the distance

leaving them far behind

I'll feel so strong, so powerful.

no more stressing about working out,

about not working out.

I'd rather write poetry and make music.

tonight I'd watch TV but my love

is too tired so I'll read my book

and fall asleep, dreaming of my

new bike.

an invitation

if you are reading this,
come join our party.
we will be merry around a Christmas tree,
wine will freely flow
chocolates will melt on our tongues
the pungent smell of French cheese will fill our nostrils
the dog will be hoping for fallen crumbs
her nose close to the ground
her tail will brush against our stockinged legs
come join our party,
we welcome you to our midst
drink to holiday cheer.

frozen solid

it will be -4 tonight.
frost will form inside the double paned windows
there is no such thing as perfection.
a breeze will blow off the windows
there is no such thing as a perfect seal
when it comes to the shifting of an old house
that has seen floods, freezes and the killing heat
of a relentless dry sun.
i would freeze, my lips blue, the tears would turn to ice
i am glad to be inside where it is warm,
where a cozy bed awaits me,
I am thankful to be alive in this place
in this moment.
I am lucky not to be frozen solid.

innovation

i visited this place where a building was labeled

New Ideas, the Production building was down the street.

everyone looked smart and capable,

crisp, their brains were whirring with creativity

it was frightening and I wanted to get away.

they came up with ideas like

automobiles stacked one above the other, 

the ugliest building in the world,

each customer had to make an appointment

to get her car.

in my town, I see young men with man buns

and young women with tattoos on their forearms,

they are making new ideas.

I hope they are less frightening.

packing for Mars 2020

I'll wear my nicest pants and my black cashmere sweater.
this is what women think of when they'll be in a review
with the unknowns, mostly white middle aged men.
I could be surprised.
I'll bring my big brain and hope to get a chance to use it,
considering I have no review materials ahead of time
I'll wing it.
that's what the big boys do without hesitation,
I can do that, too
in my cashmere sweater and nice pants.

Supply Chain

Supply Chain.
A chain which prevents movement forward
A faceless crowd of bureaucrats ensnared in
rules of their own making,
Separation of church and state is nothing
compared with the separation of purchase
requisitions and purchase orders. notwithstanding
the material requisition which no one seems to
know how it is made, nor where it is needed.
I wait impatiently, I try to do their job
for them.
I need my project to move forward.

it's been ten days and nothing has been
ordered yet.
The Chain is around my neck,
strangling me and my
creativity.

fighting fascism in my country

I'll never call him President.
Presidents don't tweet and bully,
lie and humiliate all who are not
white and male.
he is setting up the apparatus to destroy
my country, a country of immigrants, of freedom,
still one of hope.
I will fight, I will march, I will call,
I will speak against injustice,
I will send money,
Most of all, I promise myself that
I will not be silent.
I must not be silent.

Sulfamethoxazole fatigue

sulfamethoxazole:
bone crushing fatigue
gravity alone keeps a person from rising
in the morning
bones and muscles complain of being
too tired to move
yet
the dog must be walked
the birdfeeder is empty
I have a job
and sleep evades me.
so unfair and yet it's worth it
as in sleeplessness I do not cough
nor do I snore or sneeze
I am not banished to the upstairs bed
where the sheets are cold and lonely.
I just lie quietly in bed
listening to his rhythmic
breathing, feeling the warmth
of his body.

no response

every time i go east

i call, i text, i email

he used to have a separate bedroom

for his parakeet, Zola.

he never replies

even though he is a writer

of very short prose

it would not be that hard to

email me, text me, write me, phone me

send a postcard of Fenway Field,

i know he loves that place.

our backdoors once opened onto the 

same stairwell.

one year he gave me an address book

with a woodblock print on the front.

i still have it

it still has his address in it.

the power of imagination

Actually,

let's not be in the moment,

although

we swelter in the sun, our eyes peering through slits

towards shimmering mirages, our minds take us

to crystal-clear cenotes and Mayan ruins, the 

cool water flows over our bare skin.

let's not be here in the classroom, bored out of our minds,

when we can compose a symphony, conduct a 100

person orchestra.

we'll listen when there is something worth hearing.

where the human imagination can go,

let it go.

the cleaning of dirty dishes does not require the full mind.

