Transformation

Transformation.

I remember when I was a frog,
How could I forget my big bulging eyes,
Long red fly-catching tongue
Turned out in an elegant green suit
With a spotless, white front.
Hopping from door to door
On black swim fins.

Through some incantation,
Almost year and a day later,
Poetic as a Celtic folk tale,
I was magicked into a princess.
Clad in gorgeous gold silk
And crown, of course.
Walking regally through the village.

Each year,
Amid a haunting of ghosts, warriors
Even a Superman or two.
I would make the progress,
Showing off some transfomation or other.

Once or twice, it snowed.
Always bare branches creaked overhead
Like bones.
I don't ever remember clear twilight or star lit sky
And it got dark earlier
In our princess/ghost/frog days,

As we went from door to door.
We knew everyone along the way,
As they had known us,
Forever.
But they pretended
to be surprised,
And gratifyingly
Impressed.

Mrs. Stuart made popcorn balls
Mrs Hatch dipped tooth cracking candied apples,
And the Lockes, Farrs,
Hartigans, Hardys, and Davises
And even old,
Scary Mr Hare,
Dropped candy into our bags
And pennies into UNICEF boxes.

Our high voices called to one another
In child greed
At the Root Beer Barrels,
Milky Ways,
Grasshoppers
and
Red Hots,

Anxiety came only
From poorly placed eye holes, 
Or
The smothered adult laughter
at our early attempts
To become something
Other than we were.

Everything Will Be All Right

Everything Will Be All Right

First
It was the tooth
Cracked beyond repair
Sudden shot of pain
Quelled by drugs,
Not
A good sign.

 Then
Squirrels, tap dancing
In the attic
Rearranging insulation
To their liking
Contemplating a snack on the wiring
Preparing to raise a family

Then the roof,
Dripping water through its riddled
Weather tortured surface
To dampen water colors
And books
Stealthily
Relying on denial
To avoid detection.

 The furnace came next
With a series of feints,
Playing dead,
Limping
Leaking
Unsure of whether
To live or die

And today
The computer
Presenting its grey
Enigmatic
Blank screen
No other color or sign
Of life

My horoscope today
reads cheerfully
Everything
Will be all right

Today the tooth comes out
The plumber has begun
His magic
In the cellar
And I think
The exterminator is due
To evict the squirrels

The roof
Was tidied up last week

And perhaps
The next time I turn on the computer
There  will be  a reassuring glow,
 Followed by messages of
Harmony, plenty, justice and
World peace
On the radiant
Screen.

Barnard Mountain

Barnard Mountain

　
The road up Barnard Mountain
Had just been paved
And as we saw it,
The steep winding ascent
Owed us

　
We had conquered the summit
Young legs straining,
Lungs burning,
Refusing to get off and walk,
Front wheels
Weaving and wobbling with the climb.

　
How could we deny
That smooth black pavement,
Still breathing the horse sweat
Scent of new asphalt.
Yellow racing stripes down the center line

　
Only headlong descent
Could cool us,
And balance 
Our labor

　
Looking back, I know,
Only one stick,
Or pebble,
And we would have flown
Disastrously
Adults had been telling us such things
For years,
　

But there were no wise grown ups here
Only Immortal,
Invincible youth
At the top of the hill,
Handlebars,
Pointing front tires down the curving descent,
Letting the ancient discovery
Of the wheel have it's way.  
　

Arcing gracefully like birds,
Faster
And faster,
Shouting and singing,
Joy and terror.

　
At the bottom,
We needed the full strength of our brakes
And the long flats
To come to rest safely

　
Spent,
Pedaling toward home,
And the staid future
We were
Paid in full for the climb

The Gift

Gifts

The day began
With a gift
Secretly given
So accurate
That I was sure I knew
The giver

Poems
By a favorite writer
Hard bound,
New, and signed
Still in the bookstore bag,
tucked in the mail box between dusk
And cold, early morning
Aimed straight
At a new, bright
Love

In the course of the day
I asked
Working my way
Through the suspects
Queries
Leading nowhere

Other loves swept me
From the search
Music,
 dancers,
friends
So the mystery remained
Unresolved

Finally I recognized
The great gift

In seeking,
I had to walk
among all of the friendships
old, new,
generous and wise
Traveling in a short time
Among the kindness
That has grown around me
While I was
Struggling
And making it all
So complicated

Done with Summer

Shivering, without a coat
Just stepping onto the porch
For a moment,
 I test the bitter October air

Face and hands, exposed
Are the first to fall
But turtleneck and jeans
Put up only the slightest resistance
to the goose bump breeze.

