citrus

Something bout
cutting my grapefruit
with my dull
old curved knife
brings me to your kitchen of
not sharp knives but love.

tension

In the dream, I was walking around at the reunion. Ambling slowly from room to room and house to house, greeting people, shaking hands or maybe a kiss on the cheek, having a glass of wine, helping to accommodate our guests and make them feel welcome. Finding everyone settled and talking with old friends, I wandered outside, in and amongst people playing badminton, picnicking, lying on blankets in the grass under the sun. I headed up a steep hill, toward a sunny meadow at the top. Climbed and climbed. Struggled and slipped a bit at the very top, where it became quite steep and gravelly. A hand grasped mine and pulled me up. It was Jim. I hugged him and looked out over the vista, the people enjoying the reunion, then collapsed on the grass in a patch of sun. Jim walked down the other side of the hill and came back with a glass of wine for me. Lay down next to me with his head on my chest. Long moments passed this way, in the sun. Eventually I raised his head and kissed him strong. He said we should not.

anxiety

In the dream, I was shopping at the small grocery store in the town here I grew up, where my parents still live. I was buying food to feed my family, not a lot, but staples that we needed. I had no money at all, and was planning to purchase the food with a credit card that was not my own.

When I reached the cashier, we recognized each other from high school. She rang up my groceries and then asked if I wanted to sign up for something. I said sure, and she said just one moment and walked away to get something she needed. I had not yet paid for my groceries. People started lining up behind me with their carts and baskets. It took her a long time to come back. The guy in line behind me became agitated with waiting.

Finally the cashier came back and she took the credit card. She swiped it, still chatting with me about whatever it was I had signed up for. The transaction went through and the receipt began to print out. The cashier walked around her register to give me the receipt. She came very close to me, leaned in and whispered good luck right in my ear.

As I walked through the door of the grocery store, my stomach sank. I knew before I even looked that my car had been stolen. Sure enough, it was not where I had left it. I walked around the parking lot to be sure. But my car was gone.

moon sand

waterfalls
count by five
see how kind i am?

skip and flip
oddish
please be my friend.

stay quietly in the zone
and follow the rules

put out your decorative
and disobliging bath towels

that shower curtain 
the light in that bathroom
gives me ideas

there you are.

munchlax is now your friend.

small moments matter

Maybe it's the approaching holidays, or the wistful brevity of daylight, but I am feeling the strong desire to focus inward, on kids, family, light, love, all that. All the good. Here is a poem I wrote a while back for my friend Nichole, as part of her Small Moments Mondays series. I wanted to see it again, to feel it again. So here it is. It's called Small Moments.

regular worries
time well spent
effort expended
are we bright enough
are we bold enough

money
money
money

you say people are horrible
you live in darkness
for me
racing thoughts
fleeting anxieties

give way to small moments
sweetness and light
half full

our daily soundtrack
humming
beeping
chirping
whistling

(an inappropriate tune)

paper dolls meet scenery
with a happy song
fight song
victory song

living in an art house

(never stop drawing)

big words
big ideas
big plans

kiss me
kiss kirby
kiss yoshi
kiss purple lamby
kiss me

butterfly kiss
eskimo kiss
forever kiss
crinkled nose
kisses

window silhouettes

(see me)

sharing words
reading aloud
snuggle up
my face entangled
in whisper fine hair
lulled by sweetness
dozing off

you arouse me
urgently
your hair in my eyes
i embrace you
hazy dream

wakened
little voices
and it begins again

hurt one cries
mama I liked you holding me

you say people are horrible
you dwell in darkness

from my place of light
i can be strong enough
strong for her
strong for them
for you
for us.

low moan

        i want to be

trodden
        earthy
               underfoot.

(this poem is partner to this one.)

ah, dammit

this glass tabletop
renders me (unwillingly)
old and (ugh) jowly.

hustle me

baby
we can be shills
looking for an angle
play my confidence game with me
they say
you cannot cheat an honest man
make me an honest girl
i'll be your mark
just ask.

my shramana

i come to you
like a mendicant
on my knees
begging
teach me
heal me
fix me
i am a broken toy
in the corner
waiting
to be discarded
so what happened?
you.

musing, also

glance
indulgently
imagine me
imagining you
fits of happy
delirious
dizzy waves
over and over
ah like that
you make me
feel smart.

caught

come into my bed
fuzzy daughter i did not
hear coming downstairs
mama will hold you
dreamy girl, i am shaking
holy buckling knees.

your letters

My grandmother's poem for a wistful evening.

