Beachcombing

I walk the edge of the shoreline.
Footprints fill with water
and disappear as if I’d never been there.

So it is with life.
We travel its path, leave our marks
in hopes they will make a difference.
Like the starfish I gather along the way
and place back into the ocean.

That’s all we really need
to afford each other.
The encouragement to persevere.

I make more tracks, rescue more starfish
and watch the sun bob in the ocean
as it rises over the new fallen day.
The waves wash over my feet.
I am cleansed.
　
　

The Weight of the Day

Shadows clamber
through the windows,
cohorts of the rising sun.

They bring with them
troubles of new day.
Odd that the advent of sunlight

bears such darkness.
Nighttime morphs into dawn
and twenty-four fresh hours

settle down upon me
as the huge black weight
I’m forced to carry

rides me hard--
spurs buried against my side
flat-out in a dead man’s run.


*Published Mused Spring 2012

It's Me, I'm Here

So here I am begging you to see me.
Like a child on a swing pumping
my legs faster and faster,

going higher and higher until
the whole thing begins to topple
back and forth out of the ground.

Then you notice me for every
reason but one that matters.
Why can’t you see the beauty

in the lines of my body
as I glide back and forth?
The subtle way my hair glistens

under the sun? The look of joy
and contentment on my face
while I perform for you?

Had you not heard the thumping
of the swing set against the hard ground,
you wouldn’t have seen me yet again.

Bohemian Girl

She lives high in the mountains
where the elms skirt the roads
in blankets of champagne and russet
and the moon, when it blooms
sits on the highest hilltop.

The sun weaves its way through the pines
and tattoos the forest floor--
glistens on Little Bear Pond
like light dancing off diamonds.
Minnows circle just under the surface.

Her cottage is quaint, sturdy. Made
of logs with hand hewn shutters.
A solid oak door, speakeasy grille
guards the front. Her garden
is fragrant with tea olive and lavender,

lush in herbs like sage and basil.
Lanterns hang off wrought iron hooks.
She lights them at dusk to honor the night,
draws moths to the flames
so they can dance in the glow.
　
　
　
　

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.

High Roller

Today, I painted my nails black.
They stand out against my pale skin
stark and unyielding.

Like a tattoo,
they make a statement.
About me, about my mindset.

About the absolutes of black and white
I’ve been dealt all my life.
I’m all or nothing girl.

I’m all in, all the time.
High or low
I roll with the punches.

Hit me.


Published in Flutter ~ December 2010

Reunion

The familiar spread of your arms
welcomes me home again.
I lean into you, content.

Look, how our once beautiful
stream has widened
revealing its receding banks.

It exposes your gnarled toes
as they grasp at the earth
more precariously than before.

The boughs I used to swing
from hang lower now,
seem a bit more fragile.

Your age has subtly
revealed itself.
If I could count your rings

they would be many.
You carry them with grace
as time has her way.