Bleu

After they died in the car crash,
she sold everything, leaving
money for her demented mother
who called her Veronique instead of
Marie, leaving everything behind
that she could.
The music followed her,
just as a newly deaf person
keeps hearing their own music
over and over, unwanted.
There is no escape.
She only cried when the music
was written, liberated from
the never ending nightmares
of headlights careening
off the road, splintering into
a million fragments.

Resemblances

She looks exactly like her brother.
Random people stop her on the street
to ask if she is her brother’s sister.
He says he looks exactly like his father,
but she told me today that she and I
look more and more like,
I am not related to his father, but am
related to my brother, and people
stop me on the street to ask if I am
my brother’s sister. When I look
in the mirror I see my sister’s freckles
and my brother’s nose and jaw, which
all goes back to my mother and father.
Her middle name is the same as my
sister and they both have freckles,
but she has my smile, even if she
does not have my name.
No wonder families are so confusing.

Gathering Stuff for the Neighborhood Yard Sale

Gathering Stuff for the Yard Sale

as many empty boxes
carelessly deposited
in the basement, now
covered in cobwebs
are to be filled one by one
with once-valued things,
an antique dust buster that
my neighbor sold me three
years ago at this same neighborhood
yard sale, two electric heaters,
a radial saw that I always wanted,
really one of the more absurd things
I ever bought and never used.
Vibrating massage slippers, an
inflatable toy boat with matching oars.
All things we had to have,
now collecting dust.
So many boxes now
filled with someone else’s
treasures, stacked in my car for the
yard sale tomorrow, never
to return to my basement
again.

Picture from http://flickr.com/photos/nicestalan/271932777/

Eight is Enough

Eight is Enough

Everyone laughed,
I turned to Stephen
quizzically,
a man about my age
looked at me and
commented I wasn’t old
enough to remember the TV series.
All I know is that Eight is Enough!
Eight years of Bush policies
is enough for all of us,
even for the never-voted-for-a-Democrat
witnesses who showed up tonight,
“Let me tell you what happened to me”
following the rules, working hard,
caring for families, and discovering
that when they needed a little help
getting through a rough patch in life,
the ones that happen to everyone,
whether Democrat or Republican,
black or white, Muslim or Christian,
there was no outstretched hand.
Family Values and Compassionate Conservatism
meant in reality “You’re on your Own”.
Eight is enough.
Let us not forget
the hard lessons we learned
these eight years
and not make the same
mistake again.
Vote Obama November 4th.

The Passers-by

they wandered by,
barely glancing at the flowers,
or noticing the clouds
turning from white to golden
rays beaming through them,
laying down shadows behind
them like dried rose petals,
they wandered by, with no
intention, drifting so as to
not offend anyone, nor to
reach out, just answering the
cell phone when it rings to
see who might be on the
end of the line.

On Carrying a Notebook

He said something that belonged in a poem.
That moment, in my living room,
with him, was meant to be captured,
wrapped with some accompanying phrases
and published in this blog, to be
remembered by those who were there,
to be shared with those who were not.
Instead, it slipped away in spite
of my making a mental note of it,
of being so sure I would not forget,
it was too unforgettable.
On Carrying a Notebook
warned of this, of forgetting
what may be most
important.

On Carrying a Notebook is one of the essays in the book I recently read, Slouching towards Bethlehem. I liked this essay more than any others, but have yet to follow her advice! Happily, a nice little notebook has just appeared in my life from Turkey, and now all I need is a little pouch for it!

Summer colds

Summer colds

She coughed, then sneezed,
one, two….five times in a row,
her nose bright red, but rushing
from meeting to meeting.
Finally, too sick to even come
to work, she had to stay home
in spite of her importance.
Two days later, she’s back,
coughing, sneezing, one..two..
three…five.
And she’s rushing from meeting
to meeting, leaving a cloud
of airborne viruses floating
in front of my door.
Today, I sneezed, one..two..three..five.
I’m feverish and miserable, but not
important enough to stay at work.
I went home to bed.