I'd rather dream of walking through alpine meadows, 

imagining lying in the softest warmest bed with a good novel,

the dishes can mind their own selves,

they do not need my full attention.

possibilities

one can go anywhere.
across the expanses of deserts, along a beach,
up mountains, endless roadways facing the wind.
I'll be there.
there are endless possibilities
with a rain coat, a wind jacket and a good helmet,
a friend, a brother, myself with the songs
of birds on the wire.
we'll go anywhere with our hat in hand,
bound to earth by the steady hum of tire on pavement,
a whir of a motor helping us along.
we could all use a hand.
buy an electric bike.

Learning to carve a turkey

thank goodness for YouTube videos,

for sharp knives,

It's Thanksgiving and thank goodness

for friends and family who brought

apple pies and pumpkin pie,

for mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce,

brussel sprouts and freshly baked bread.

thank goodness for our lives,

how privileged are our lives.

in anticipation

in anticipation
of turkey, of friends and family,
of pumpkin and apple pies.
in anticipation of warmth and the smooth
feel of wine, of slippers on a cold floor,
of a dog that optimistically awaits left-overs.
in anticipation of thanksgiving,
or recognizing all we have to be thankful for,
of friends from far-away
met long ago,
those eating Italian food,
Russian and Vietnamese,
of sadness for those who have hunger
and pain, war and loss.
in anticipation
I await tomorrow,
a warm house welcoming
to all.

youth and old age

to be young
to know so much and so little
at the same moment.
we have heated arguments at dinner.
a quick immature mind does not yet
know wisdom.
oh, to be old, to use a walker,
to vaguely remember what was once
so sharp, at the tip of your tongue.
where we once pranced, we now roll
slowly, and will eventually roll to
a stop.
a passage to an unknown.
we traverse this landscape,
watching those behind us,
believing we truly remember what
we were like,
watching those ahead, and knowing
that we cannot know.
So, we watch.

Building community one glass of wine, one pancake, at a time

after the election
some will turn away from the ugliness,
cancelling newspaper subscriptions
erasing FaceBook accounts,
Twitter - into the trash.
close your eyes, cover your ears, see nothing
and hope this bad dream will go away.
it will not
We will raise a glass on a snowy winter evening
and open our front door to strangers
in a small hope that they will come.
We will offer warm pancakes on a spring morning
in the hope that strangers will eat.
We hope to learn their names and where they live.
We hope to paint a park bench together
in brilliant red with yellow suns.
We will try to remember what we value and
believe in spite.
In spite of this election,
we must go on.

showing up

you work hard
steadily, heading for mastery
always falling short of perfection
how human we are.
yet, you show up with a runny nose
and an unpleasant cough.
you put the flute to your lips,
drain the tension from head to toe
watching it flow away from you.
play with all your heart.

talking with someone who already knows

he needed an answer
urgently,
he needed my expertise, my experience,
but
then he talked at me about
his point of view, his solution,
his analysis.
ill-informed, ignorant on the topic.
I waited and then asked what the
question really was,
not being clear at all.
he was paying me to listen,
apparently.
red in the face, seeking an answer
from me, he finally paused
and stopped talking.
that was a good start.

Cleaning the refrigerator.

the refrigerator was full but there was no food
except for a few hard-boiled eggs, some yogurt,
a salad spinner full of spring mix.
and the shelves were dirty.
I started looking for expiration dates
on the three jars of pickles,
really?
I never eat pickles, or the jalapeno jam,
the leftovers in the back, the olives stuffed with
garlic
he says he likes them
not enough to eat them though
apparently
black bean sauce, fish sauce, red and green curry
the aspiration of cooking was hidden back there
somewhere
maybe hidden behind the tahini sauce
doesn't that spoil,
or the miso or coconut oil that has
congealed in the back for the last year
I know it's healthy.

stop and join the rat race

I know this stop sign.

it used to be down the street but now

in this garbage strewn back alley,

it calls on us to stop and read the writing on the wall.

Join the rat race.

my dog looks for treats as I consider the commands,

ending up not sure if I'm already part of it, the rat race,

or 

whether the stop sign supercedes the writing.

perhaps stop being in the rat race after having joined it?

bella didn't find any good food so we meandered

on home for breakfast.