Stoic, at first,
I stand on the porch
Thinking to adjust
To this chill-down world

The sky holds snow,
 No flakes yet,
But soon. . . .

The yard is  littered
with curled brown leaves
 Bright globes  of apples,
Worm eaten below the sheltering grass
Go to waste
 I am done with pies, and sauce

I lost interest in the flower beds
Back in the monsoon that was July,
Now gray, gold and rust stalks,
Dried blooms,
Seed pods of flowers and weeds, entangled,
Rattle
In the mean spirited breeze

My house mate's cat
Stalks across the yard,
Disdainful tail.
Straight but for the half inch
Quirk of annoyance,
Arched back, as if to put as much distance
Between white belly and cold earth
As possible.
 Offended yowl,
Wishing his people
Had never left the warmth
Of South Carolina
Wanting to be in and warm
And to hell with stoicism!

Together
We turn from
The cold, neglected yard
I open the door
And the cat and I
Enter the cocoon of the house
Where we will wait
For warmth,
And the rebirth of spring

The Grocery List

The Grocery List

If you are going to the store,
Yes,
I do need
A few things.

Popcorn, onions,
Bread, health care,
For all,
The generic is fine.
A half gallon of
Milk, whole, not 2 %

Coffee
A new roof.
These are urgent, by the way.
As is cat food,
Canned salmon Friskies
Or he won't eat it.

AA batteries,
Fresh tomatoes,
Hand soap,
True Love
I don't care about looks,
Has to be smart,
And know how to laugh
Or it just won't work.
The serious stuff tends to fall apart around here.
Garlic,
Olive oil

Chocolate, unsweetened for baking,
And
If you can find it,
A little good government. 
But
Neither of these have been in stock lately.

Payment?
Here's my grocery money
For this week,
And did you need my eye teeth
Ouch!
My first born son? Sorry,
I haven't one.
My right arm? 
Here you go.

That
Should be
All

Abby and the Goddess

For my sister's dog, Abby who died this fall.  She was quite a girl, and we'll miss her, even though the gum and Kleenex are now safe.

 

Abby and the Goddess

 

That girl always had attitude
A real bitch she was
Burrowing and growling under the covers
Of my nephew's forbidden bed,
Preferring the food of other dogs
To her own
Always.

Vengeful,
 Home alone.
She would feed her resentment
On Kleenex
Or gum from the Goddess's
Belongings.

Drama queen,
She used every muscle
Ears
 Springing, folding and drooping,
To the rattle of food in the dish,
The voice of the Goddess
The sound of Her car

Rat tail
Blurring with excitement
Or low and tight with remorse,
After being caught

On the living room couch

Brown, muscled body
Quivering
On dancing,
Claw tap toes
Squirting out the door
After a neighborhood cat.

And she loved the goddess
In her passionate
Worshipful way

Dancing
Her most joyful rattling footwork
For She who gave food,
Love,
judgment

Singing her most prayerful songs
For the one who opened doors
And called
When it was time to come home

And burying nose,
And body when permitted
In the lap
Where love and comfort
Flowed
In both directions,
As it was needed.

Playing with Fire

Playing with Fire

A thousand match heads
In a pipe,
A neat idea
For boys
On the cusp of puberty,

Looking for
Excitement
Rebellion,
A shaking loose of the
Same old
Same old.

Toying with fire,
The hottest element of all.
Combining loud, bright, fear, and lawlessness.
Hotter even,
Than the sex
They dreamed about.

They headed for the park
Laughing,
Talking loud and big,
Anticipating
The thrill of loud noise
And
Startled bystanders.

But in the back seat
Of the old car.
Jostling all of those bits of sulfur
On his lap
Between two admiring friends,
Friction, spark,
Before the planned moment of surprise,
And the game was up.

We shake our heads
in disbelief
How could they be so foolish,

Yet we do it all the time,
Casually,
Boastfully even,
With fast cars,
High finance,
Extramarital affairs
And atomic bombs.

Giddy
With challenge and risk
Arrogant
Sure of our own skill
And judgment.

Thinking that we need
That extra
Juice of power and adrenalin
Right up to the moment
Of the premature
Blast.

　

River Mirror Time

River Mirror Time

Winter river,
Light, reflects off
Almost-frozen water,
Blue grey, sluggish channel
Framed by snow.
The mirror clouded,
The future uncertain.

Along the bank,
Red brier tangles
Above snow,
Above water.
Golden grasses,
Dried, to light lifelessness,
Blow in the wind
That knifes down valley.

