The rewards of patience

yellow crocus

you have bloomed earlier

in February, then, buried in snow,

you waited patiently,

(unlike me),

until the snow melted and

you showed your beauty again.

I was reminded of

the rewards of rest,

patience and beauty.

Dancing with a Bass Trombone

flutes and clarinets have played
serenades during summer picnics,
the sound of pouring wine,
the swish of summer dresses,
the murmur of men and women.
oboes and flutes have chased wolves
and comforted little girls.
the flute soars over the violins,
they gather in force to overpower
this slender silver instrument, but the
voice carries much further.
even the bass trombone must dance
delicately with the flute,
she accepts no
other partner.

Daddy's Little Helper

Men didn't have to hide it;

only women had little blue pills

they popped first thing in the morning

and after lunch when Dad was away.

no wonder they were so docile

when everyone knew their role

and played it.

Dad could come home and put his feet up,

the cork popped loudly and we heard

the tinkling of glasses as he rummaged

in the cabinet, the splash of cognac

and a sigh of relaxation.

Mom hid her pills in shame,

Dad sipped his liquor in full enjoyment,

in full view. 

Writing Back

Reply.
to what, I'm not sure
since there is nothing to reply to.
I'll fill in the blanks because I know what
they might like.
She likes to hear about herself,
her version, how  to reply to a question
I'd rather not answer.
Most people don't write back.
Write back, reply to sender,
not something you'd send to anyone.
I'm special and so are you
Write something special so it's worth our time.
Time is short.

Pizza Night!

I repeat.
Tuesday is Pizza Night,
the best night of the week.
I go to the gym for it, I lift weights for it,
I wait for it, I am so excited for it.
Homemade pizza and red wine,
a mindless episode of something
cuddled on the couch with Someone
who happens to be my husband.
Pizza night is the best!

I never gave it back

Accordian Crimes
stands as tall as any other book
on my shelf,
It's not mine.
I'm sure he has forgotten by now,
but I have not,
yet,
I do nothing about it.
I don't push the spine back into the darkness,
nor do I pull it out to read it.
For Christ's sake, I never even read
the goddamn book.
I remember he was dating my friend.
She has a 13 year old by another man.
It's been at least 15 years.
It will probably be another 15, or until
I pass away and then it will be my childrens' book
and they will be old enough to be parents themselves.
I know I will never return it,
I will never pull it from the shelf to read it,
I never gave it back.

Observing the world from a safe place

it's a sensible thing

to watch close up so as to not miss anything

but to remain hidden from eyes that sweep

the horizon looking for the next big thing.

she just fits under the Coca-Cola cart, the real

thing, with crisp white wheels.

I was walking through the mist aross a deserted

plaza when she caught my eye,

a shadow under the cart.

we shared a moment of silence gazing

at each other, a moment frozen in time,

she and me.

I'll remember her.