Author: Kay Foley

Once again my particular expectations failed me.
And so I trudged unhappily through my day.  
Any Buddhist could not fail to mention that 
had I had no particular expectation my day might 
have stretched out before me laden with every rich 
possibility.  Might have been in fact quite fulfilling.  
Ahh.  Ah yes.  I continue to learn.  
Luckily it is possible still to learn.

I love the words
umbrella
galoshes
cake
parade
nincompoop
dumpling
perplexed
Paris
unabashed
fedora.
I will choose one
(umbrella) and 
let it be the
watchword 
of this day.

The creek was up though we’d had no rain.
No rain again and still.
Thunder moaned and the sky grew dark
east of here one evening.
Rain east of here must have livened
up the creek.  But the jewel weed nearby
languishes for want of water and I
selfishly want its pods to fatten so I can
have my early autumn fun with them.

Rain rain
come and play
come and soak us
on this day.
 
But as I call
in this hopeful way
sun pours forth
all bright and gay.  

I want to stay here writing
in the cool of my room
leaning against these pillows
my two dogs dozing silently. 
The song of cicadas rises and falls.
The heat of July shimnmers just
beyond the walls of what is known 
as my house. And the grace of
this fact humbles me.

I have lolled too late in my bed
and to go out now in the heat
will be more of a trick.  But I
dreamed that Pam and I were 
on a ship at sea, pirates, a jolly pair
playing tricks, laughing, having our
kind of fun like we did so many
years ago, we two, knowing
each other, believing we were 
smarter, cleverer, wittier and
more dashing than anyone else.
We two.  It was a dream I 
wanted to play in 
all morning long.

Today I wish I was a dog.
I’d have no mortgage payment or
bills of any kind to worry about.
Very few responsibilities.
I could even stink to high heaven
and my person would love me anyway.
My primary functions would be to love
and be loved.  I would also have to 
      a) entertain my people with my silly behavior
      b) lie on the couch with a baleful look
      c) jump wildly up and down whenever my people come home 
      d) clean my bowl at every meal.
I think that I could do all of these things
and do them well.  I would make a great dog.

I am putting my modest little wish
(nonetheless fervent) 
(nonetheless heartfelt)
into a small red Chinese boat 
and sending it off into a moonlit sky
to gather the magic of becoming.
From you and you and you
here in the world and
you and you and you
out in the Otherworld
who love(d) me
and who (I know) would 
wish for me also
my modest little wish.
Thanking you in advance
I am Yours Truly.

May we all be
hellbent and benevolent
whole upon breaking
loving and challenging
mysterious and open
willing to fly
witness to magic
dumbfounded
stupefied
polka dotted
magnified and
hopelessly besotted.

They say that in dreams the basement
represents the deep psyche.  The long buried,
stuffed away, most feared, terrible untouchables 
of our Selves.  The place from which nightmares emerge.
Well.  I have torn into my horrifying basement with
reckless abandon of late.  Ripped apart damp
rotting shelves in whose depths lurked
God knows what.  Sucked miles of spider 
webs into the maw of my vacuum cleaner.
Swept up piles of dirt and dust.  Carried out
boxes and bags of useless or abandoned junk, 
the detritus of my sons’ childhoods and my own 
poorly executed home improvements.  
Soon, look!  I will be innocent again.