I'll have to think on it.

being sick

temporarily out of commission
fuzzy brain, a hacking cough,
too sick to work, mathematical errors may result
in satellites exploding during launch,
a centimeter is not an inch
a foot is not a meter nor is a pascal a unit of length
these are such important things
whereas the hosts in westworld regain memories
i only forget all too quickly.
i will never forget the giddiness of electing our
first black president, nor the despair of others
having elected a demogogue
let him be permanently out of commission
for his years in office and let those with
intelligence and compassion run our
beloved country.

Drawing a blank

I need silence to think.
Redwoods, the explosion of wave against rock,
The ocean,  I mean the silence of solitude.
I need rest to recover
From fun, people, travel
Depleted, I need to sleep, to stop conversation,
I need a world of peace,
Of belief in equality and compassion,
Not what the leaders of this country are
Offering, I need solace
I need optimism,
I need silence.

what have you heard

what have you heard these

last 1400 years, dear tree, I beg you to tell me.

what can you teach us in these troubled times

I can hear the wind whisper 

but cannot understand the words

your lowest branches tower so far above me.

your bark is dark and rough, 

you straddle the earth and sky, 

sugar from sunshine,

a network of fungus bringing nutrients to your roots,

you feed them in return.

this is your lesson.

we are all interdependent

we need each other.

a rare gem

she's a rare gem
in a simple blue dress,
no need for heels.
clear skin,
no need for heavy makeup.
open smile that welcomes
innocence and intellect intermeshed
rare indeed.

Choking up on the bus

she held strong in the face of defeat,
I didn't as tears rolled down my cheeks on
the airport bus.
calling us to hold strong to our beliefs and values
in the face of ugliness and hatred.
i can hardly hold myself, much less the
world.
her voice hardly cracked and she smiled at times,
waved her classic Hillary wave.
I knew it was good-bye for now,
not knowing if she would get back in any
ring to fight again,
we know we must again
for now, let us grieve and rest.

Too depressed for words tonight

Can this be true?
that our country has chosen a misogynistic, racist, narcissist
for president?
how horribly shameful.

what a terrible blow
after four years with a graceful
president,
Mr. Barack Obama.

O, I cry for our country.

Playing capoeira

I am a child
playing capoeira.
I am a child
watching capoeira, graceful
dance, the only
sound that of bare feet on floor,
the movement of air.
inverted body balanced
on one arm, flipping, tumbling
legs kicking, partner ducking,
then swinging round
to find air.
I am a child playing capoeira,
learning to crawl,
watching the others
dance.

Cutting rocks

rocks,
glaciers cut through them, scouring through a millenia
deep down to where dinosaurs once roamed.
a present day archeologist sharpens her tools to
excavate fossilized bones from the rock strewn steppe
pushed from below.
look, the jackhammer has penetrated through
rock into an ancient kiva.
our progeny will pull up thick layer of plastic
pristine as the day they were manufactured.
we cut rocks called diamonds,
formed by the extreme pressures in the earth.
Rock, scissors, paper.
we cut rocks and paper,
we have learned to write.

how could I forget

how could I forget that on Thursday nights
I still want to write a poem
even if I'm tired,
that time with the husband is important,
that the tomatoes need to be picked before a frost.
I forget,
I forget correct grammar, even in English,
much less in French.
I forget my childrens' birthdays and
what combination of layers do  I need.
A sweater and a jacket for 40F,
or just a warm sweater
I remember that I'll be jogging.
How could I forget to respond to my friend,
Scratchy, but I did and just remembered now.
Hello, Scratchy!
how could I forget?
I'm not sure, but
I did
and
I do.

best friends

after he took off his tux
after he accepted yet another award,
he put on his jeans and old sweatshirt and
we had dinner, the three of us.
he has three pairs of glasses now,
one to examine small features in his laboratory,
one for the computer
and one for looking at faces and road signs.
he likes freckles, I know this about him.
we met on a windy beach 40 years ago
and then we found each other again
like shells on a beach that you pick up
and realize how beautiful they are.

and when...

and when we have turned to dust

and mud and clay,

we will return, my love as cast iron,

in an eternal embrace, you will hold my

hand and dance to the same rhythm.

you will not step on my feet and 

we will celebrate all holidays

including Halloween.

On Christmas you will dusted

in the purest white snow

like Santa Claus.

