At the Nutcracker Ballet

Tags

ballet, poetry

I let the music dress me
in a party gown the color
of melting emeralds,
in a scarlet and black uniform
with a sword,
in raggedy rat-fur, and a nightgown
trimmed with lace, let it sweep me
around the Christmas tree,
into glorious battle,
and through the snowflakes
to the land of sugar plums,
let it spin me and twirl me
up onto my toes and lift me
high above the stage
in impossible leaps
until love and goodness triumph
and I descend to earth
to take my bow.

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Small with Everything

Tags

Alameda, Love, pizza

In Anne Lamott’s book Stitches
she quotes Ram Dass.

Ordered my pizza, small
with everything,
sat down with my book,
annoyed by the loud young men,
voices too big for the room,
shouting about sports; my table
beneath the speaker playing
a song for people decades
younger; my view the parking lot;

as my pizza arrived, I read,
we’re all just walking
each other home,
and heard the joy
in the voices and laughter,
felt the beauty of the music
soaring golden above me,
saw late afternoon sun
shining on trees beyond
the parking lot, and remembered
yet again my life is small,
but with everything.

Ice Cream for Everyone

Tags

Albuquerque, death, dreams, emotions, ice cream, Love, New Mexico

California and Utah, 2009
Photo: Albuquerque, NM, 1948 or 49,
me on far left, Lynelle on far right

My cousin Lynelle was dying,
I heard; remembering when we were children,
her big green eyes, smile sweet,
a bit crooked from a bad delivery,
five years older, so kind
to three-year-old me I thought
she was an angel;
that night I visited her in a dream,
in her hospital room in Utah,
kissed her cheek, told her I loved her;

standing all around, next to the walls,
my mother, Lynelle’s parents,
our grandmother,
Aunt Zulema and Auntie Irene,
all departed years before,
there to welcome, console, help,
I didn’t know which;

later on, Lynelle’s daughter wrote me
that the next day her mother was fading
in and out, but one time
she opened her eyes,
gestured at the empty room,
and told her daughter, as though the time
had come for the highlight of the picnic,
“Get ice cream for everyone!”

Groundhog Day

Tags

beach, break-ups, Love, pagan, poetry, Relationships

In the movie Groundhog Day,
Bill Murray has to live the same
day again and again.

The day of sun and wind,
when we met at the Blue Danube,
would be my choice, if I could choose
one day to live
over and over.

We left and took a walk;
on narrow streets
you told me about growing up
in London, Irish Catholic;
by the beach I talked
about my life, laughing:
all my stories so sordid;
as kites soared high,
I felt free
to tell you anything.

I wouldn’t have to improve
my endlessly repeating,
already perfect day,
since I didn’t know yet
the chilly wind
meant you would soon turn cold.

Each year the groundhog,
on his day, comes out
and sees his shadow or he doesn’t,
predicting more of winter
or coming of an early spring;
I never heard this year’s prediction,
but it feels
like a long, long winter.

Ole’s Waffle Shop

Tags

Love, Ole's Waffle House, poetry

Alameda, CA, 2014

Atmosphere a golden glow
scented with maple syrup,
Jackie Wilson singing
Your Love is Lifting Me Higher;
at tables and booths, couples
and families making plans,
chuckling at private jokes;
waitresses bustling, balancing
plates, all kindness and smiles,
calling everyone Hon;
solitaries
at the counter, bonded
into momentary family
by waffles and love.

Songs in the Dark

Tags

birds, Love, poetry

Next door, the birds—now too late
to know what kind—sang in the dark,
kept me company long before dawn;
the neighbors boarded up the eaves,
told me, laughing, that the birds,
for days, kept flying, flying
against the boards.

Sometimes I find I’ve boarded
up my heart.
One by one I take the boards down,
let in the pain and love again.

The early morning dark now quiet;
I don’t know when your heart will fly
home to my heart,
and so I sing.

The Empress

Tags

Love, poetry, Tarot, The Empress

The queen of sensual pleasures
seated in a lush garden,
love flowing from her,
creating from her womb, her heart.

Let me awaken her within myself:
bathe and let the water
soothe me, arrange my hair, anoint
myself with lavender oil,
write a poem, imagine
my lover, the one I await,
touching me;

she brings all things to fruition,
wielding the profound magic
of desire.

Today, Yesterday, and the Day Before

Tags

Love, nature, poetry, trees

Dead air between us,
I can’t hear you, feel you.

The sycamore says
I am held captive in a cave
by the spell of my old certainty,
my first certainty:
all will go wrong,
none will love me,
the sun will turn red
and then black,
the leaves on all of the trees
will twist and turn and fall
in the dark wind.

So now I sit on a stone,
my feet put down roots;
I draw up honeyed sweetness
from the earth
and burst into leaf and flower.
I sing a song,
the dark wind passes,
and you call to me.

Landing at Antioch

Tags

airport, Antioch, flying, poetry

Antioch, CA, 1981-2, Alameda, CA, 1983-2012

I never flew into that little airport;
it’s gone now, bulldozed, houses built,
but back then, Charlie said, final approach
was over a tree-covered hill: clear the trees,
cut power, rapid descent
to the narrow runway; too daring
for me, wanting tamer destinations
for my solo flights.

Early years with him: sunrise flight lessons
before work, first solo and first kiss
on the same day, weekend trips
through sunlit skies over green fields,
following rivers, highways, train tracks
below; destination always freefall into bed.

After his death, a former flight student,
smiling at Charlie’s humor,
told me he once was supposed to land
at Antioch, but hadn’t climbed high enough
to be above the trees; Charlie asked
if he was planning on flying
around them or through them.

He’s been gone a year and a half now;
after those sunny years, we made
a slow descent
into an unhappy marriage,
a bad landing we barely survived.
Then and now, I wish we’d found
a way around the trees.

Past Life Together: A Fragment

Tags

ocean, poetry, Reincarnation, Relationships

Beneath the brilliant sky
the dark sea heaves and rolls;
our boat lifts and drops
as you pull the oars,
guide us
towards the narrow inlet,
rocky cliff on each side.

Belongings in the bottom
of the boat, tied in an old shawl,
soaked with seawater.
In danger, pursued by the past,
our future lies between
the walls of rock.
If we can get ashore,
I know where to go.