for Thursday, May 19, 2011

It rained that day,

and by the evening the light

shone wan and gray.  But the hosta

glowed chartreuse and blue green.

Each leaf grew clean, each smooth, and

studded with pearls of water,

gifts of the storm.

for Monday, May 16, 2011

A Consideration of Cats in the Cosmic Weave

Cats have

a certain unity 

of thought and action

in the moment

every moment

different from

moments humans know

so

their actions can look quite

autistic

to people

not in their loop

who can’t see

outer space in a dust mote. 

People can’t squint

along the plane of the possible

perpendicular

to time and

yesterday’s coffee

parallel to a

slanting shaft of sunlight warming the rug

just that patch

right there

3:27 sharp

eastern standard cat time

western sunset ocean time. 

That sunset was last Tuesday

but no matter

no matter

we sleep

drowsy

purr contented

warm rug right here right now

forever.

Forever

‘til salmon.

for Saturday, April 30, 2011

Whirl down the days fire and ice,

Green growing or hard winter ground.

Here we are now and time trips on,

clockwork moving us along to where we will be

looking back and remembering.   

Everything seems harder now, more

difficult to do, except for us still together.  Me and you.  And

there is still the place where your neck and jaw

join for me to kiss goodnight,

still your curly pony tail for me to tie,

the mustache and beard that scratch

when you kiss me.  So long a time,

and so short—yesterday we met

under the tree they since took down

for diseases of its heart, the squirrels

scattered to other trees to throw nuts

on other people. They’ll turn into lovers too.

Maybe we will walk there when we’re older,

hobbling along to feed new squirrels

who will torment new students—

we’ll go feed the future

together.

for Friday, April 29, 2011

Moles dig up,

Moles dig down,

Moles dig round and round and round--

In all the world

No diggers are better than moles.

from Song of the Dig-dig Clan

They fill the yard, snake through the grass,

They leave ridged dirt wherever they go.

I step on the tunnels where all of them pass

smoosh each individual row.

I’ll never catch up because they never stop—

it’s deep in their bones and their blood.

They dig through a drought never breaking the top,

rise up for surviving a flood.

Moles can survive where I never could,

feeding on earthworms and grubs.

I’d just let them be, but I know if I should,

the grass would be nothing but stubs.

So we balance our lives, one ‘gainst the others—

me stomping efforts of my furry brothers.

for Thursday, April 28, 2011

Digging Mona

They want to dig up Mona.

At least  that’s what they say

they want to do.

They’ll find her skull, reface it,

suck DNA out of a tooth 

or two.

They say it’s time to solve the mystery,

solve it now, and for all time.

They have tools and talent

to build a face from remnant 

bones and grime.

As if she needed solving.

Leonardo’s work will still be 

what it is—

fantasy forever, not

attainable because it’s his.

for Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Goose family laughs--

creek sprang its banks. For some, floods

are wonderful things.

for Tuesday, April 26, 2011

don’t ask

don’t tell

what you are

leaves a smell

up my twitchy

passages

don’t matter what

the repeal says

the wheels grind

slowly

and complicated

very

so hide your truth

keep mum

closets aren’t

so dumb

though you should be

don’t bother me

for Monday, April 25, 2011

We are walking time bombs

you and me.

Here are little pills

so our heads don’t explode. 

Miss a week? 

Boom!

Miss one day?

Half a boom! 

They always said the bad drugs were the

ones that got you hooked.

for Sunday, April 24, 2011

Come, silk and night.

Return my breath.

Steal moments

from daylight, from

dark of the moon. 

Gild the Sisters’ threads--

sear the parchment,

illuminate our days

in scarlet, emerald, topaz.

Arrive in splendor

prove again

the liquid jewels of life.

for Saturday, April 23, 2011

Fifty-one Springs

For fifty-one springs

there have been springing grass

and new toads peeping.

There have been showers and snow

for crocuses, daffodils and tulips,

tiny purple mint carpeting the fields,

blue veronica in the grass.

There have been red-breasted robins,

mockingbirds, and bluebirds,

and growth for the fruits of summer.

I didn’t know

when I was born

that spring would be so good

every one of my

fifty-one years.

for Friday, April 22, 2011

Breathe:

try a new position

let me rub your back.

Here we are:

who knew

our time together would be so long

despite trouble, anxiety, our changes

here we are.

