Tuesday, May 3, 2016


Together we stood on 
the beach
watching the sea
I smelt your sweaty hand
in mine

The sun was shapeless
and there was no rain
Then I lost you

I stood waist high
You were laughing
We were dancing
You in your tube tutu

I fell off the ledge
pulled under
rolling and rolling

Eyes wide open I saw
only green
I found the ledge
You were gone


Friday, December 12, 2014

Lyrics in Frosty Weather

Cutting the fog
Disturbing its presence
Clock is rising
Frost is melting
Unable to face the pavement
I trampled abandoned beans
No one was hunting
It is Friday in December
I wouldn't be shot
Dogs keep stopping to pee
Reality distraction or grounding
I am not sure
So afraid of the pen
The ink is dark and wet
In the field my words
Out loud are silent
My choice to remember
To stab at it

Waiting Mind

Art is like stealing
Seductive and wrong
Practical survival
Requires certain absence
Silently tormented
No one would know
All vision is distorted
Lies we tell
To cover our stories

Box Cake and Polyester

I'm allergic to cake
Red velvet cake
I'm covered in boils
Too listless to crumble walnuts
Musts to contain myself
Keep up with the madness
Stay on track
Read your books
Be on time and go to bed
Walk the dogs and do the laundry
It happens every time
Come to find
It is the dye
No longer can I
Wear my clothes

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Believe in One Day

One day, dear Eliza, your old poems will be rewritten
Your tears will be forgotten
The dust falling in the sun of the open window
Will be
Just dust

Not a passenger ship to ride to the past
Where you can hide
Near Betsy's house
Catching butterflies as big as your hands
Holding, softly, just their bodies
Don't touch the wings

You believed you were a dog
Wearing a blue zippered suit
Everyone was fooled
Run, "Rwoof, rwoof!" through the yard

Today is changed
Paper promises
Coming true
Like the stones in the water
And your face, wet, on the linoleum
You kiss with a smile

Monday, September 23, 2013

OK No Matter What

I enjoy hearing about other people's spiritual beliefs when they are sharing their experience, strength and hope.

I'm going to whisper this really quiet; it is just my interpretation of an experience I had.   After a night working at a nursing home, where there was talk of "The Reaper," I am compelled to write for my own selfish comfort.

One time, very early in the morning, I lost so much blood (complications after miscarriage) that I thought I was in my bed dreaming and that I was really on a beach, it was twilight.  There were two small radiantly warm suns in the sky.  I remember being very thirsty and I felt like I had fallen asleep for a very long time on the beach and was drained, as one feels when this sort of thing happens.  I was laying on my side and two or three "people of light" were sort of hovering over me with their hands, like they were massaging my body without "touching" me.  I understood they were working.  I could hear the water coming onto the sand very calmly, but it was silent, if that can make any sense at all. Then my husband woke me up rather violently and I was so unsettled and disoriented.  I was now off the beach and on the floor of my bathroom waiting for the ambulance.  That was in April 2003. 

On a February day in 2003, different EMTs were rolling me on a gurney into an ambulance and my husband said, "You'll be OK no matter what."  I watched him say that, but his mouth wasn't moving and his voice was different.  For some reason, I though of Elijah in the rock cave while riding to the hospital.  I went from just hoping and believing to knowing there was a power greater than me.  I knew I could really just take it easy; that it really was OK no matter what.

After I got home from the hospital in February, my husband said he opened the front door the afternoon before I went to the hospital.  He noticed that, for a moment, the wind stopped and it was silent. 

Some time before the miscarriage, I felt terrible and had to stay home from work.  Stubbornly, I was still trying to get ready for work, anyway.  I walked by my mirror and stopped to glance, and it said (not out loud), "You are going to lose this baby."  I think I nodded, then I walked to my bed by the window and just laid down on my side watching the field out the window.  I felt this deep deep sadness which was melted together with this other feeling of peace or comfort.  I didn't cry; I just called work, didn't come in for the day, and took a very long nap. 

Then 20 months later, my son was born.  When his sister first laid eyes on him she was shaking and said, "oh, mom, thank you so much for the beautiful baby brother." 

Friday, September 13, 2013

Why we run

Why we run

It's exciting; we notice the colors-
The lines-The new sparkles and shapes
Where we were blurs
We think we know it already
Nothing more over which to trip
We've memorized
blue or brown
Flickers of the eyes familiar

O'Henry reminded us to look
Simple short stories
about breathing, bricks, and falling leaves
Bah, why look?
It's stamped in our granted memory

Ouch, wait, that cuts too deep
You have found the stones in the field
It's my fault line
here, cover it with this handful of dirt
Come back to the deck and return to casual

Are you tired of running?
You will rest here atop the mountain
Near the cool summer lake
With the laughter and wine
Acquaintances' happy faces and hugs
This is home

Utopians also forget or miss the deadline
for Interpersonal Communications
Why what you loved most becomes annoying?
Feel that familiar scratching-itching
Wandering, again...

She loves you the most
Have you looked into her mirror?
She's shy and insecure
Caught in the Himalayan hair of her labyrinth routine
Odd things fall from her mouth
You seethe inside with disgust

Think of the story
Look at each page
Remove your fragile psyche
See the flowers under the snow