Category: Poems

Fan pulls cool air from the window.
My dog rearranges the oval of himself
so he can take full advantage of it.
I brush my toes back and forth across his
velvet curliness, taking in this moment fully.
Day after day I want to stay right where
I am, with these dogs, in the cool of morning.

I want to be here for the next thing
she said, the friend I ran into yesterday.
Her life became a life of cancer five years
ago, when her boys were still boys.  
Now, her son says, she lives life raw.
It seems improbable that she will ever think
Their lives are settled now, now I can go.
Sons are sons forever.  So she shoves
herself, raw, through the tunnels of 
chemo and pain, for the privilege
of being here for whatever the next 
thing may be.

I do love my bones
and my muscles
and the tiny hairs 
of my eyelashes
my heart and lungs
eyes and ears and mouth
and all the parts of me
that keep me alive and
moving, coming, going,
seeing, doing and being.
All those parts that were
put together 60 years ago
in the dark depths of my
mother’s body that once
was put together in my 
grandmother’s body and
so on and so forth back
and back and back and 
here again I can only 
think that I have been
remarkably lucky.

The luxury of the open window.
Cool air drawn across my shoulders.
Katydids chattering in the yard.
A sweet sugar love of a brown black
dog lying imperturbable at my feet.
I love I love I love all of this
that I have and love and will love again
tomorrow and the day after that
I will love again and again I 
will love from inside my bones
these small perfect things.

A pair of hummingbirds exploring 
the red-capped birdfeeder in my 
mimosa tree. My brother
and I sitting just there.  Now zipping
here now there now hovering
a small foot from our faces.  Looking
as if they had a very important matter
to discuss.  I was wearing that flowered 
robe of mine, I realized later and I bet 
they liked the look of it.  You never know.  
I rather like the idea of being looked upon
favorably by two elegant hummingbirds.

A polka-dotted dress
a child’s voice calling
windows open wide 
my bare feet on the smooth floor.
There are no words for the easy grace 
of this mid-summer day.

My eyes must close, they must.
Which is to say they desire to ever so
though it is morning and all the world spreads
itself green and blue before us my two eyes 
and me outside of this house perfectly poised
for viewing hoping to be observed loving
to see and be seen anticipating the inevitable
elucidation of its graceful self by me for Others.  
And it will be delightful, that fact is
already known the viewing will be a delight.
But aware of all this and having had 
my eye sockets lovingly licked and fussed
over by my black dog just earlier here
in my bed, in fact on this pillow, nonetheless
I can in all honesty say that these two eyes 
of mine want persistently perhaps I might 
even say fervently to close to shut 
out the light and the glorious real 
world in favor of the gentle chaos 
of sleep and dreams.

Wind picks up
as we idle here
my two dogs and me.
Walnut leaves drift down
in a sudden autumnal rush.
Oh I must get out and see
what is what.

Things I have found and carried 
home from the woods include
half of a butterfly wing
a great heavy heart-shaped rock
two morel mushrooms
many handfuls of wildflowers
branches of a felled flowering hawthorn tree
a weathered red-painted wooden stake
oh so many interesting rocks
and this glad gathering of contentment.

The promise of rain once again 
broken.  I am a pouting child.
I want to walk in a downpour turning
my face up to feel the drops bursting 
on my hot eyelids.  I want to watch
the creek rush tumbling reckless 
shoving rock and branch.  I want 
my hair wet and dripping over 
my face my skin singing the almost 
lost tunes of waterfalling abundance 
once more and once more again.
I want I want I want.