spring cleanup

if I'm not running late

I grab the rake.

If my lunch is made,

I'll shout hurray

and weed away.

the crocus is rising, 

yellow buds are surprising

how brilliant 

how starry

how lovely

how darling.

the power of the written word

we were seven
but two left early.
words were written on cards depicting
bears in the mountains,
the Pearl Street Mall,
the Flatirons,
bob cats and other things we love,
things that are threatened.
Old and new friendships,
illegible writing, some stilted,
some dreamy and some angy,
some addressed to mothers,
some to sons.
our dreams and hopes are written
here,
tomorrow they will be carried away in a
our postman's cart
to be read by mothers and sons,
husbands and wives,
one family to another.

To my Valentine

don't bother buying over-priced flowers.

they wilt.

forget the extravagant card.

it will go in the recycle bin.

look at me and listen

every day.

At night, I hug you first

and then I roll over for sleep and you hug me

before going back to reading your book.

ski with me without giving me too much instruction

and let me pace you up to the boys on my

new electric bike.

thank you for the gift

I love it.

I love you,

my dear Valentine.

A record for the Donald

how many days did it take for the public to realize

what a mistake they made at the polling place,

whether it be a mailbox, a rural school room, the county courthouse.

it took eight days for the Donald to have a majority of Americans

to disapprove of his performance, a record low.

Was it the immigration order,

the Wall,

was it Betsy's confirmation, or maybe Mnushin,

how about Flynn, who talked to the Russians

and had to resign less than a week later.

the number of days is far exceeded by the number of 

blunders, illegalities and stupidities

nonetheless.

Riding with the boys on my electric bike

my bike is red and black
and has a battery that whirs quietly,
propelling me along with the pack,
leading more than following,
cutting the wind.
they draft behind me, grateful,
perhaps a little resentful at this freckled
cheater.
I laugh into the wind.

roaming the snowy plains

i was alone in the museum

me and buffalo on the snowy plains

the wind chilled my bones, my light clothing

whipped in the wind, their dark thick fur barely moved,

they were stoic, moving slowly from place to place,

alone on the snow

as we all were moving in singles and doubles,

a few babes in arms through the galleries,

weaving through each other to find the best

food for something deep inside

unspoken, not quite a hunger, a yearning

maybe, something that needs filling

as the buffalo also ranges across the snow

looking for something we cannot see

below the pristine white.

we are all searching.

smiling in the dark

she's smiling in the dark

in a back corner of a bar

we don't see the celebratory drink.

three judges ruled against the  president.

a celebratory drink against authoritarianism.

she never thought she's be in the resistance

for herself and her children

for others and their children

for the earth.

she is so small, sinking into the oversized chair

in the dark, in a back corner of the bar

her drink in hand, determination

behind the smile

she's a fighter

a junkyard dog.