Day 9 NaPoWriMo and 3WW

funny remember theater
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It started with the gigantic crash
of a chandelier. Jeweled light
reflecting everywhere
and music filling every space.

My friend, her mom,
and I were at the Wang Theater
in Boston viewing
Phantom of the Opera.
The costumes were great
and the acting impeccable.

But what I remember most
is my friend’s mom
singing out loud
to all the songs.

Heads swiveled,
eyes became daggers,
throats were cleared.

But she kept right on singing,
her face a happy moon
her head tilting from
one side to the other.

It wasn’t a funny play
but I could feel a little
volcano trying to erupt
in my chest.

I covered my mouth
to hide my smile,
coughed to disguise
the sound of laughter
bursting from my throat,
and had to run
to the restroom
and use toilet paper
to wipe the tears
from my cheeks.

After the intermission
and a stern reprimand
from her daughter,
she toned it down
to just a low humming.

That’s all I remember
about my trip to the big city
and a real stage production:
a crash,
unbridled joy,
and laughter.

Day 8 NaPoWriMo

The journal-writing prompt for one of my classes today was "It's what I do in the middle of the night when I can't sleep." The following is what I came up with.

Interesting Side Note: One of the other English teachers in our school had her students make huge posters containing a poem on each. They are on the walls all over the place to help celebrate National Poetry Month.
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In the Middle of the Night

I pull my pillow
up around my head
like a taco shell

and dream spicy
metaphors,

images sprinkled
on my mind
like chopped tomatoes
and shredded cheese.

And if I can’t sleep
I’ll look out the window
at onion stars
and a sour cream moon.

Day 7 NaPoWriMo

Theft

I’ve been stealing pounds
from my husband.

Each day when he goes
to work in the woods,

he loses a pound or two
and I find them

in the folds of his clothes.
I don’t mean to steal them

but they are like static
and cling to me.

Soon, though, I’ll start
returning them

when he sits on his boat
all summer.

I’ll tuck them into his
sandwiches

after shedding them
while on my bicycle.

Day 6 and Sunday Scribblings

Photographs

My mom bought an old
commode at an auction
many years ago.

She spent hours sanding
and refinishing it
to a warm honey glow.

Today it holds a tiny city
of photographs: an equestrian,
a waitress, a pilot, a manager,
two moms, and a pickle-eater.

These are the grands
and the great, the skyline
of the future.

Day 5 NaPoWriMo and Writer's Island

Lost Highway
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The snow was baby powder
swirling around my 4-Runner.

I didn’t bother with putting
the four-wheel drive on

since the road was clear.
I was on my way to babysit

my three-month old granddaughter
and as I descended through

the notch, I could feel my heart
beating a little faster

as if I were going on a date.
With just a mile to go

I hit black ice and I was on
a carnival ride, curving

into the oncoming lane,
swerving back to mine,

not being able to straighten out,
aiming for a spot between

a telephone pole and a snow bank
opting for a ditch, instead.

Hands on wheel
I don’t want to do this
I just want to see Kylie
Down into the ditch
Upside down
Rightside up
Hands still on wheel
Stuff everywhere
I’m alive
Unhurt, I think

Later, after the ambulance
came and they checked me out

after my daughter picked me up
and I convinced her to go to work

after calling my husband
and the insurance company,

I sat with Kylie in my arms
breathing in the baby powder

scent of new life.

Day 4 NaPoWriMo

I wrote this poem in my head last night as I was listining to my aunt. I didn't get a chance to actually write the words out until today, though. Is that cheating?
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Aunt Dotty sits
on her red couch
in front of a multi-
colored granny square
afghan.

When I ask, “How
did you and Uncle
George meet?"

a small sunrise
blossoms on her face.

She smiles and says,
“Well, my friend, Sarita,
and I were walking home
from downtown when

her brother pulled up
in his little coupe
and asked if we’d like

a ride. We said sure
and climbed in. The only
problem was that
there was no back seat

and her brother had
a friend with him.

So, Sarita climbed in
the middle and I sat
on George’s lap.”

Here her voice
gets deep and warm
as summer.

“After they dropped
me off, Sarita said
to George, ‘How’d

you like Dotty? Isn’t
she pretty?’ And George
answered, ‘Well, I couldn’t
see her face
but she has a soft
fanny.'”

The were married
for over 50 years.

Day 3 and Regional

for TOP April 4, 2008

It's Saturday and I'm sitting in Border's in Portland, Maine waiting for my mother-in-law's flight to come in. I have a very low connection. Borders is a T-Mobile hot spot but I don't have an account so I'm hoping I can get this posted without losing my signal.

I wrote this poem on Thursday afternoon waiting for my mom's flight to arrive in Portsmouth, NH. She flew in for a funeral. This morning she was scheduled to fly back to Florida but we woke up to the news that Skybus had ceased operations. Luckily, I was able to get her a flight out of Manchester, NH. I dropped her off and now am in waiting mode.

Okay, enough chit chat. Here's my poem.
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Mt. Washington sits
like a gallon of milk
on a blue tablecloth

as I head south
this Thursday morning
playing hooky from school.

At Wildcat Mountain
the skiers are confetti
as they weave

down the white frosting.
The whole valley
spreads out before me

as I swerve around
Dead Man’s Curve
in Pinkham Notch.

I’m singing
“Cover of a Rolling Stone”
by Dr. Hook as loud

as I can. See the notes
flying out my cracked-
open window, landing

on the snow
and perching on the limbs
of the bare trees?