december

 

a collection of shudders

skeletal

in the early winter

the alder trees react
to the cold breeze                                  

rain drapes and drops

fat tears washing down

limbs and trunks     

spatters

to the color drop  

below the knees

saturated leaves

pressed into each other      

like steeped journal pages

this is the record

the progress of a year

Yellow Jacket

Yellow Jacket

He sat on the dashboard, in

the sun tidying up, stroking

the long antennae

as if combing them into place.

Nothing menacing but

looking at the sturdy striped body with

the undisclosed stinger was enough to

remind me of the danger of small

quiet things;  those blended thoughts,

packed full of their unexpected power

until someone leans into them. 

after e e cummings ...works in progress....

Dec. 4th


once

i was calling out   comfort

handing out anything warm and dry   

once consolation of  only i while

you 

        sowed displeasure

 reaping stones 

i was   while passing out pillows
weary among the in-depth of 

between you throwing

assured of  wreckage 
while I  weeping sweeping my glass house
   -in front of  strangers of broken-

was gathering dinner 

swallowing rocks




Dec. 5th

to Jon

handsome however you grow
to love you is to know

    you of the once small
 hands  outgrowing   all

my ideals lost on maps of
napkin and drawn of

sticks in sand wave-washed
out-tide rushed
your new face blushed 

    my youthful sketches  

thoughts like  twining rosy vetches

i am clinging   salt-soaked seaside
love-draped   nodding tide

of mother

Rewrite Turquoise

No Taj Mahal

I am the kind of woman
some man should build a pool for.  I am

the kind  of woman who appreciates
the reflection of the whole sky.  One 

who delights in clouds daffodil yellow,
clouds the color of sweet plums,

clouds as tall as masted ships
and clouds that hold lightning like

fireflies in a jar.
I will spend my hour of free time
languorously

swimming through that sky.
Pool of stars, pool of morning,
pool of heaven.

I am the kind of woman who wants
a small darling house, next to that pool, one

that blocks no view and lets in the light,
every light the sun and moon have to offer.

I am the kind of woman who is
jealous of the cat and dog that sleep 

in the pane of light cast on the floor like a mat.   

In spring I will bring in
yellow forsythia branches
to dress my blue vases,

in the winter I, like a snake charmer,
will draw out the white amaryllis.  I don't ask for much. 

I've learned not to ask for much-- my life
has been a workshop for that.  But.

One turquoise pool, clear as a conscience

catching every point of light, beside a modest home.

As long as I am asking, after years of not,

may it overlook a pasture, a green pasture

full of emerald-bright and lapis blue dragonflies

and may it all

overlook the ocean.  

I am asking.

Turquoise

Turquoise

I am the kind of woman someone should build a pool for.
The kind who appreciates the reflection of the whole sky, one who
delights in clouds daffodil yellow and clouds the color of bruises and
clouds as tall as buildings, clouds that hold lightning like
fireflies in a jar.
I will spend my hour of free time languorously
swimming through that sky.  I am the kind of woman
who wants a small, darling house that blocks no view
and lets in the light, every light the sun and moon have to offer
and who is jealous of the cat and dog
that sleep in the pane of light cast on the floor
like a mat.   I will bring in the yellow forsythia branch
in spring and raise the white amaryllis like a charmer of snakes
in the winter.  I don't ask for much, I've learned not to
ask for much, my life has been a workshop for that.  But.
One pool beside a home, one turquoise pool
clear as a conscience, catching every point of light.
As long as I am asking, after years of not
asking, may it overlook a pasture, a green pasture
full of emerald-bright dragonflies and electric blue dragonflies
and may it all
overlook the ocean.  I am asking.