On Valentine's Day I will hold a

bouquet of roses,

Adults in Halloween Costumes

Cover a balding head with a
purple and yellow pom-pom from her high school days.
white and black paint to cover a few shaving cuts,
whatever happened to his lovely beard,
she is lovely, with or without her mask,
her black cloak dating from high school.
his black cloak from middle school,
old costumes never go away,
I'm wearing my apron and cooking pumpkin seeds,
the kids are busy trick or treating
in other neighborhoods.
If there are to be costumes, we must don
them ourselves.

I have the easy life

I know I have the easy life.
the sun shines in my window most every day and
as I bike to work, my lunch settled into the bottom of the
bag a dear friend provided for me, leaves crunching under my tires,
I know I'm lucky, I have an easy life.
I'm eating fresh cherry pie from a lovely neighbor,
my jeans fit just right and
I got new shower curtains for the downstairs bath.
my bed is soft,
I get hugs when I want them
I just got back from visiting a dear friend.
I have such an easy life, there is no hardship,
my children are healthy and independent,
the dog doesn't bark when we're away.
the only thing I would change is Bella's habit
for rolling in stinky things.

Arriving in Minneapolis

The flight attendant goaded us to laugh at his terrible jokes
The only thing that would be free on this flight
I knew this, but still didn't laugh
I stretched out across three seats and drank my
$7 red wine, adequate for the task.
We flew in low over Minneapolis, lights
Dancing over the runway, the pilot executed
A perfect landing.
My friend arrived at door #2 as soon as I texted her
Fifteen years ago we hugged good-bye
It was good to hug hello.

seeds like fish

I swam in a school of fish like this,

my body whirling as one of them in warm waters.

I stirred the seeds in a white bowl and 

they swarmed like fish in an ocean

following unseen currents, head to tail

the outer ones flashing their wide backs,

the inner ones swimming sideways

crammed against one another, finally

diving deep below before rising up

at the very edges only to circle

inwards once again.

Disappearing Images

the image disappeared in front of my eyes

one moment, a swirl of black on white

connecting curvatures of beauty

as water is wont to do, each molecule rose

from the surface into the air I breathe

leaving white below

until finally, the design had disappeared into

thin air.

(this image is from the little Budha board I have at work..you paint on it with water and watch it disappear.)

golden grasses

the golden grasses,

they are ready to rest, to lay down on 

one another, to let the snow fall over them,

a comforter of white.

the path will still be broken in the winter

by the thousands of feet walking 

walking, running, hiking, most talking

of nonsense, the same nonsense I hear

in my own head, the words that deny

the overwhelming beauty of this natural 

world, the one to pay attention to,

to stop talking, to listen, to see,

to sing.

Money

Sometimes it's money.
When I walk inside the drab building
When I walk inside my windowless office
And the sun is shining outside, or it's raining
Or snowing, but it's ....outside
Where I want to be.
I can convince myself this where I need to be
If I imagine the whirring sound of an ATM
Except it's my computer and every few minutes,
A crisp bill comes out and drops into my purse.
Payment for borrowing my brain for a bit
And I think of what I can do with that money,
A trip to Mexico in March,
An electric bike,
Savings for sunny days when I don't have to go
Into a windowless office in a drab building.
Adventures, visits to friends and family,
Food on the table, flute lessons
And French, and it feels better somehow
To be in that office.
Just keep that cash machine
Whirring.

Mille Bornes, deuxième fois

I lost again
In spite of having a smart partner
Sitting across from me, her cards
Held close to her chest.
I had hoped for better, had hoped to
Hammer the two white males on the opposite
Side of the table, so to speak.
We lost but we laughed along the way
And on on the ride home, when I said it was all
About luck, he told me that every card game takes
 Skill, and I don't have it.

this is the outcome

this is the outcome of first setting eyes on the Rocky Mountains,
of gazing back through the rear window of our 1968 Packard
while heading home, east to Chicago.
I never called it home except in name alone
333 South Highland Avenue, a place of mostly unhappiness,
a shell to hold books to keep me entertained, to live in another world.
and this poem, written a day later than planned, is the outcome of
the squirrely nature of internet connections on the second floor
of this old house,
this old house that is home in all ways,
where a poem starts to write itself and gets paused
for no real reason except for the above stated vagaries.
and so life traveling across the plains in a Packard wagon,
throwing up out the back window since I always got stuck
back there and so car sick,
I ended up here in the beautiful Rocky Mountains
where I belong.

eating cookies while watching

we could eat chocolate chip cookies while
watching the Trump-Clinton debate
but I couldn't walk the dog without falling off the curb.
I  admit that before checking my injuries I
checked to make sure no one saw me.
yes, my hand and my hip hurt
and all the cookies are eaten so there is
nothing to ease the pain and embarrassment.
speaking of embarrassment, does that man have
no shame, making faces and spewing lies,
not even signing up to accept the election results,
maybe he has fallen off too many curbs.

