Live a little

the first ingredient, sugar. 

Add vodka

the last, stevia,

add water.

Mix some grey with brown,

distinguished.

ignore the person laughing behind your back

live a little

even if it tastes bad

in the end.

it's worth taking the risk.

Multi-generational scientists

Blast-off!  

The Falcon 9 rocket lifts off - 

enveloped in smoke and fire, the roar

of its powerful Merlin engines propelling it into

blue skies

Rapt, we watched, even little Felix,

propping himself up to study every 

stage of the trajectory, Mimi

providing commentary on blanket billowing,

Mira doing the countdowns for first stage release

Mimi waiting for fairing deployment, all of us cheering 

at the successful landing of the first stage.

then rushing back to the table to

eat warm waffles drenched in 

syrup, covered in blueberries.

Mira and her Mom

As she rushes toward Mom,

the white polka dotted green skirt

flaring behind her, as if a breeze

were blowing her hair behind her,

Mom, tall and elegant, turns to 

face her, looking down sympathetically,

mid-stride, she will, no doubt,

squat down to eye-level and discuss

the major issues of Mira's moment,

immersing herself in a world far

from climate and war, from groceries

and lunch menus, the rain, everything

else will dissolve into meaninglessness

as she gazes into Mira's face

waiting to listen, listen very

carefully

Rutherford and Jupiter

Now that Mom is gone, they walk

side by side, Jupiter pulling Rutherford to

smell at this tree, and Rutherford asking Jupiter

to wait while he does his business. 

Amazing synchronicity and patience,

side by side, then being pulled back

towards each other,

if only we were tethered to one another

and forced to wait, we would learn to do it

with grace and understanding.

My friend, Cobus

his frame filled the door

muscles bulging after deadlifting 420 pounds

enormous thighs and, and dare I say,

a bit of a gut, 

bursting with friendliness 

we embraced, my smile buried

in the chest of his pink sweatshirt.

Saying good-bye

Lopsided and peeling

precious

what small hands carefully painted

only to endure rain and snow,

searing sun and heat

Yet

The unmade decision whether to save

or give

tired me

In the hope of a new home,

a steady hand securing the lopsided

tilt, a beautiful plant

reaching for the sun.

Peeling off the sticker

I did forget to peel off the sticker and 

she spotted the white sliver on the sliced apple.

The loss, in not peeling, was that

I did not see what was underneath,

the multi-colored streaks of red, orange and yellow,

that beauty was concealed, 

there was no admirer, 

I did not see the world reflected on

the shiny surface, the knife simply sliced

through the sticker, the slice tossed 

into the bowl.

I would never have noticed, or cared,

until I thought about what I had missed.

Missing Cali

it was the last walk for awhile with two black dogs.

The little one, nose to the ground, looking for food,

Cali, head up, looking ahead for squirrels!

The man holding the leashes, the one attached

to these two dogs, no stronger love or link,

I think

Dogs, bike, wife, in that order

and the big dog, Cali, she has gone

away for a bit,

Bella sulks as the house is empty 

without her cousin, Cali. 

Inspired by Taylor Swift

Taylor Swift, 

the woman who makes earthquakes 

by telling her truth, our truth, the betrayed,

the loved, the ignored, the alone

she inspires me to tell my real

stories that matter, the one about the husband 

finding his gun, but  no bullets, the one about 

the man in the park unbuttoning my blouse,

the one about being locked out of the lab, for

telling the truth, the science one,

and the story of today rising early to make an

apple galette, to make someone happy, someone

who I love.

I'm not a baby anymore

I'm not a baby anymore, cradled in a blue plastic bike seat

I'm in Mimi's seat, straddling the back wheel, comfy on 

my black padded cushion; I hold the bars and lean into

the curves

I'm a big girl now, and I make my own 

"disishions"on which way to go on my scooter.

Adults can barely keep up, I am so fast.

My baby Felix still has to ride in

his hard plastic seat, but now I can reach 

back and pinch him more easily.

What a big girl I am, watch me grow!

