3WW: Incubate, Nightmare, Vanity

I stumble
into the bathroom,
look at my face
in the mirror
above the vanity,
and scream.

This nightmare
of aging
just goes on and on.
I try to smooth
the wrinkles
but they return.

I wish I could take
the tiny eggs
of youth,
incubate them
for sixty years
then watch them hatch

into a new me.
Instead, I avoid
harsh lights
and brush my teeth
in the glow
of the nightlight.

Carry Me Back for the Monday Poetry Train

Carry Me Back….

…to the house
we rented
on Papailoa Drive
in Haliewa, Hawaii
during the winter
of 1992

…to fresh pineapple
chunks waiting
on the cupboard
for the kids
when they got home
from school

…to windows
full of the ocean

…to Erin building
sandcastles on the beach
and Nathan surfing
in the waves

…to liquid sunshine
followed by rainbows

…to footprints
trailing away
in the sand

…to five months
of heaven.

Elusive for One Single Impression

This poem popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt. I wrote it almost 20 years ago when I first started writing poetry and everything had to rhyme. What on earth I was upset about, I have no recollection. Maybe nothing since I remember that winter in Bradenton as being a really pleasant one. Maybe I was just exercising my poetic license to be dramatic.
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Barren

My heart is a part of the desert.
My soul is a hole in the sand.
My cares and affairs are all shriveled
suppressed by this desolate land.

My need is the greed of the thirsty.
My wants are the haunts of the mind.
Desires are spires of longing
elusive, delusive, and blind.

3/16/91
Bradenton, Florida

Junk for Sunday Scribblings

My husband saw this Chinese Junk off the coast of Maine this summer.

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Blue above
blue below

A Chinese Junk
slicing through

Rooster tail
spread in the sun

White lines
triangling the sky

A long way
from home

3WW: Indecent, Frustrate, Understand

Dressed indecently
she understands male hormones,
frustrates gleefully.

M=Mom for ABC Wednesday

Four years ago my mom had cancer. It was a lymphoma that presented itself in her thyroid. They operated and she, surprising her doctors, survived. I spent part of my summer vacation that year in Florida taking care of her and wrote this poem in the airplane on the way down there.
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This Isn’t a Poem

The sunrise looks like
an apricot river as I gaze
out the airplane window.
I wish I were flying
to Aruba instead of to Florida
to take care of my mom
and her cancer.
I would sink my feet
into brown sugar sand
instead of trying to make them
fit under the seat in front
of me.

My mom is a sick child
courageously coughing
the cancer
that is chewing her up.

She is my hero
and her sunrise tastes
like blood
and smells like death.

Nevertheless, she shines with strength.

I wish I were a magician
and could wave my wand
to make her better.

This isn’t a poem about loss, though;
it’s a poem about the thread of love
and how we sew the quilts of our lives together
with stitches of willpower and caring.

Bump in the Night for Sunday Scribblings

Okay, this isn't really a bump-in-the-night story but it's all I've got today, and, really, the end of the summer season is scary to me!
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My Bump in the Night

The air smells
like sun-dried laundry
and sounds
like children's prayers

hopeful and true
on this Saturday
in October.
Gary's boat

is out of the water
and we'll be closing
camp on Monday.
I'm at the beach

taking photographs
of the sky
and ocean. The sun
waves its wand

here and there
highlighting the pier,
red maple leaves,
a lighthouse on a point.

Birds are flocking
and skimming
over the water
and I'm catching

it all in my lens.
It's high tide
and the waves spread
on the sand like snow.

Descent for One Single Impression

My husband's best friend fell off a roof this morning. He's in critical condition being transported by ambulance to a decent hospital 2 hours away. He's not breathing on his own, has bleeding in his brain, and various broken bones. Please send healing thoughts his way and to whatever deity you believe in. Thanks!
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Descent

The roof was metal
that you slipped
off of.

The driveway was tar
that you landed on.

What thoughts
went through your brain
as you fell

before there were no
more thoughts?

First Kiss for Sunday Scribblings

When I arrive
at camp,
I notice
a blue jay
has gotten caught
in your Hav-a-heart
cage intended
for pesky
gray squirrels.

He has nearly ripped
his wings apart
trying to escape.

I flash back
to another trap…

Your lips
were so soft
and enticing
when we first met
that I let myself
be tempted
and I fell
for your kisses
right there
in the back seat
of Lee Dube’s
father’s Impala
on the way
back from Wildcat
Ski Area.
I fiddle
with the latch
and release
the bird.

He flies away
like a piece of sky
returning home.