Posted on Leave a comment

The Dance Card

At the estate sale I bought a young woman’s

dance card from a formal dance of the

Theta Chapter of Kappa Kappa Gamma

dated February first, 1915.  More than a card

it is a small booklet on a string with five

pages and a brass mesh cover, the

facing pages listing Engagements

and Dances with the names of the

musical numbers printed out

Ballin’ the Jack, The High Cost of Loving,

It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, 

When Grown Up Ladies Act Like Babies

and to end the evening, Good Bye, Boys.

The young men’s names are pencilled in:

Mr. C. Avery, Mr. Mann, Mr. Cook and

on line 13 the underlined note I kissed him

with his name given only as XXX.

Well well well!  What might the chaperones

Mrs. Bella Kirkbride and Miss Fannie Sanders

have thought of that?  And why did

this young lady keep her beau’s name a secret?

And whatever became of him?  Of her?

Of Mr. Mann, Mr. Cook Mr. C. Avery

and all the others she’d written down?

They are all certainly long gone now never

imagining that a perfect stranger would

one day wonder about their lives and loves

about who and what they became

whether they lived happily ever after

somehow escaped the ravages of war

or more likely died young and bewildered

in a foreign country a lifetime away

from formal dances no chaperone

to keep them out of harm’s way.

Posted on Leave a comment

Watchdog

My littlest dog keeps himself extremely busy

with many tasks and duties, first and foremost

guarding this house against intruders, i.e.

screaming at any person or dog passing down the street.

Catching squirrels which includes stationing himself at

the base of the redbud tree for as long as he must

until they finally escape away in the treetops.

Carrying his many disemboweled stuffed animals

in and out in and out of the house all day long.

Yelling from the car at any dog or person

choosing to walk on any sidewalk or street.

Chasing off the raccoon and the white cat

that lurk outside the fence at night.

Preventing my neighbor’s dog from ever

leaving her home or entering her own yard.

Ingratiating himself to All who actually enter

our home despite his best efforts to keep them out.

Getting everyone to love him more than

Miles the hedonist (not working on Mother).

Posted on 1 Comment

Cake

Her brain was addled

from too much cake

(so they said)

though anyone knows

that cake will go

straight to your toes

(instead of up top)

and make you jig

dance til you drop.

She licked the crumbs

right off the floor

held up her plate

and asked for more.

Now she lives atop a tree

pining for you, waiting for me

waiting for anyone (truth be told)

who will bring her a cake

(she has a heart of gold).

Posted on Leave a comment

Little Chef

Young woman in a wheelchair, a little white dog

reminiscent of my Henry tethered along beside.

A service dog she trained herself to fetch things

for her and do whatever else perhaps open

the blinds in the morning close them at night

do the laundry maybe even the dishes maybe

cook up an omelet now and then or pancakes

flipping them one by one onto a blue plate.

I could picture my Henry doing so oh yes

and wearing a chef’s hat too standing on a

stool by the stove his bright adoring eyes

watching over all.

Posted on Leave a comment

People

The thing is this:  a person sitting at a table

eating a peach maybe a small bowl of rice

various thoughts and ideas traveling through her brain

suddenly realizes that every other person

too has a brain occupied in more or less

the same way the difference being that

whatever riffles through one remains

shuttered up unbudging in another or

yet becomes tangled in a sort of chaos

in still an Other and so on differing

to the point of mystery

so that each to the other is only

a map of a territory at best

which gives no indication of

what the houses there are like

who lives in them

what they’ve planted in their yards

how narrow or wide their streets are

and whether or not their loved children

are safe to play and wander as they’d like.

 

Posted on 1 Comment

More Delight

A glass of grace sits before me

cardinal on the branch

morning’s cool breath

sunlight dappling the leaves

and I do believe that if I

drink up the crisp cold sparkle of it

gratefully however wantonly

my glass will be filled again and again

and yet again the trick being that

the more delight I accept

the more will be given.

Posted on Leave a comment

Rain in the Night

Lovely rain arrived in the night

bringing gifts for the birds

surprises me waking to wet leaves

shiny streets a cloud-laden sky one

red cardinal perched on the top of

the Queen of Hearts’ head singing

no doubt about the greatness of rain

of Life as he knows it

of True Love babies and hope

of the particularities of this day.

And as the sun peers out from

its cloudy home the trees’ dripping

leaves flash all glitzed up as if for

a gala event the name of which

I cannot know but to which I

most fervently wish to be invited.

Posted on Leave a comment

Doing It

One day I will do it

follow the path

do the thing

take the risk

launch that boat

navigate to the place

I truly want to be.

Whatever stops me cannot be

immovable surely as I myself

have placed it there. Others

think I’ve realized my dream

but this is only a diversion

that looks like the dream.

You’re doing what you love

they say and it is partly true

but partly only.  One day

I will truly do it.  I will.

I imagine I have needed all

this time to get ready

at least that is the nice thing

I will say about it.