A memory

a memoir, a captured smile, twin smiles even

I don't know how to write

yet

I will, one day this image will

embed itself in a story 

of a life well lived

in spite

I'll read the others

their stories will join the river  of stories

of love, love lost, birth death and 

other

The scent of magnolia

Giving life

blood

deep red, a warm line on the arm

eery, we submit to the vampire in the name

of life, we come here willingly

in pairs, singles, employees and

citizens, those who have lost,

deeply, to remember them, in the 

hope that this eery sensation of warm

deep red blood, flowing from

living bodies, gives life

in memory, in love.

Ghosted

 he was there in front of me, dark, curly hair,

a smile, he's a cook and love museums.

we loaned him a bike, which eventually made 

its way back

I had started to worry.

Now the flowers are brighter than him, 

a mere shadow of memory, a curious one, a 

mystery, a disappearance,

what is this ghost?

Michele

"Michele!" and he would swoon and fan his face.

"Michele!" I wonder where she is, in what 

country she is passing through, gypsy like,

light on her feet, almost dancing, the ballerina.

One night we were here, in the same place,

the photo is proof, that we were smiling and 

laughing together,

I basked in her radiant smile and dry humor

(that drove my brother crazy, me, I laugh)

"Michele" when will I see you again, 

dear Michele!  I miss you so.

Wake up

it's a new day

wake up!  the click of dog paws

awaits you, wake up!  the

flowers are following the sun, 

friends are waiting to hear from you,

it's time to make art, to play

music, to smell the air and

watch passers-bye.  Wake up!

it's time to wake up!  it's past

time to wake up!

Arise!

50% off

Fifty percent off -

what can one buy for 50% off,

not a lover,

nor a child,

groceries do not come so cheap

nor rentals, automobiles

or bicycles.

A friendship is invaluable,

a Family must be built, not bought.

WE cannot buy rain or snow,

or a sunny day, there are no bargains

on freedom or democracy, nor beauty.

the best one can do is wait until

the plants at the shop call to be put

into the ground.

I dash to buy them, and

plant them in the ground

next Spring there will be beauty in the Garden

50% off Plus Labor plus Love. 

Seeing

The beam of light is not centered

and an eyelash blocks the way, 

the eyepieces are misaligned

and too wide for the eyes, the

blind one that refused to see.

it was right in front of her, the

darkness, the light did not reach

no wonder she is blind

the beautiful purple silk conceals

the scars, the pulls herself up,

centers the beam, clears the eyepieces

and sees, once again.

A tempting path, yet...

a tempting path presents itself

yet we turn away, uncertain of the 

destination, the difficulty of the route,

a small blockade perhaps,

tangled foliage and a sign of trampling

we wonder who has gone before

and failed, so we stand still,

neither moving forward, to east or

west, nor backwards, as the rain falls

around us and our shoulders weep

we should have moved, but 

we did not.

The Wonder of a Bus Ride

sparkling sequins,

wonder in her eyes,

she's on the bus!

Rainbow wings, 

she's on the bus,

flying through the Boulder streets

she's on the bus.

Croissants and coffee

await her,

she's on the bus

Why take the bus

I ask

A smile in her eyes

Its fun, she says,

that's why

she's on the bus

Tenderness

a picture is worth a thousand words,

but words flow 

what is tenderness but that precious softness

of an embrace, a holding so gentle that

the embraced can look out into the world

with no fear or worry, not even knowing

that the embrace is what makes it possible.

that's tenderness, the unconscious giving,

the receiver and the giver in a perfect 

dance of love. 

Fearful to Bossy

she wanted to be carried,

looking from high up on my shoulder, to

make sure the dog wasn't there, that scary dog.

the black one with a grey nose, Bella, 

the one that she didn't even notice a couple 

years ago.

and then

and then

treats thrown onto the couch

and then

and then,  more, and a laugh

and then, she's bossing the poor dog around

and she looks at us helplessly, poor Bella,

to ask what she did wrong.

