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.

Sunday Scribblings: Instinct

"Little Deuce Coupe"
is blasting from loudspeakers,
raining the sixties

all over the classic car meet
at Muscle Car City.
My first instinct

is to remain in our car
reading while my husband
walks around. He convinces

me I should go with him,
though. I see shiny Corvettes,
Cadillacs, GTOs, Model Ts,

a VW bus with peace signs,
and an El Camino my husband
loves. But I've have enough

of the past. So, here I sit
listening to Chubby Checker
twisting again like he did

last summer. I see my husband's
yellow cap stuck under a hood.
I'm typing away in the present.