A Time Someone Said Yes

Thursday October 28, 2010

A Time Someone Said Yes

The sun said yes
this morning
to the fog.

Did you see
how beautiful
it looked

with the smoky wisps
all along the river
and Mt. Forist

drenched in sunlight
above? I had to run
to my room,

grab my camera,
and snap a picture
of all that yes.

Rising Early to Begin the Journey

Thursday November 9, 2010

Rising Early to Begin the Journey

Starlight is tip-toeing
across my quilt
when the alarm
goes off. I lie
there for a few moments
feeling the weight
of its footprints,
wishing I could fall
back to sleep.
Getting up, I glance
out the window
at a quarter moon
smiling.

I'm not.

It's 4:30
and I have a plane
to catch.
My mom has cancer
and I have to go
to Florida
to care for her.

The stars are still
in the sky
as I head out
of town,
the same stars
my mom can see
if she looks
out her window.
But, she can't
even get out
of bed.

The moon
slides behind
clouds.

Two Days After My Dad Died

Tuesday November 16, 2010

Two Days After My Dad Died

The sun haloes
their heads
as they sit on the couch:
my mom's white
cloud of hair
and my daughter's
dark waves.

"How did you and Grampy
meet?" Erin asks.

A smile
like a flower opening
spreads over
my mom's face.

She starts talking.
We listen.
Erin reaches over
and holds her hand
while the sun rests
on their shoulders.

These Were the Reasons to Stay

Thursday November 18, 2010

These Were the Reasons to Stay

Twilight
when the air
is flannel.
You
come home
and we sit
in the hug
of evening.

Rain
and you stay home
enjoying the silver day
while I go to work.
I return
and spaghetti sauce
is bubbling
on the stove.

Dead Man Poem

Thursday December 16, 2010

Dead Man Poem

The dead man knows about time.
The dead man knows how day moves
into day, into day.
The happenings of today will fade
into wisps of yesterday.
They will lose their impact.

The dead man sits in a restaurant.
He is trying to order but the pretty waitress
is busy and hasn't acknowledged
him yet.
He feels himself getting angry, then
angrier, then angriest.
He wants to bang his fist on the table.
He wants to trip the waitress
as she flies by.

But, then, the dead man remembers
that tomorrow he'll have a date
with this same waitress.
She'll make up to him for her slight
of today in many pleasant ways.

Packing a Suitcase

Tuesday December 21, 2010

Packing a Suitcase

I take words
and fold them carefully
into each other
so they all weave
together.

Then I place them
into the suitcase
of a poem
smoothing them
down.

When the bag is full,
I let it take
me away
into another
world

where thoughts
are airplanes
and meaning
is a tropical
beach.

Meditation in Z

February 10, 2011 Poetry Class


Meditation in Z

This sideways N
zooms across a page.

It's a swift zephyr
buzzing through the trees.

It's last in line
of all the other letters

waving a red flag
as the parade zips by.

Z is a bumblebee's song
and an airplane's snarl

as it whizzes through
the azure sky.

Z is the sharp sting
of a poorly executed quiz

and Kylie's smile
when I bought her a ZhuZhu pet.

Zs are elusive
but make a big statement.

When they are by the dozen,
Zs are dreamland

at the end if the day
and exercise when I Zumba.

I have no idea
how to end this poem,

how to leave a zippity-do-dah
instead of a snooze.

so, I'll just stop writing
and turn this terrible

music off and stop turning
my students into zombies.

1. 
   

If I Had My Way

Tuesday March 15, 2011

If I Had My Way

We'd have an outdoor
classroom somewhere
in the woods

where we could smell
the snow and taste
the teaberry leaves

and listen to the wisdom
of the wind and feel
the soft comfort of moss.

If I had my way, we'd get out
of the choking broth
of crowded classrooms

and out into the infinity
of fresh, clean air.
So, pack up your books,

stop at your lockers
to get your jackets,
and let's head outdoors.

Last Night

Tuesday April 5, 2011

Last night
we went to Sinibaldi's.

They offered a special:
Delmonico steak, potato,

vegetable, and roll for $7.75.
So, that's what we both had.

I substituted fried
rice for potato. My husband

had pickled beets
and I had coleslaw.

And that was it.
There was nothing

special about the meal
or the night.

Just a busy Monday.
I hadn't gotten home

until five and hadn't had
time to go to the IGA.

So, my husband said,
"Let's go out to eat."

And I said, "Sure."

This Is What Can Happen When...

Thursday May 12, 2011

This Is What Can Happen When...

You can't think of what
to write about.

You stare off into space
for a while.

You listen to the piano
notes cavorting

around the students' heads.
You look around

the room at the kids
all writing

and it's just so cool
you feel like crying.

Sure, you're making
them write

but, still, they actually
are!

Then you write a poem
yourself.

And It Was at That Age

And It Was at That Age

Is a line from a Neruda
poem. I love Neruda
with his celebration

of common, everyday
items. He could build
a poem out of nails

and boards, and cement.
I wish I could iron
poetry as crisp as his.

I take words out of the laundry
basket, smooth them a bit,
spray Niagara all over,

and begin to press.
Steam rises but, somehow,
the creases are crooked,

the collars buckle,
then they hang lopsidedly
on hangars in my kitchen

waiting to be put away.
I hide these poems
in a dark closet

then sit in the living room,
open a book of poetry
by Pablo Neruda

and read of the sea,
his home, food, carpentry,
and fresh laundry.

Wander for Sunday Scribblings

Tuesday June 7, 2011

I Carried It in My Pocket

We'd been fighting
tossing words back
and forth
at each other.

Did you ever notice
if you add an S
to "words," it turns
into swords?

Anyway, we were
tossing swords
at each other
when I couldn't

take it anymore
so went out
for a walk
in the woods.

The sun was minting
little golden coins
on the ground.
I picked one up,

put it in my pocket,
and wandered back home.
He looked up at my smile
when I walked in,

put his arrow back
in its quiver. I took that bit
of sun out and we sat
holding hands in its glow.

Rising Early

Thursday June 9, 2011

Rising Early

I looked out my bathroom
window at the just lightening
sky and saw fog hanging
in the valley.

After my shower I looked
out, again. The mist
was lifting and clouds
we're getting coppery.

I got dressed then went
downstairs, grabbed my
camera, went out onto
the back porch

and took some pictures
of the sun trying
to burn through the haze.
Then, I turned around

and saw my granddaughter's
striped sundress
hanging on the line
and just had it snap a few

pictures of its bright
colors putting an exclamation
point on this first
paragraph of my day.