Of course, I'll go back

I'll go back to get myself this T-shirt,

a few others, printed in a small dusty office

in Oakam, Dakar, with a machine purchased

with ten dollar bills that spew from my 

computer monitor several times per hour.

I'll go back to Dakar to get this T-shirt,

and others, to smell the fish in the market,

to swim in the sea and drink ateya 

with dark men, only their teeth gleaming

at dusk, we laughed, and we will laugh again.

Yes, I'll go back to get myself this T-shirt

and a new dress; I'll jump on the back of a

motorcycle and dart between cars, my eyes

closed and praying

I'll go back and get myself this T-shirt, to eat

che bu jeun in small restaurants and I'll wonder

how I could think that I would never go back.

Of course, I'll go back. 

Circle of Fifths

somewhat distracted by his bow tie

I admit to understanding his clipped delivery

the C to the G to the D and around and round

the sequence of sharps and flats, all in following 

the fifths, not the ones we know from the street, 

nor the grade where we girls rolled up our 

waistbands, but the count up the scale, 

metered and steady, with one or two or three...

or even five flats or sharps, or 

his bow tie seemed to wink at me, it was pink today

and pink is happy. 

Chocolate heals all

Make that croissant a chocolate one,

not plain.

let the chocolate coat our tongues, let

the flakes fall across our laps and onto the patio

and then, let's lick our fingers covered in chocolate,

wipe chocolate from our faces

and feel all the sweetness

fill our hearts.

How to break my heart

you opened the door

our eyes met and you turned away

"she's shy right now" her mother said

what happened to that the one

who filled every crack in my fragmented

soul, that she would turn away

tomorrow is another day

another night of sleep

our eyes will meet and maybe

you will run to me and throw

yourself into my arms, and 

maybe not.

Give a man a boat and let him eat fish

above them

unseen,

a little boy travels the seas

of Senegal,

under clear skies

he sees them.

I'm sure.

the men, the fish, the laughter

and smiles, happiness

to blanket the grief that 

hovers over me.

Let them bee

I wondered how 

a bee can carry so much pollen on her legs

and the sun passed over me in the sky

when another bee arrived

and I wondered how two bees

could be so different

so I watched the little one gather

pollen on his legs, a him because of his

long antenna (I just read that)

and as the sun disappeared behind the

hills, I watched a parade of bees on this flower

and that, the other one, the purple one,

and a Spinx Moth arrived to suck nectar

from the phlox

and I wondered at nature

how beautiful she is.

Oh how quickly I forget

 

oh how quickly I forgot about the

The Agreement.  To write every day,

about the bottle of whiskey on the breakfast table,

the red glow of the hummingbird feeder and

the chirping of the chickadees thrashing in the bushes.

It will be hot today, the laundry will be too dry

to take down, the flowers will wilt and the bees

will fly that much slower from one precious flower

to the next.

Perhaps the grasshopper on my blouse

disturbed the winds of memory.

At the cash register at Sprouts, Boulder, CO

 She carefully placed her small number of 

grocery items on the conveyer belt

and waited, an older woman, heavyset

with thick ankles and salt and pepper hair

A young Asian cashier greeted her, as they all do

but she looked away without changing expression.

Did she want a bag?  he asked.

She stared back, with a blank, but unfriendly gaze

I admit that I started to smile a bit inside

at this total lack of communication.

He rang up the groceries

and as I would have predicted, she slowly

removed her worn wallet from her purse 

and counted out the cash, carefully adding 

a penny so as to make the least amount of change.

And, of course, this confused the young man

- we don't do that anymore

He slowly started placing the groceries in a

double bag, when she looked up and said

No

taking each of her small number of items back

into her cart and shuffled away.

Revisit: How to be Happy

Run in grass

Smell worm

Paw the grass

Gently, so as not to damage the worm,

pull it out on to the grass

and roll, roll, roll

wiggling that scent onto head

feet spiraling in joyful circles

in the sky

The way I see it

the way I see it,

this table convinced me to divorce him

the blue and pink squares never met after all

these glasses looked at the flowers in a new way

baking alone in the sun looking for home

even without them, my dreams remind me

that I'm not ready yet, back then it was time

rose colored glasses distorted my vision

cataracts may cloud it

I may not see

the finch and chickadee chirp in the mock orange

every morning, 

but I hear them. 