I wish I'd time to miss you--but my days
Are full of other things.
You thought that when you'd gone,
I'd need you and I'd call you back.
I thought so too. But now it seems
Those things I loved the most--
Your eyes, your voice, your smile--
I still have in your letters
Telling me that it's you
Who take your turn at needing me.

crazy diamond

how does one
string pretty words
together
when in need of
remediation?

revise
rectify
repair
redoubt

redonkulous

resist
refuse
recover
relish

shine on
ooooh shimmer
make me shine
shine baby

shine.

involuntary

reaching
an uneasy
amity, armistice
file under weirdness, it's all we
can do
it's all
i can do, to
keep waiting for you and
again it goes round in my head
touching
your arm
touching your leg
reaching across to reach
but remember, no jake braking
keeping
secrets
bombazine love
at risk of squattening
we declare fair enough and ride
sunset
sunrise
new day dawns on
another compromise
piling worlds on words and getting
stronger
sunrise
bombazine love
reaching across to reach
again it goes round in my head
reaching.

spring creek

the hundred year flood
made me an island onto myself

reaching down inside
to retrieve a memory, or a sign
of how to survive

coming up empty

branches, then trees
dog houses, cars, swimming pools
sailing past my island

picking my guitar up off the floor
for when the water rushed in

what else could i do?

alone with the elements
cats looking to me for guidance
but i had none

we had to just wait it out
as the water rose

next morning, ice covered everything
tree roots now exposed

like arms reaching up from the earth
glistening ivory bones
having escaped their imprisonment

as i had escaped mine.

diversion

hobbies?
you are my thing.
my pastime, entertain
me as i watch this screen light up.
it's you!

(written for Jingle Poetry's Poetry Potluck 14: Hobbies & Passions, Pastimes & Entertainment.)

horror for the holidays

She could see that tab amidst the chaos on her computer screen, behind emails, spreadsheets, documents. One new gmail message. Click.

Auction ended! Thank you for your purchase of Horror Eyeballs!

That wasn't on the holiday shopping list.

She picked up the phone and dialed her husband. "Did you buy horror eyeballs on Ebay?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "I have an idea about sending them to Maryssa for her Christmas present."

"Oh, okay. I was just checking to make sure our Paypal account wasn't hijacked."

"Nah, it's all fine."

"Okay. Is spaghetti okay with you for dinner?"

"Sure, love you."

"Love you back. Talk to you later."

Later, after dinner and pajamas and brushing teeth and stories and bedtime for kids, she reflected on her husband sending horror eyeballs to his online girlfriend in Hollywood for Christmas. The horror eyeballs that look like real eyeballs, ripped out of someone's actual skull.

"So, what's your idea for Maryssa's present?"

"Well, I thought I'd put hooks in them to make them into tree ornaments. Or maybe earrings."

Pause. "You're spending twenty-five bucks on horror eyeballs for Maryssa for Christmas. I wasn't planning to spend twenty-five bucks on you."

"Well, you can't buy just one eyeball."

road trip

soaring
windows open
traveling with truckers
solo yet not alone in my
escape.

in the hole

filling
me up then down
with you in the trenches
comrade at arms, we fight this war
baffled.

cinquain for privilege

sometimes
i want to yell
jesus, what is WRONG with you!
really i mean: is something wrong
with me?

everything

is all right
we are gonna be fine
i am not crazy
and neither are you
let's kiss again
and again
wrap yourself around me
and let's fly
our chariot awaits.

argyle

knee socks
hide the damage
why can't i pull them up
high enough to cover my eyes
today?

out damn spot

standing
in the water
watching the blood rise, like
wine pooling in the wee washcloth
below
spigot wide open, truth rushes
to the surface, a whole
nother reason
to hide.

done talking

retreat

to avoid talk that ends like this:

so then i am crazy?

well, i've said that

before.

passerine

songbird
warbling sweetly
i want to sing with you
soaring above, the fount of my
lament
fairy bluebird just out of reach
flirting, aloof and
like a fireflash
distant.