Watermark

Snapshot Poem 29 July 02009

today it's the koi
catching the light
as they emerge from dark water

your family, my family
at the surface of dreams
so thin, that skin

between today, and then
I go back, again
and again, I reach

for you but grasp
nothing but fog, opaque
and elusive, I wonder

how they will ever get me up
on that horse, the ranch
dry, as it always was 

snakes in the sagebrush
rattling their warning
the deep bell ringing

cows coming home
home, home -- one kiss
that's all I ask

   

Snapshot Poem 15 July 02009

  

my past came to visit today
we sat together in the garden
both thicker, older, milder

each carries memory of the other
each carries memory for the other

we stretched out our legs
rested our shoulders back
watched the koi drift in the pond

& pulled in our nets of memory
each, for the other

  

April - May - June 02009

2009-06-10

the lives of thousands rest on his shoulders
the enemy is vile and wily

he is strong enough to carry this weight
he is strong enough to meet this enemy

he is strong, he is brave
he is willing to die for what is right

these people, if you can call them that
care for nothing, value nothing

they do not respect life as we do
they do not treasure family and god

he must be strong, he must be brave
he must be willing to die for what is right

he has prepared for this moment
for this, he was born

for this, he worked to become strong
for this, he is brave, for this

he is strong enough to save
his own kind, he is strong, he is brave

the enemy is vile, and wily, but weak
weak, they are tatters at the edge

of our genetic fabric, they must be cut
out, such contamination must be

cleansed lest it ... no, he will not think
of it, he is strong, he is willing to die

he is willing to kill, he is willing to die
for this, for right, for strength, for god

  

Traveling to Arizona | snapshot poem

flat-bottomed clouds, piled high
ice-cream scoops in a blue dish

home-made chocolate sryup
wind chimes singing

what is fundamental? what
is superfluous?

mockingbirds, cactus wrens,
hummingbirds at the sugar water

a woman, forgotten, in an outdoor cage
heat waving up from the pavement

the thin & frightened girl, wild-eyed,
weighing in for chemotherapy

recliner chairs and IV stands
row after row

palm trees recently pruned
looking entirely artificial

a different mother, the consequence
of some spontaneous transformation

parchment skin, brittle bones,
charcoal bruises beneath the eyes

plaster rabbits, plastic geese,
rubber dinosaurs on a green gravel lawn

unfamiliar flowers, thick and brilliant
fleshy plants with thorny warnings

waiting rooms, benches, vinyl walls
petals on the surface of the pond

 

Snapshot Poem 18 March 02009

It rains at bedtime. I release my hair
from my grandmother's turquoise combs.
The cat weaves around my feet. Rain
pings on the furnace pipe, thuds
on the shingled roof. I hear it rush
through the gutter sluice. It sounds
so free, so much itself.

These combs were made in Mexico.
I can't remember if my grandmother
ever wore them. Still, they were hers.
I see her bent over the planting beds,
pulling weeds, casting seeds, culling
sprouts where there are too many.
The neighbor's cat weaves

around her feet. Corn, carrots, peas,
and beans from this garden will help
me grow. We hide a seedpod from
the Japanese Lantern in the rubber
guard at the foot of the clothesline;
it's still there, strongly orange, months
later. All the rain and snow

of the intervening seasons do not scar it.
My hands, holding these combs, begin 
to look like hers. My face, in this mirror,
catches only a slight memory of hers,
and that, not the most beautiful. She
was beautiful. The cat urges me to bed.
Rain keeps falling, washing, all night.

  

Daylight Savings

This hour stolen from us,
an hour of joy; an hour
of misery; an hour of work
or dreaming. The sparrows
go on building their nest
in the long-untenanted
birdhouse. Cows wait
at the barn gate, slowly
swishing their tails.
Mountains fall beneath
the sun. We all go on
as before.

Snapshot Poem 04 March 02009

  
Audrey folds the quilt
at the bottom of the bed.
Chilled in the night, I reach
one-handed and pull it up
under my chin. It unfurls
smoothly, unlike love.
  

Snapshot Poem 11 February 02009

   

Seas between us, and time.
I climb beneath my quilts.
You wake in a bright room. 
You are not alone. I move
through dreams dense
with rage. Your children
berate me. There is no
escape. This long winter.