Sunday, July 20, 2014

incredibly depressing hotels following towering redwoods

it's a long fall from 300 feet in the air, feeling the wind
in your hair, a view as far as the eye can see, the smell of
eucalyptus lofts from below
to this dumpy Quality Inn
with the roar of the freeway outside the door,
it's downright depressing, isn't it
until I found I had company in this, a soul
who agreed, a couple in fact so we were comrades
in this and then it wasn't so lonely after all and we can laugh
at how miserable it is and be glad we at least don't live here.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Waking at 4:30 am

it's dark at 4:30 and even the birds
are not awake yet, they doze on tree branches,
dreaming of worms and ripe apples, the  young
birds flapping their wings in preparation for
fledging, some chirping in alarm, loud enough
to wake themselves up before settling back
into restless movements on small branches.
I wake at 4:30 in anticipation of missing the big
silver bird that will fly west to California, to meet
my fledged offspring, so tall and strong now,
she looks down at me and tells me that her
roommates have been instructed that if a small
version of her walks into the house, it's her mom,
yes, at 4:30 I am a small version of her, in the dark,
packing my last few things, in preparation for
a long journey.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

I heard a fly buzz

I heard a fly buzz, knocking his head
stupid against the window, dropping,
zigzagging only to reappear on the opposite wall.
I wave my read plastic fly swatter, zeroing in for
a fatal blow, while you keep reading in bed,
oblivious to the grand battle across the room.
The fly is winning as  I stumble like a drunk
from one side of the room to the other, tripping
on my pajama legs, wack! wack!
is retreat possible, a graceful admission of defeat,
will you notice the buzzing if I settle into my book,
if I say nothing, if I slip quietly under my summer
covers, if you hear it, will you be so gracious as
to pretend you do not?

Monday, July 14, 2014

Paradigm Shift

Shift the morning paradigm from a
black and white newsreel, war breaking out
in a far off country, to a comedy show.
a wide-eyed grin, a belly laugh, a deep contentment,
a willingness to wake up in the morning again.
the black dog will feed and walk herself.
no dirty dishes, the toothpaste will not spray
across the newly washed window and flowers
will bloom all winter.
we'd love it here, there would be no newspaper
to recycle, no news that recycles over a thousand
years of Sunni against Shia, or Catholic against
Protestant, only the peel of laughter, let the paradigm
shift tomorrow.
I'd welcome the change.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Last Sunday Dinner

I made fish tacos, a favorite,
and I only cried three times today.
how many hundreds of Sunday dinners
did we share, first just the two of us, my son and I,
when we pretended it was a shared cooking task,
then we were three, then four, now back
to two of us on Sundays, unless you
count the little black puppy as one.
this is the time of good-byes,
a neighbor, a friend, my son, all
saying good-bye for now, until later,
the painful practice of the many good-byes
that hang in the future, if only practice made
them any easier.

Friday, July 11, 2014

too tired to write

too tired to write a poem,
the words drift in the window, the unsaid
and the said, the laughter and the sighs, me,
I'll settle into a pillow of unwritten words, they
will settle on the pages tomorrow, perfectly ordered.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Words Left Unsaid

left unsaid, the words settle between the sofa cushions,
wrapped in a dust bunny under the table, the unsaid pulls
slightly down on what could have been a smile, maybe a
tear occasionally leaks out, quickly brushed aside.
words that speak volumes of hurt feelings, grief, loss,
those of anger often escape, if not into the dendritic
depression that spreads across a cold windshield on a bleak
winters day, words leak out like water from a soaker hose
on a dry Arizona garden, seeking their fertile ground and seeds
that will grow under their tutelage.