Dancing at the Back

Dancing in the Back

The dance studio was full
of beautiful women in leotards
and matching tank tops, some
at the barre, some practicing
downward dog, all elegant,
well toned, very Boulder.
I took my place at the back
in my Target capris and slightly
dirty T-shirt not quite covering
that little pooch-that-never-goes-away.
Music, movement, the dancers moved
in unison with the teacher who was
too far away for me to see without
my glasses, which I didn’t have.
I struggled to follow every move
but fell further and further behind,
until I found myself leaping into the air,
a beautiful red dress flowing over my body,
dancing my own dance.

.

picture: http://flickr.com/photos/56596192@N00/2142039521/

Single Motherhood

she had her daughter alone
at age forty-two, never married,
no potential husband in sight,
just a boyfriend who volunteered for the job,
adequate genetic material, no further commitment needed,
good enough given the circumstances.
Her daughter was beautiful
and the father did hang around after all,
just wasn’t a husband.
she’s fifty seven now, a single mother
with a fifteen year old daughter who is
ready to launch into the world,
as all children do.
the house seems quieter now
and she can stay out later
without having to hire a babysitter.
and now what?
and now what?

Rain

Rain

It’s been
forty two days,
seventeen hours,
and ten seconds
since the last raindrops
decorated the blossoms
of the wild rose bush
outside my front door.
now, at this exact moment,

this Tuesday evening,
it is raining, the rain is drenching
the roses, tomatoes plants heavy with fruit,
parched soil where not even a weed
dared emerge.
I inhale the smell of rain,
my hair and skin are moistened
in raindrops,
I am one with the rain.

The Tyranny of Poetry

every night, late at night
i remember the obligation,
that casual commitment i made
months ago, to write a poem every day.
But my mind is empty,
my life is dull,
and I’m tired to the bone.
I go outside and walk
the neighborhood looking for
interesting discards, old beds
with broken frames, flowers I
don’t recognize in front of
the building that housed a porn
store the last 16 years, a bike
attached to a signpost with no
wheels or seat.
I look for the neighbor who
says interesting things from her
porch, and somehow a poem
comes out, sometime before
11:59 p.m. and I can call it a
a day well spent.

Batman

Batman

My heart always beats a little faster when
I see him jump from tall buildings,
his black cloak billowing out behind him,
forming that silhouette universally known to the
citizens of Gotham City, a sight which
promises to restore Good in a town
filled with small time criminals and
crooked politicians.
I’ve always been in love with Batman,
regardless of marital ceremonies
or vows of fidelity til "death do I part".
my heart always beats a little faster
when I see Batman up on the silver screen.

Aging and loss of Symmetry

Aging and the loss of Symmetry

She hated leaving one half grapefruit
on the wooden cutting board in the kitchen,
so she had another child. Now
there was an even number of children,
each dutifully eating one half grapefruit
with their cereal and eggs every morning,
leaving the cutting board to be cleaned,
dried and put away.
She arranged her children as a symmetrical
set of four, as she needed, a kaleidoscope
of unexplored personalities, chess pieces
with no faces, to be moved on the board of life.
Finally, being old and blind, each child comes home to
sit and talk with her, to hold her deeply
wrinkled hand, making their peace with her.
This is no time to arrange the four of them.
no grapefuits to cut for their breakfast.

There is nothing now but her and each of them

in the quiet of the hospital room.
She reaches out to her youngest child,
smiles that dreamy smile of those close to
death and says, “I wish I
had gotten to know you sooner.”

.

photograph from http://flickr.com/photos/olsenweb/86377696/

The Neighbor's Porch

The Neighbor’s Porch

over the years, I watched them from a distance,
glasses clinking, shared food, toasts,
laughter, connection,
inclusion.
i’d walk by in the darkness, the pool of
porch light not quite extending

to the sidewalk.
i always wanted to be on that porch.
i wanted to hold a glass of chilled white wine
that the neighbor carefully chose, listen to their stories,
dream of the impossibility of being asked to share my own.
tonight i sat on that porch, listened to their stories,
and was asked to share my own.
i was included.
i was very
happy.