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.