I'll keep him

I'll keep him,
he has a generous smile
and ambles along amiably with whatever
or whoever comes his way.
he makes a mean margarita and knows
how to grill like every man should.
he hugs me at night and tells me I'm beautiful,
even when he says I think too much,
he says it nicely.
I've kept him longer than any other
and it's not just that I'm too tired to go for
number four.
He's the best mate for me.

Watching capoeira

bodies dancing at a distance
a side kick sails over the other's head
as he bows, then springs forth with a full
frontal kick as the other side steps
as they have for centuries,
practicing for battle,
never touching the ones
they love.

Selling used books and clothes

Is it worth it
to trot out your old things
to bring to a second hand store,
the ones that can still be worn, that should be
worn, that still call to be loved
by someone else -
how about those books that still look new
that should be read by someone else,
not left to rot in a damp dumpster to be
churned into a new roll of toilet paper,
these things seem too precious to throw away.
that goes against my grain.
regardless of The Magic Art of Throwing Out,
the book I read and want to sell back
because it's not really my way.
I guess it's worth trotting out my old
to find a new home, and to buy their old
as it needs a new home.
I am happy to provide it.

Mille Bornes

J’étais la directrice,
reining in the slightly tipsy joueurs,
directing them to play their hand, no
not that one, tu as une carte "crevée"!
jette une carte, et prends une autre.
Ok, toi, c'est ton tour.
And so, it went, me directing every player
to take their turn and, surtout a Michele
de ne pas tricher!
Oui, il nous manquait 10 cartes sur 112,
mais pour notre niveau, ça ne fait rien.
Joan a insiste a suivre les règles, mais
je l'ai ignore.
Ce sont mes cartes de jeu, quand même,
celles que j'ai joue comme enfant,
comme mère des jeunes enfants.
Je sais bien les règles, celles que
je choisis.

Saying

I said she looked young for her age,  I noted
         the smooth jawline, firm skin, a nice smile.
she said she worked for the post office delivering mail
         for many years
she must have worn sunscreen religiously and a hat.
we said the young couple across the table were
          good together, that they would go the distance.
he said he was on a plane all the time for his job
          but it was only 45 minutes to the airport at 4 am.
          we ate good food and drank wine and cocktails,
         I asked how long they had been married and
he said 42 years
          that's a long time
               I hadn't even gotten married the first time.
          they seem like super nice people
We said that we'd look forward to seeing them
          again soon.

the very tiny neighborhood meeting

the outgoing officers were there,
seated at the big table.
the remaining three of us were scattered about,
trying to look invisible, to dodge being elected
for tasks for the next year.
two of us were prepared, we knew we
would have to dive in again,
head first, headstrong, ideas,
do, ask forgiveness later.
neighbors are like family, you can
never get rid of them so you try your
best to get along, sometimes it's harder
than other times.
I try to stay focused on getting something done
regardless, and if they want to come along,
that would make it easier.

Si jamais

Si jamais,
no one from the group responds within 24 hours,
I'll read my own book with my favorite cup of tea. Or
I'll call a friend who actually shows up
even if it's just for a bit, or to play some cards.
the others will miss the laughter when she
puts her "Crevée" card on my 200
and we'll even share a bottle of champagne.
Si jamais, someone from the group responds
at the 11th hour, we'll invite her, too,
but she will have missed the first hand
the most important one.

Life is Elsewhere

I reached across the shelf for a book of poetry.

Milan Kundera pointed out that Life is Elsewhere,

not in a poem, or in this room, not in this city

or this mind,

yet elsewhere.