Spring river
Shallow margins reflect
The spectrum
Of new green
Tight, rusty green buds not yet uncurled. 
Briers sprouting gold/green leaves
Blue green grasses,
Bent with spring rain and new life,
And only the barest ripples
Of wind on water
Separate river blue
From blue sky.

Time passes along
The river, in motion
Changing
From dormant ice
To living green
And back to ice

Standing on the bank,
I watch the river. 
I too am in motion,
Changing,
With the passage of seasons
I too am reflected
In the
River,
Mirror,
Time

Why I Have Never Trusted Math

Why I Have Never Trusted Math

　
Perhaps it began
When I was small,
In the days of the spirit copier
lavender numbers on a math work sheet
Faint at best,
Made fainter still by thrift

　
Pale ghosts of sixes
Could fade
To fives under my straining eyes,
Changing the outcome
Of a third grade math problem
Dramatically

　
Even in junior high,
With crisply printed text books
Decimal points
Winked in and out
With the slightest shift in the angle of light
On the white page.
　

By the time I reached algebra,
I had no faith
In the figures on the blackboard
Calculations changing
Chameleon like
With the disappearance, or magical insertion of
A small punctuation mark
An eight, deflecting fluorescent light
From its right hand curves could
So easily become a three.
　

And in chemistry,
The delicate line on a slide rule
Wiggling ever so slightly
Transforming my calculations
Into errors,
Careless work,
Failing grades.

　
Even now, I comprehend,
But mistrust
The principles of percentages
And averages

　
These days
It seems a fine mistrust,
Worth cultivating even

　
When
Bankers
Can not explain
How the subtraction
Happened,
Where billions of dollars
Of other people's money went

　
How can I possibly believe the math
Of politicians
Who insist
That the wealthy suffer unbearably
Under a modest tax increase,
Yet the child going to bed hungry
Has lost nothing
With the subtraction of Food Stamps.

　
And must I really believe
Advertisers
When they tell me
How out of step I am
By being in the minority
Failing
To own a television
Smart phone
Or gun

Small Town Education

Growing up in a small town
We learn
 Everything
About our neighbors.

It begins on the first day of school.
Sitting in little desks, learning
How to spell cat,
Add two and two, and
Who wears hand me downs
What is packed in lunch boxes,
Who
 Has head lice
Or wets their pants

We see each other at  all of the one-shot
Necessities  in town
Gas station
Grocery store, pharmacy,
Town dump

Early on, we understand the meaning
Of the make and age of a car,
Contents of a grocery cart
Or
Bottles discarded
Or furniture or toys
Scavenged from
Saturday morning
Trash.

By the time we pick teams
For field hockey
Or lean against the bleachers
Trying to act sexy and casual
At junior high dances
We know who
Is who.

There is a progression
From seeing,
To reading meaning
Into the details,
To the all-important decision
Of what to do with the knowledge.

Here where there are less than
Four thousand of us
Selling gas and groceries,
Cutting hair, cleaning houses,
Cooking at the diner,
Fixing each other's broken stuff,
We need one another
Too much
To isolate ourselves in
 Embarrassment or judgment

Gated communities
Only work
Where you didn't go through acne, school lunch
Bus rides to ball games
And crushes on the same girl
With the cleaning crew
And guard

We know our neighbors'
Food and drink
Love and fear
Only as well as they know our own

And are too exposed
To throw mud
Unless we are willing
To get showered equally in wet
Common
Earth

When Faith and Memory Are Not Enough

When Faith and Memory Are Not Enough

"I miss him."
he said
Simple, undecorated grief
Stripped of brave
rationalization,
Tears shining in starlight.

No help
from the faith
of reunion
beyond.

Here and now
He is gone,
Beyond touch,
sight,
or even
the electronic pathways
we have laid
to cover vast distances.

Nor is memory
of any real help.
yet.

Later,
perhaps it will stretch
a bridge
to a smile.
echo of a joke,
a shared misadventure
a bear hug
The footing
back along those shared paths
made comfortable with time.

But now
Those images
are not strong enough
Nor can they reach across
the chasm
Stepping out on them
is treacherous
and will be
for a time

Now he must
allow
the simple grief
Tears under stars.
Missing the solid
real
Flesh
and blood.

Whirlwind

Whirlwind.

In my walk
From kitchen to bedroom
and back,
The landscape changed. 
The apples,
deep red in the tree outside the window,
The golden, russet and orange
of back yard leaves
Disappeared
in rain and whirlwind.

