POEMS -- 2002-2003

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    • THE AGE OF SHADOWS

    It could have been her high school shadow
    she chased. The cut of her profile
    and the mail carried school-girl style
    said eighteen.

    She used to capture shadows of leaves.
    Barely breathing, she waited for the sun
    to burn blue-tinted prints onto paper,
    then stowed them

    in the shoebox with her second grade
    silhouette. Light faded Long pinned memos
    on the bulletin board, and she wished
    her shadow

    that skirted the office walls could be stored
    in the box, too.

    January 27, 2002

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    SAVING ROSES

    The roses in my yard grow scarce
    before November's pruning:
    these All-Hallown days
    hold back the frost.
    They still hold their fragrance,
    unlike my mother's
    I placed on a shelf
    months ago. Dust-catchers, their petals
    fall, like days, to the floor.

    I've held onto other roses
    long past their purpose--my daughter's
    corsage casketed away; a yellowed one
    hanging bloom down in the pantry
    that marked our twenty-fifth year; a bud
    compressed between stained pages. Yet
    I tend to forget them;
    they, too, gather dust.

    * * * * * * * * * * *

    Even this late in the season
    I tend the bed against aphids and rust.
    Full-scented and heady, some will be left
    for their day of grace,

    but the roses I cut today
    will soon wither on the stone.

    February 12, 2002

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    THE STARS DON'T LIE

    We used to lie in the bed of your Ford
    on new moon nights. You plotted your course
    along the arch of my back, pledged Orion
    and the Northern Crown with a warm-mouthed
    wheatfield promise. Yours was a voice
    as soft as the evening whisper of grass
    against the chassis, as alluring as the arrival
    of the morning star. We loved

    in phases. Twenty years and two Fords later
    your kiss refracts across the back of my hand
    as I lie, cold-backed, in your bed through the season
    where nights are longer than days. We are

    a supernova. I scan the city sky for Serpens and Taurus,
    knowing now that light outlasts the heat.

    March 12, 2002

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    ONE LIFE SHORT OF NINE

    I envy cats. Meatloaf-shaped,
    they snooze unburdened
    by original sin. They dream
    of rodent conquests and catnip,
    but never broken laws.

    Emily snores, while the frayed fabric
    of my couch begs confession. She mews
    no mea culpa and lives
    a licked-clean life.


    March 17, 2002

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    EDWINA LIMERICKS

    Edwina Limerick #1

    My much older sister, Edwina,
    Took her birthday suit in to the cleanah.
    When they shrank it three sizes,
    'Ween squealed, "Love surprises!"
    And stepped out feeling twenty pounds leanah.

    Edwina Limerick #2

    My much older sister Edwina's
    full birthday suit went to the cleanahs.
    When they shrank it a size,
    She just squealed in surprise
    And felt quite substantially leanah.

    March 19, 2002
    Want the low-down on writing a limerick?     Click here

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    WHILE YOU'VE BEEN AWAY

    I have spent my days pulling weeds
    while watching hummingbirds
    fly from feeder to feeder,
    and I have missed you.

    I have vacuumed the carpets
    and polished bathroom fixtures
    to a pristine sheen,
    and I have missed you.

    I have set my closet in order
    and balanced the checkbook
    to the penny, the way you like,
    and I have missed you.

    In the evenings I have cooked
    meals for one, then put one plate
    away. I've gone to sleep
    on your side of the bed.

    I have missed you.

    April 10, 2002

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    TOO TALL SUNFLOWERS
    An Exercise After Man Ray's "Lautgedicht"

    Use Man Ray's Lautgedicht as a template, or shape, for a poem on any subject. The best way to think of it is that the black lines are 'slots' into which words of (very roughly) the right length must be inserted.

    Now at twelve feet, not
    a presumed and packaged four,
    they're gawky

    like girls who gangle
    up preteen inches. Gold flower
    clusters splay skyward,
    resisting my finger's stretch
    for these rangy sunflowers.

    Summer is spent.
    Early July's lavish blooms
    withdraw into slack holiday
    and if I leave October
    to itself, that pleases

    bees who cull around
    the birds' threshing pecks,
    humming, as I watch
    finches bend down seedheads.

    October 19, 2002


    TOO TALL SUNFLOWERS
    Revision

    They grew like young girls who gangle
    up preteen inches. Now at twelve feet,
    not the four promised, gold clusters
    splay skyward, resisting my fingerstretch
    for these rangy seedheads

    as July's lavish blooms start
    their withdrawal into a slacker season.
    Finches bend down those seed-heavy tops
    and if I leave October to itself, that pleases
    bees who cull and hum around
    birds' threshing pecks.

    November 16, 2002

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    SMOKING

    If I could pull off Audrey Hepburn
    I'd probably smoke. It has to be
    Audrey, not Katharine--no candid no-nonsense
    puffs for me, but the sultry pose
    men reel to light. I mime poise

    in black flats and pearls, elbow
    hipbalanced and wrist tipped back
    as smoke wisps upward. I'd choke
    if I inhaled the thing,
    hack ingenue that I am, so better
    to hold it off to the side
    and smile sweetly, defenseless

    as my bra strap slips
    off my shoulder.

    October 22, 2002

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    HALLOWED GROUND

    When the trees in our yard flamed autumn, they foretold
    Grandma's visit. Manna was plucked from the cookie jar and the book
    she pulled out prophesied bedtime. Which one?
    she'd tease, knowing my Moses! Read Moses! would outclamor
    other pajamaed pleas. Then she'd sing once more of the stowaway
    baby drawn from the Nile, the run-away fleeing Pharaoh's palace
    for a kingdom of bleating subjects and the magic of a burning bush
    that wasn't consumed. Yet I was

    by the voice that delivered a tithe of flies, a river of blood, and doorposts
    bloodied for escape. I shivered each time Egyptians sank in a backswirl
    of sea and revelers had to drink the poultice of law. Sitting her lap,
    that hallowed ground, bare toes dangling over knees, I breathlessly
    vowed I'd never be swallowed up like Korah, for I knew
    the veiled glow of God when I looked on my grandmother's face.

    This afternoon is again filled with burning bushes. I lift my eyes
    and watch the clouds skiff the chill through a frame of red.
    Even in the autumn cool, I want to remove my shoes.

    May 16, 2003

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    THE DOG TAKES OWNERSHIP

    The dog takes ownership
    of the lounger. Never mind
    negotiations for a patch of sun,
    his domain now extends
    from green lawn to green pad.
    Black and white hairs poke into the fabric
    like conqueror's flags: We claim
    this chaise longue for McNeil.     I concede,
    retreat to the hammock. A snooze there
    doesn't leave my oiled legs looking unshaved;
    garden territory, cratered
    with last week's encroachments,
    is regained.

    July 3, 2003

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