I seek it, this elsewhere

even far from the beautiful mountains,

the bike path and this room filled with radiant

sun bouncing off yellow walls late in the afternoon.

life is so short and he says

it's elsewhere,

with a new preface,

the cover illustration of a dog in a suit

looking across a forest of a woman's 

torso and breasts, her chin tilted towards 

the sky.

maybe she is looking elsewhere.

up with the sun

tawny grasses contrast with the

pine forests behind us

it's early yet 

and quiet

the shadows are still long

the buttons on my sweater are 

opening now to the heat of the sun

when I wake in the dark

I have to remember this beauty

to rouse myself

the dog is waiting at the door

as I pull on my clothes

and grab the car keys.

when I feel the cold morning

on my face on the other side of the door, 

I remember how this wakes 

me up to beauty.

what is boredom

what is boredom but
a lack of imagination
not bothering to get out of bed
to explore the world,
not bothering to stay in bed while
imagining new worlds of ideas,
composing poems in your head,
concertos or feeling the muscles in your
toes move as you stretch them.
what is boredom but a certain laziness,
why not come up with 10 new ideas,
I did that one day.
the choice is yours, my friend.
push past boredom or at least
find it interesting!

Straightening up

it's time to be a grown-up.

no need to keep buying bags of spices from 

organic hippy shops to save ten cents,

for them to gather dust in a handwoven basket

for the next ten years.

let the herbs drift into the compost bin

and the plastic bags melt into new

picnic tables for the next generation.

in the morning, I want to see a clean kitchen

counter and a clear space for my breakfast,

a place to put my tea cup and the morning news.

it's time to grow up and 

move past clutter and disarray, to put away

my clothes and rake the yard.

No one is making me do it anymore so

there is no one to fight against,

I just like it more this way.

Looking for a prompt and finding one

I watched the movie Young Frankenstein at the theatre tonight.
Before the show, there was a screening of Mel Brooks at a theatre somewhere,
slowly climbing three stairs to a large stage.
His tie was garish and crooked, and his face was gutted by age.
a few of his old cronies were in the audience, the rest are dead now.
he will be, too, probably soon.
the film was funny but I kept thinking of the conveyor belt of life,
like the toasters at restaurants where the bread goes in soft and white
on the left, travels through a heat zone and drops out the other side brown
and crunchy.  Sometimes it falls in the trash.  Mostly it gets eaten, nutrition
for another life.
I think about these things alot
I see the youngster in every old face, a jump and a hop in each
leaden step, the bright eyes behind every cataract.
I wonder if everyone goes through this phase of looking
at death, not imminent, but creeping up every minute, hour and day.
the years go by and Mel Brooks and Gene Hackman are very old.
President Obama entered office with black hair and is now grey.
I enjoyed the movie and I laughed.
It was a good movie.

PHOTOGRAPH BY ALI BERRADA,

Nusil CV-2946

Confirmation of the perfect process,

Nusil buttered into the slot of a 3D printed template, 

leveled with a steel ruler and with the template lifted off,

the exact right thickness of a perfectly formed

rectangle of Nusil CV-2946, expertly

handled with white gloves,

all this in preparation for bonding two surfaces

bound for GEO.

and yet, remember that this all started with 

peanut butter smeared into a template cut out

from old business cards at my desk

 in a windowless office

in a non-descript office building.

This is likely not the NASA way.

It is my way.

dawn

two pink sneakers

four paws

we hit the pavement at dawn,

winding our way through the  neighborhood,

past the Garden, 

skipping across Arapahoe 

headlights are few and far between.

across the bridge into a small forest

the air is cool 

leaves crisp under our feet

it's fall and clouds explode in pinks

and yellows, orange and blue.

Suspend this moment

in time!

cracks in the rock

just as water turns to ice
and back again, the relentlessness
a fissure forms in solid rock
just as one tooth grinds against the other
the smallest crack opens up
a cavity, tiny opening where
it festers
this hurt in my heart
that no dentist can fix
no steady snow fall will fill
it aches
a bit more with every chafe
and innocent comment
not meant to force open the
tiny cracks, not meant to chill
my bones like cold air on a broken tooth.
no one knows but you
but how long can it stay this
way

As America sleeps

As America sleeps

across the nation, husbands snore quietly

while their wives grind their teeth,

my daughter smacks her lips,

Presidential Nominee Donald Trump 

tweets

into the darkness from his tall tower

of wealth.