Composing a life

there are chords that belong together

one sliding into another, like G into C,

or G into E, I haven't studied the others yet,

only G, in the key of G.

It makes me wonder many paths 

never even considered, a lack of wisdom

and patience at my side

I composed alone, stumbling from

one dissonance to another, an occasional

harmonious sound, the steady click of 

knitting needles above me, a sweater

taking form.

Just reach up, even if it's not perfect

She was fine with it, in her striped dress 

with the pink ribbon

So what if it wasn't the perfect floating orb

like our very own sun beaming down at us

that day, in the park

a moment ago, it was cloudy and chilly.

the long legged ballerina teacher

made everything look so easy, her toes

pointed as she instructed her small charges

in the park that day, where the sun was shininng,

where only a moment ago, clouds hung

low in the sky.

"I'm 73 and I'll do whatever I want"

that sentence reminded me of Bella as 

I watched her roll in the grass, grinding her

back into a chubby, slimy worm.

And this one, "I'll do whatever I want"

the daughter's response that she is delighted,

but her mother can also be annoying,

like when Bella comes home smelling 

of worms and dead animals

Her tail wags in the circles of delight

I delight in wearing this new overall that

drapes over me, without pinching at 

the waist.

I don't care if he thinks it's ugly

I can see if in his eyes.

Seeking beauty and finding it

amidst the impossibly thick greenery

(still wet from months of rain)

pink and white, yellow centered beauty

you practically shouted to me,

"Look! I am beautiful,

stop looking at all that needs to be done,

and admire that which has been done

for which you can take no credit

nor have you labored to achieve"

It's beautiful but I just want to go home

I thought I was the big adventurer, the traveler.

inhaling every new scent, site and situation.

But I'm not, it's beautiful here, but I 

just want to go home, to the messy house,

and the dog walking, to times of boredom

and 

hugging my friend, Julia,

and working on a problem with Yulia,

coffee in the morning on the back porch

and facing off with a month of "plants in the wrong places".

I want to go home where I don't really do anything,

because it's easier than not doing anything

far from home.

and my flute, the piano and guitar will all be waiting

for me and my clumsy efforts - I may even procrastinate

because composiing new music is hard.  

It's beautiful here but I just want to go home

where my brother is, the one who left for

months at a time.

We will walk and talk,

walk and talk

We'll both be home.

What I actually wore

a scribble captures the moment, although mediocre

Although mediocre, the quiche satisfied the need

to sit and follow the Opa commandment to eat.

I have purchased hundreds of pens and notebooks

to support museum shops and I see the vestiges

of writing as I open them randomly at home, looking 

for an empty one, and finding a page or two 

transporting me back to that moment in a cafe

where the food was not great, but satisfied a need

at that moment, to sit and to eat.

Unrequested

Unrequested

Bread, cheese, ceviche, olives

tantalizing but at what cost and what rules

thrown in the trash if not eaten as we would do in 

America, the "land of the free and the brave"

we ate and it was good

in this land of Lisbon, and we ate more

after pointing to unknown words like peixe

and drinking wine and we paid our bill

scribbled on a pad by a man who barked

"no English" but he did

I knew it and I smiled at him.

words are loyal

I've taken to 

the words of others, loyalty to another writer,

the loyalty of words, shared, as I write of theirs

Let's write of chafing, or bonding and their tired relationship

as a wife and her husband hold hands only to run from each

other for a breath of fresh air, then coming together

again,

Synonym. 

Advice to myself

Only read poems that speak to you.

The big yellow slide

I was right behind her, and she waited

for me at the bottom, her arms open and

welcoming.

Mimi! She cried, and I will never forget

that energy, that way of being in the world,

the world of the big yellow slide, the one that

seemed so frightening and high

so recently.

every day she climbs a bit higher as does

my confidence in her.

