Winter Weight

And the cold settles in like death.
Everything is still and gray
until the breeze gusts in spurts--
almost an afterthought. Leaves
and snow swirl about.

Icicles hang, ghostly appendages
bending limbs to their breaking
points. Trees are haggard
from dead weight- wobbling
in the wind.

Winter has buried us. It’s dirty
and bulky, an old white sweater two
sizes too big that hangs on the city.
Bunching up in the alleyways,
the gutters, on the streets.

Overcast skies suffocate. The sun
trolls for a place to flicker through,
its hazy glow smolders behind
the clouds stratum. No warmth
permeates their depth.
　
　
　
　
　
　

A Different Perspective

Grateful for steam that rises,
I inhale dark roasted brew
and cream like a drug.

I bury my feet in impossibly thick socks
and swim in soft flannel, fabric that’s replaced
the silk and satin of youth.

Sun glances through the pines, plays hopscotch
in the backyard. I watch it jump, a child seeing
fireworks for the first time.

I hear the trills of birds echoing through the trees.
Even though their chirrups are a foreign language,
I’m enchanted.

The dog sleeps peacefully at my feet, chest barely
rising and falling. I’m awed that she surrenders
with one rub on her belly.

I look through different eyes in the autumn
of my life. Savoring the sweet, sunbeams pierce
my window like flaming arrows.

A Sign of Things to Come

I long to feel a nip in the air.
The one that chases away the summer heat,
makes trees blush and turn away.

The chill that coaxes me into my favorite shawl,
makes me want to curl up in front of the wood stove,
my feet tucked into impossibly thick socks.

That harbinger of autumn: season of pumpkins,
apple cider, and the promise of Thanksgiving--
leaves sent somersaulting to the earth.

When it Rains

They’ll find me, they always do.
They’ll hunker down above my house and wait,
seams ready to burst. Then they’ll pour
with all their might, they’ll pour.

Lumbering in,
dark clouds linger
over my world. Swollen,
eager to erupt in a flood of gray.

I’m armed; umbrella in hand,
leaks plugged, windows shut.
But it’s all for naught.
I’ll get splattered nonetheless.

Although I’m protected,
the splashes will seek me out,
taint me with their melancholy,
color me shades of blue.

Sunrise

I woke to blue skies.
A respite from the gray clouds
that smothered me.

Relieved from the burden of desperation,
I caught my breath and rose like a flower
from beneath the crush of a shoe.

I looked another in the eye,
held their gaze and felt worthy.
Today I saw the sun rise

for the first time in a while
and it bathed my world
in possibility.


*Published in Mused Spring 2011

Ocean Sketch

Rocks flecked with gulls and sandpipers
buffer the shores of the Atlantic,
placid and blue.

Firmament kisses water
and clouds shift in the current,
abstract art in flux.

Rooted on its banks,
a lighthouse guards drifting channels--
an earthbound north star.

Watercolors

The flowers on my silk dress
run together in the rain
like the finger paints of a child
as he drags his hands across them.

Clearly not Monet’s lilies
but just as beautiful to me,
rain blurs the floral pattern
I fell in love with in the store window.

There’s nothing cohesive or definitive here.
Abstract, like the life I lead,
it’s just a myriad of technicolor swirls
that meander over fabric.

The Makings of More

Little wren on my balcony
what a sweet face you have.
I wish I had a morsel

so you would come closer.
What friendship could be forged
over crumbs and coffee.

Dance Macabre

Living is like dancing.
I don’t do it very well.
Every day I force one foot
in front of the other.

But there’s no verve in my step,
no beauty in the motion.
Just a dull thud
as one leg plods ahead of the next.

No grace in my follow-through.
No feel for the rhythm of life.
Just a well rehearsed drudgery

day in and day out
as I slog through the muck of being.

Dry Spell

The thunder utters discontent
and I am envious.
I stifle my unhappiness
and swallow it like nails.

I want to growl
and shed a thousand tears
like driving rain.
Pelt the earth with hailstorms,
throw a lightning bolt or two.

Instead, my sorrow festers
until I crumble,
a dry heap on the ground.

The Gardener

My feelings and emotions
are tangled vines on a trellis.
This angry bunch is difficult.

I want to trim the withered ones
and nurture the blossoms
of understanding and kindness.

But they are bound in one painful knot
that can’t be undone just yet.

They cling to each other tightly,
force me to treat them as one.
As I learn to distinguish between the two

I will grow as a gardener
pruning, spreading my roots--
soon confidently tending my own lot.

Remnants of the Day

Seagulls sail endless skies--
pluck morsels from the surf
that offers periwinkles for bounty.

Driftwood harbors crabs
as they scuttle about.
Like eyelashes, sea oats

flutter over the dunes
winking in the breeze.
We came only to observe this day

to leave footprints,
vestiges of human passage
behind on the shore.

Skylights

The sun plunges
into a pool of orange and indigo.
Dusk settles in and the sky is turned on.

Stars ignite, the moon is luminous
and I attempt to connect the dots.
Through these heavenly piercings

I imagine you looking down at me.
Peeking through a keyhole
and into another realm.

I feel you
as celestial bodies flicker in the night.
Hidden among andromeda or maybe cassiopeia,

I wonder which constellation
possesses your window to my world
and shines your light on me.


In Memory of my Daddy 4.3.33 - 4.11.99

Make a Wish

In a field of wildflowers
I’m a dandelion.
Simple yet wistful.

I mix with daisies,
bluebells and columbine.
As their blossoms wither

I mature into gray--
a clock of dreams.
Eager to please,

I offer one wish.
What’s your pleasure?
Close your eyes. Exhale.