Synesthesia

When I was 6, numbers had colors
And colors had feel and taste.

Silly girl, fat girl, stupid girl--
That isn't true!
Not according to the text book.
They are monochrome, they are black on white
Never blent to gray even when married for a sum.
To make matters worse,
4 and seven were tricksters and always changing
Places in my mind.  Is it Seventy-4 or Forty-7?
Answer!  Sit up straight and pay attention.

O little girl in the picture frame, aren't you pretty
For a moment, perched posture perfect
On the little black and white pony,
Wearing a cowboy hat and frilly dress,
Feet in the stirrups, smiling toward the camera,
The sky is gray flannel and the house behind you- tell me-
Does it have have four or 7 window panes and how many
Dimensions can you explain now that you know
That colors do not breathe and numbers never lie.

Something I will always remember as the sharp
Sting of a ruler on my hands.

Carnal

at first you're licking your brother's wounds
the sympathy comes out in long strokes
but you're really licking your own, we're all cut the same,
bruised; sympathy becomes empathy--
we're all made from the same material, cut from
the same cloth, knit from the same dna
aren't we, really,
one sad story, one more fable, one more morality play
some write, some read, 

              some eat the lesson
eat the words   they are flesh,
drink the meaning  to wash it all down
thought and deed     consequence and jackpot
rhythmically licking the ache and need.





And so there are no misunderstandings:
Carnal  (Middle English, from Anglo-French or Late Latin; Anglo-French carnel, charnel, from Late Latin carnalis, from Latin carn-, caro flesh; akin to Greek keirein to cut — more at shear
First Known Use: 14th century  Related to CARNAL Synonyms: earthly, earthborn, earthbound, fleshly, material, mundane, sublunary, temporal, terrene, terrestrial, worldly.

Morning Glory (for Nate)

Rise and shine

Morning glory!

The sun is waiting to see your open eyes—

Full of life and love.

Rise and shine Morning Glory!

The night has been rolled up and put away like a great black blanket. 



Put your small feet on the floor and together we will walk into the new day. 


Outside the birds and butterflies wait for you to see them. 


Cardinals flash red calling softly,


 Monarchs flash black and orange,quietly waving to you. 


Smell the brown toast, the blue flame of the stove,

The black coffee brewing.  See the white milk pouring,

Red and yellow apples waiting to be your mid-morning snack.

My little morning glory,

My little flower opening

At  the day’s first light.  My breakfast table friend

My favorite way to start the day.  One day

You will remember our mornings when you wake

Your own Morning Glory up,

Eyes full of life and love.  You will always

Be my Morning Glory.

ATONEMENT

An unworthy deed, an unkind word
The deepest hurt unleashed
Ongoing rift, abyss
Nothing left unsaid that doesn't crowd my heart
Engaging anger, then despair, and, at last, acceptance.
Myself poured out on the altar
Enveloped in my need for family and understanding
Not so long ago I offered myself up
To solve our differences, but you said no.

Are you happy?


I wish there had been a table between the two of us
our hands folded together upon it
when you looked up at me, sincerely asking,
Are you happy?
I wished you'd asked me more than once in thirty years.

You were at the kitchen table paying bills, I
was anchored at the stovetop turning something into dinner,
while the grandkids chattered noisily between us.  I was, at that moment,
content to hear their little voices like music drifting through
and over us.  You seemed to want to hear, Yes, yes, wildly so!

I hesitated then said, Right now...yes, moderately.
Moderately, you repeated with a half-smile, neither pleased or displeased.
At peace, at least, I explained.  You stared at me in silence
as if wanting more of an explanation, something that is not
common between us.  I continued on,

I like the house, and the garden is so lovely, and the grandkids
are so sweet, blathering on until the interest faded from your eyes
and one of us was needed to solve a small child's problem.
All those days of quiet between us when I longed
for your strong hand around mine and a conversation that began with

Are you happy?

The landscape of dreams
An uneven belief that I will recover
From what is said and what is seen.
Recover to midnight in my own room,
or to morning.
No sense making meaning, but
I ponder hours into the day wondering
What was I trying to say to Myself.

I Prefer


My small side garden where
a cabbage butterfly plays chase
with its twin and the sun is
scalding the color out of the sky, where
the unpainted fence is brindled
with leafy, limbed shadows
the shrubs left behind.  Here the dull
clunk of the wooden wind-chimes and
the mumble of bees down deep purple
throats are music.  There are pots and beds
full of blackening compost and discarded
leaves and petals lay on the lawn.