I am right behind her, watching her and

learning from her, 

who says that the young must learn 

from the old.

Cali, the Leader of the Pack

when there is sorrow or grief,

apathy or, you just can't get off the couch,

the Leader of the Pack will guide you 

towards beauty, a natural bounty, the last

rays of sun reflecting off towering rock.

The Leader of the Pack will bound ahead of you,

looking back occasionally, tail wagging, 

veering offtrack towards interesting smells,

providing that example of looking far afield

when there is sorrow or grief, when one can only

look one direction, or the head hangs low,

the Leader of the Pack teaches us 

another way.

She said I could do whatever I want

 She asked why I don't go to a good university,

like MIT or Harvard, as if it were easy, as if I had 

even one penny to put towards my expenses.

I knew that she would not offer a single nickel,

this woman who pursued her own studies using child support,

at night, while we heated meatloaf in the oven and put 

ourselves to bed.

This woman said that I could do whatever I want,

somehow, she did not concern herself with how.

Three

In the palm of my hand

 

 

In the palm of my hand rests this book

Calling, whispering, I feel the rough cover on my hand

and I open it

For inspiration.

They say that the lines in my hand portend a long life,

the many offshoots pointing in disparate directions;

a doctorate, two children, three husbands and 

so much more, too many to count and so I sit here

with so many options that I sit paralyzed in my old age

how can I pick one, or two, or three

in these final days?

The Writers

Bob and Ariel, Kelly and David

Dylan and Daniel, and me,

The Writers, the Ones who dare to put pen to paper

(a fountain pen is best)

the Ones who dare to show themselves

(even if the microphone does not work)

(we know that writers are often not tech-savvy)

I do not know them, but, in time, they will become

Friends and we will grow grey together

(some of us are already there)

and the lines which stream from our souls

will overlap and entangle themselves

until Ones have become Ours. 

The New Sofa

Not quite as comfortable as the last sofa.  

I have changed, too, not quite as soft as the last couch

which shed the dandruff of flaking faux leather.

Bones protrude and joints creak.

The dog is still there, black, invisible except for the 

devil ears which cast a shadow.

I noticed that half of the floor was worn by

years of shuffling of small feet, the other half

shiny, protected by the old sofa that cradled

us as we traveled this road called life.

The Butterfingers - winning against long odds

 This poem was inspired by Catch, a poem by  Samiya Bashir

We were the Butterfingers, a joke amongst the other 

girls' teams, socially and physically awkward, we

nonetheless

ventured onto the floor of the gymnasium, for all to see.

To compete.

What were we thinking, so long ago, I can't even remember,

perhaps complete ignorance of the competition,

or sufficiently shunned that we didn't care 

anyway.

Of course, in some stories, the underdogs win,

as did we, no one more incredulous and proud than us.

The previously disinterested crowd in the bleachers erupted

with cheers and clapping.

We, no doubt, slipped back into obscurity,

but something shifted in me.

Lessons from Felix: Be Happy

His smile makes me smile.

My smile makes you smile.

Your smile makes your husband smile.

Your husband's smile makes his mother smile;

Why not smile?

Felix smiles even if he can't turn over (yet)

or chase his sister (yet), even though he

can't even roll over (yet) or jump off the couch

(yet)

Yet, Felix smiles, and we all smile

just seeing his smile.

Yet, sometimes we don't smile.

Felix, remind us to smile.

Simply noticing - Thank you, Jane Hirschfield

The knife cleanly sliced the peel from the pear.

Nice.  

That's what they say here.

Nice.

I noticed it was beautiful.

Nice.

I was there

I was there, unseen, behind the camera, and

Everyone looked at me, the women with ideas

churning in their minds, schemes that only women know

how to knit

and he, the tall one in the orange T-shirt, calmly

awaiting his meal, blissfully unaware, as I was that day

the shadows were invisible.

and here, the men, simply scanning the offerings,

the prices, negotiating for their clients, their

needs - to eat.  

they are working, or pretending to.

I am not in the photo, I am unseen, I watch

The air is clear, the wind slight.