Breathe.

I watched you sleep in moonlight

much younger

seeing who you were

who you would be.

Fluorescents shine garish

in this room;

on the bed you shift, pained,

machines drawing heartbeats

cuff measuring pressure.

I still see who you are:

Be well.

breathe

for Thursday, April 21, 2011

Autistic support, the day before Easter vacation

 

She loves water bottles—all water bottles.

Can’t leave them alone.

He has two.  She wants both.

I grab them back, return them to his lunchbag.

“No—not yours.  I’m sorry, these you can’t have.”

Sharing is not his strong suit.

He sees from across the room.

Screech!

“They’re mine!  She’s touching my bottles!”

He’s there, his fist tight and ready.

She cowers away, only knows he’s mad.

Probably doesn’t know why.

“Don’t do that, please.”

Slowly, he backs down.

Thank you, god.

Five minutes later she has forgotten, but

he complains until his bus comes.

 

for Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Little things set them off—

these children

are volatile—you have to be careful of

the way you look at each, 

of how you speak,

of what you say—exact words—you

can’t slop language for people

who take it literally—and then there are kiddos who are

non-verbal in English, Spanish and sign, but

know everything you’re saying and sign

I want a drink please I want cheese please I want

the world and a buttered oyster please and thank you 

what do you mean No?  Why not?  I want.

Now, explain what you can't—

that life is not fair

even though you must play fair in Uno 

and you can’t always get 

what you want 

what you need and 

buttered oysters and the world

go to those

who speak in legal tender and all other languages

please and thank you

very much.

for Tuesday, April 19, 2011

for one beloved

back then

I’d have given almost anything

to be the one you loved

the one

you wanted

the one your eyes followed

around rooms

down corridors

the one who lived in

your mind all the way to

our separate homes

our different rooms

our disparate lives

never happened

back then

I’d have given almost anything

for us to be each other’s

same home

our room

one life

brilliant children

back then

for Monday, April 18, 2011

Of Such Are Other Worlds Formed

  

One hand raised she pauses, staring

into spaces beyond.  She whispers,

speaking to an invisible someone. 

A pan in one hand hangs forgotten as the

other hand bathes in hot water, because

this fantasy will not wait

until the dishes are done, because

insistent ephemera must be spoken to immediately

while they are

there/not there and will be

much too much farther off

if she waits.

for Sunday, April 17, 2011

Some Ways to Look at a Goose

  

V against high gray clouds

     two arms, one longer, their cries float down

Gander steps proudly through the barnyard,

     herds females, disciplines the dog, hisses at cats

A bush of spines and fruit, with natives in both Old and New worlds,

     but geese have little to do with gooseberries

White domesticated geese float alongside Canada geese

     neither care that the other is unlike

His hand strokes a cheek on the way past—my husband

     claims he did not do it, that squirrels ran past to goose me

They float down the center of the creek, then paddle to the lush

     green shore and graze on the new-shoot grass

A fat and pleasant edible outside for that perfect jewel

     which was the Blue Carbuncle

Lake frozen, deserted, the geese are conspicuous

     by their absence

Invisible even at full moon, geese fly at midnight

     shrill calls echoing in the cold air

for Saturday, April 16, 2011

T minus seven

where do we go when we

where do we go it’s just

so close so far and we

can’t see our way

we just

hope for the best and we

hope all is well and we

hope that we see

turning time’s

night and day

again

although it’s not the same again

as what we knew

it’s all gone peculiar

and someone has to steer us through this

maze of tangled new weird

just so we see

it’s not our fear

never never what

we feared

for Friday, April 15, 2011

Pond Life

Only color in gray-green world

goldfish glow in murky water.

Crosshatched patterns

giant catfish

fade and return.

Turtles absorb sun

strewn across cement slabs

near wary ducks processing eggs.

April heat blows all cherry blossoms

people dress for July.

for Thursday, April 14, 2011

Half of a Random Conversation 2

Hi…yes, on the train.

Yes.

Yes.

I need you to get that out for me…I forgot everything.

Middle left-hand drawer.

Two to the electric and one to the cable.

No, that was to mom.

Just get your dad to sign them and you can do the rest.

Really?  

My god.  That's a shame.  Well...

She’s always been that way.

Yes, he’s always put up with it.  

