birthday with friends

we hold him in our arms,
embrace him with our love,
buy cakes, cook lasagna, bring wine,
we celebrate his birth and the
years that follow, our bikes follow him
in a pace line, I am reassured by his gentle
voice, this man makes us happy
a surely as our taste buds love
the cake that Luisa has brought
for the party.
Stefano, you are so special,
we are so lucky.

Butterflies in formation

they gather in his stomach as he faces the audience
raising the flute to his lips, he feels them flutter.
the blue ones with irridescent wings, the yellow and white,
the dusky moths mixed in,, their intricate antennas
rotating on invisible masts.
he breathes in deeply, relaxing his shoulders,
briefly closing his eyes as the butterflies
assemble into formation and in one moment
they carry the sound of the flute forward,
he can only follow.

Seashells

Seashells gathered on the shore

one looks as if it would fit into the other

like the two who gazed at each other across the room,

only to find disappointment when alone in a dark.

one never knows until we are side by side

angling for a way in, to escape the lonliness.

the sand waits and the roar of the surf calls

the shells back to the sea.

he tosses them carelessly into the water,

turning his eyes towards another one

and another, there are an infinity,

he only needs one.

Browsing the "News"

I have never been lost in the wilderness
with a bottle of unopened beer, a spoon
and a desire to drink it,
yet I read every word of this article
on how to solve this pressing dilemma.
no, I didn't read about the efforts in Nepal
to help those in need, or the latest rants
from out political representatives, nor did
I read a good poem or a compelling
news analysis about gender bias variation
across the world.
I admit with embarrassment that
I read how to open a beer bottle with
a spoon during my limited free time.
Perfectly good brain cells were destroyed.

Masks

shyness behind bravado
erect shoulders and a straightforward gaze
inside cringing, feeling a fraud
regardless of doctorates, awards,
the admiration and accolades.
we all wear a mask, sometimes we do
not even see them ourselves, our eyes
blinded by fear and reluctance to leave
the cocoon we spun so carefully to protect
ourselves from our beginnings.
we all wear a mask, the light shines
in when we pull it away.
we see ourselves in all our
beauty.

Looking through old pictures

she was beautiful.

dark hair and enchanting eyes,

an open smile.

who was this woman 

holding a small infant, my brother,

her upturned collar, too busy to 

notice and to smooth it down onto

her shoulder, she's a mystery to me,

this woman now approaching 90,

I never knew that open face

now it is too late to ever

hope.

May Day - Fête du travail

remember flowers on your front step,

the unknown admirer, the friendly neighbor

our hearts could flutter, hoping he was

the one who left them, the timid one,

the handsome one who averted his eyes

when you looked his way.

across the ocean, they celebrate

La Fête du Travail, the day when no one works,

when Lilies of the Valley are passed from

the gardener to the neighbor, from 

the shy young man to a maiden on

the street, they drink a glass that

night in the local pub,

let's raise a glass to a day

without work, a celebration of life.

[Les muguets:  Lillies of the Valley.

I have a full garden of them.

Don't sleep next to them as they

give you bizarre dreams.

Thanks for Michele for letting me

know of this French tradition ]