The crazed water/air hurled itself
across the valley,
Wrenching leaves and apples
from trees,
Driving everything, headlong
against the house,
A viking berserker,
Bruised air,
Bleeding rain,
Heedless,
Pillaging the gold and rubies
of autumn.

This morning,
in the calm air,
Bare branches cling
to a few scraps of gold
like refugees, holding
shreds of past lives,
A torn robe, 
A photograph.

Beneath the trees,
the mud is slippery
with leaves,
Color pounded out of them,
Taken by force.
No golden rustling carpet
Laid gently down
by a loving breeze.
Not this time.

　

The Fall of the Empire

What does the fall of an empire look like?  Heck of a thing to think about while washing dishes, but here you have it. 

The Fall of the Empire

　

"We should have seen it coming
I suppose"
He said, leaning on his shovel.
His weary eyes looked out
From a face
lined with recent, sudden sorrow.
　

The hands on rough wood
were nicked and bruised,
Silvered with the scar tissue
of recently healed blisters.
Desk job hands
forced to harsher labor.

　
Wiping sweat from his brow
with what had once been a fine linen handkerchief, 
his words falling,
Crisp edged consonants,
Grammar unthinking, unerring

　
"we flew so high,
Well fed, well educated,
Well married,
Isolated by our walls
and our laws

　
"We saw no need to educate
or care for the poor.
We had earned our wealth
And wished to keep it

"Then there were the foreign wars.
Paid for by the taxes and sons
of the poor, and those of us in the middle,
petty bureaucrats, shop keepers,
Accountants like myself.
The truly wealthy guarded their own
With bribes,
And laws, bought and sold.
　

"Somehow,
although we saw it happening,
and were ourselves beginning to fray around the edges,
we couldn't stop
clinging to our superiority,
keeping up appearances
at all costs.

　
"All the while,
the ranks of the desperate ones
quietly swelled
Land, sons, hope all gone,
Sick, poor
Taught no logic or civil discourse,
they cursed us
in graceless, blunt rage
Were bridled now and again
for some wealthy robber baron's cynical use,
Hatred and lies used
to turn the beast like a bit and spurs.

　
"As they watched us
through the iron lace work of our gates,
Squandering wealth
on foods and amusements
they could never hope to enjoy
How could they fail to take the bit
between their teeth,
Crossing the frozen river to lay waste
to our wealth, art and learning
in that evil winter in the year of our lord,
four hundred and six/

Fall Color

Fall Color

October morning
in my small town,
I walk to the drug store
passing brick facades
and the grey bulk of city hall.

Even on this sunny day,
the trees on the hillside are
deep muted bronze,
Not the flamboyant colors
Chinese dragon golds and reds
I crave.

Under fluorescent lights,
along aisles of mundane
necessities,
I pick up a few items,
pay at the register
where the cashier and I
wish each other a bland "nice day."

Just as I open the door out
to Main Street,
He/she is there,
Pink feather boa
Black and pink hat frothy with fabric
or more feathers? 
I am not sure,
as I am unsure of his/her gender
And a black sheath of a dress,
satin or some other
sleek fabric.

Our encounter is too brief for details,
or conversation
But I smile
Glad of the vibrant, whimsical
Fall color.

　

　

Where did the Sun go?

Where did the Sun Go?
It was here a minute ago.
I knew right where
to lay my hands on it's warmth
pouring in through the window.

But now it's gone,
mislaid while I attended indoor tasks,
Not even noticing when bright gold was
buried in the fog of an autumn morning.

And now,
None of my scrabbling around
out under the billowing mist
will help. 

If only I could recall,
as October tips
into November,
How fleeting that warm gold is,
Slanting champagne light on
a late autumn afternoon

While I
lose myself on needless
indoor tasks
that could easily wait
for rain and midwinter dark.
Squandering
All of that living gold.

Natural Selection

Every fall
We would hear them
Down in the lower field
Hurling sheep insults at one another
I only watched what followed
All of that bellowing
Once
I had to see to believe.
Two rams at 50 paces
Launching into the bobbing run of sheep
Colliding at full speed, head on
With a crack!
Then reeling apart
To do it
Again.

After that, I didn't need
Or want
To look
But every autumn
I could hear the boasting,
And the colliding heads,
like the crack of the bat,
Even in the garden
On the far side of the house.

Now as I watch
Persistent, painful, fruitless
conflicts play out
Old, head cracking patterns between
Spouses, politicians, countries,
That crack reverberates
In my mind
And I am reminded of natural selection
Among sheep