he is alone.

there is no one to stop him.

no one really cares.

we are dreaming of a peaceful America

with no wars, good schools and food for all,

or maybe we are dreaming of flying above

the trees, or of dogs chasing us down a street.

surely, we are not tweeting,

least of all about ourselves.

the empty house next door

they finally moved away
finally
to a bigger house for their bigger everythings
they seemed nice until they weren't,
insulted that you didn't bend to their demands
I just wanted peace
I wanted to like them
but they worked hard to chisel away the good will
I am not perfect.
the house is empty
the windows are dark
and their big white SUV is gone
An opportunity lost to have been friends
but I don't think they have regrets
they are the center of a buzzing hive,
honey drips from their fingertips.

the witness of long time friendship

she has known me since my kids were infants, toddlers.
she saw me through two divorces, even though she had officiated
for the second wedding. to a narcisstic womanizer.
that one ended
and we both celebrated the ending once I stopped crying.
and tonight we have two drinks each and talk about her
kids who are now, presumably, adults, not really.
and I have witnessed her divorces and her babies grow
to adulthood, kind of,
and we can laugh and compare wrinkles and talk about
the botox that we haven't had yet, or never, and the women who have
who look younger, maybe, than us, but rather
well, artificial.
is that better.
she is still so beautiful and she claims I will always
look young, and that my long hair suits me, why not,
we can do what we want,
and why not.
I saw a woman in the airport a few years ago,
she had long silvery grey hair and as I passed her
I admired her slim body in jeans and a sweater and
her freckles and I knew I wanted to look like her
when I was that age.
and my friend will still have chiseled cheek bones
and beautiful layered hair that hides her big ears,
of which she is self conscious.
we will laugh at the escapes of our 50 something
kids, who maybe have still not grown up.

I remember

I remember this lake.

Nepal, in love, 25 years old

so thin and sick, actually,

the lake was beautiful

and we drank mango lassis every 

morning to recover, to regain 

our strength, we smiled at one 

another, so young, so innocent.

33 years later, I look at this photo

of me, so young and innocent,

so beautiful, on my first honeymoon

with my children's father

he gazed at me and the camera found

me in that moment of openness

and love for him.

it's still there in its own little way.

Really?

you're really undecided
between a well educated, smart, poised woman
and a rambling, cheating tax evader?
really?
you mumble reasons about needing a change
in the system, how he speaks to "us",
the ones who believe Muslims should be blocked
from this country, the one built on the backs and minds
of immigrants,
"us", the ones who believe a woman should be at home
and that law and order is all that is needed to solve the
black problem, that fear the reality that the power
of the uneducated white man is coming to an end,
good riddance to that.
a small voice makes you undecided, a small voice
resonating in the cranial cavity that knows that Trump
is not the answer, does not have answers, nor the
capacity to find them.
there is a little voice that knows that she is
the better candidate even if she is a woman,
even if she lies sometimes and you don't like her.
she is the better candidate,
so damn it, go vote for her.

just us

mice rustled in the dry grasses

birds circled

the winds sighed 

early morning,

a woman and her dog stroll

up a quiet trail

there is no one

no voices, no throngs

crowding each other

just us

and the mice

and the birds

the everyday

I went to work
listening to the latest commentary on Hillary versus Trump
as the wheels of my bike turned round and round
like the wheels on the bus
I loved that song.
I smeared peanut butter into a slot cut out of plastic sheet
to simulate smearing silicone adhesive into a 3-d printed
template on the surface of a heat pipe
deep inside a telescope.
they may laugh at me, but I saved them money.
Fast spinning asteroids don't pull apart -
just like columns of flour don't collapse.
we know this from experiments on the kitchen table.
when the propane tank is empty, the salmon didn't cook anymore.
the flute exercises are hard and discourging so I take lots
of breaks and write poetry.

Empowering Women

we are empowered to wear ridiculously tight jeans

and high heels for all our outfits,

from stillettos for suits 

wedge sandals for summer

and high heeled boots for fall

we are liberated with our beautiful calves

and tight butts, our aching backs,

bunions and corns on our feet

all in the name of womens' lib we

compete with each other for the best botox,

how many colors we can weave through our hair,

makeup and face lifts

we are so beautifully liberated.