I told him.  

One of these days...

Yeah, he always says he loves her too much to…

she’s playing with fire.

Playing with fire.

for Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Half of a Random Conversation 1

No.

The only way to catch the elephant is to deploy the net you found in the corner.

You know

the corner next to the monkey cage.

Right, well it won’t if you never picked up the peanuts.

No, that’s for the giraffe…

you aren’t pretending this is logical, are…

It doesn’t matter what they eat in the wild.

Well, what do you expect when they’re plaid?

Good, so you can go after the next one.

Remember—rhinos first, ostriches after, or it locks the gate.

No, no way, you can’t open it again.

You can’t ever go there again.

for Tuesday, April 12, 2011

 Wish we were there. 

Friday night jazz bar

music tastes of cream

smooth beneath skin

voices join in gold purple

red emerald folds

music complete no words

hands clap high below

feet keep the faith

bass rumbles through core

highest piercing notes one horn

drips honey on the congregation rains

blessings on souls

walk warm bright lights burning

neon signs shine rain slick street

sidewalks trampoline dance feet

for Monday, April 11, 2011

  Today we spent a day out in 83 degrees enjoying the local aquatic life.

At the pond

The swan glided calmly on the water

until it saw the bread.

Then it nibbled grass

and posed shamelessly for our camera.

The gold fishes glowed in murky water

attracted to bits of bread.

They looked like fish in Japanese ink drawings

posed timelessly in curves and twists.

Turtles lay in the sun near the water

ignoring our bread.

They soaked in sun

posed motionlessly like statues.

for Sunday, April 10, 2011

After another endless awful summer of drought, it finally rained.

All birds this morning

fly in loops, drunk with water.

Drought gone, they rejoice.

for Thursday, April 7, 2011

Carve it into stones that all might see and remember

Through the woods, above the flat lands

they stand— 

stone markers prove an inland line

where water once reached.

But six hundred years is a long time. 

They stood forgotten, they fell and

lay unread. 

Such diligent labor, care, and expense for

a distant generation…

those survivors of ocean’s rage

knew only long memory could save their people.

“Tsunami reached this spot.  Do not build past here.”

Wednesday, April 6th 2011

I love saying twentyleven.

Good Dreams

Day warm, and drenched in golden light

I ride my bike down a narrow country road.

Out across the land the fields grow green

in rows, and gentle sweeps of hill and dale.

The road leads back to a farmhouse, large,

built of county orangey-red brick,

surrounded with trees.  Warbles and tweets—

birds’ song the only sound.

I know this place, this peaceful, perfect place.

I don’t know why.

Rainy Tuesdays in Spring

For April 5th

The caterpillar’s song doesn’t last for very long,

But it plows along and gobbles anyway.

It munches without ceasing like it knows its time is fleeting—

it lets nothing bar its path along that way.

It doesn’t hedge a bet—goes for all that it can get,

And, living, shrouds in silks and confidence.

It knows there’s more to life than food and growth and strife

And rises up, renews the ancient dance.

April 4th Monday is Sometimes All Right

Today is warm and wonderful, a foretaste of summer in an otherwise cold and rainy spring.

It’s a beautiful day though the sun ain’t shinin’

We move through the mist and the rain

Warmth spins around us like cotton candy

Spring flows through our bodies again

We need to crack loose the hard nut of winter

We need to press up out of the ground

We need to rise green and bounce with the pansies

Reconnect to motion, live in sound

 

For April 3rd

Dolls and baseball gloves

strew Oregonian sand.

Hungry gulls fly past.

For April 2nd

A very late post--the day was taken up with the twinnies' birthday doings.

A wish for my daughters on their twenty-first birthday

Fly through the cave of the waters, let nothing tie you to ground.

Soar high, far, and joyful--bring whoever can come along.

Work hard, play soft, sleep well.

Always keep love.

April 1st,--Day of the Fools

Poem one:

Great wave in passing

left none to see petals fall,

cherry tree weeping.

  Debris from the destruction in Japan has begun to wash up on the shores of Oregon.

Starting tomorrow...

  ...one poem for every day.  We'll see how it goes.  

  I think the first one will be for Japan.

  Today I was with some elementary age kids who have autism.  I recognized two of the boys for sure--and they are twice the size they were last time I saw them!  It's always good to see the kids through their school journey.