Recent Poems

January-March 2019

Slow Fall

fluffy snowflakes that float with furry kittenish edges

capturing cars and trees and sky with shaggy whiteness

decades fall away and what was old feels new feels fresh

feels a deep primordial delight that lingers in the slow fall

The Women

the women would sit in the kitchen laughing

while we spied from the floor grate above

we learned how men were different from women

who told secrets and unveiled their truths

it was safe by the pots and pans in the man-less room

a circle with sisters and aunts and mothers and daughters

playing Yahtzee and drinking tea

it was six of a kind and full house

everyone winning together

in that one safe place

Fabulously Faithful

we email each other everyday

often include the minutaie of our lives

the little errands

the squabbles

the compliments

the concerns

these written words

weave in and out in a fabric

of  friendship which

grows more solid

and wearable everyday

a shawl of silliness

a cape of creativity

a superpower suit

Chocolate Chip Cookie Crumbs on My Computer

I am brushing away the evidence of the cookies I baked and ate

but one is sticking, like a post it note, yes, you ate your breakfast

in bed and it was cookies, three to be exact, even though you

know some protein or whole grains and fresh fruit are the

better choice, the one that might help you avoid the nursing

home someday, but also you know, it might make you live

long enough to end up in a nursing home, oh cookies!

i used you as my drug of choice when I was a young

mother of four in my twenties watching Phil Donahue

try to liberate me before my time, watching Cookie Monster

sing C is for Cookie, it’s good enough for me, yes, these

few crumbs bring up a past littered with sweet debacles

sweet confusion, serious contemplations, crumbs of searching

and I deny the evidence but it sticks like the energy of 

calories does, a fingerprint full of fancy and perfect excuses

the case for lower case

i remember falling in love with the lower case of ee cummings how

permission to make your own rules permeated the pages, piquing

curiosities regarding what other rules might be reduced, revised, ripped

and so when i ran into my junior year high school english teacher and

he urged me now, about 44 years later, to "call me dennis” i

realized some rules take a long time to terminate, turn into

butterflies, how baffling to leave so many unquestioned, untamed

bold yet invisible fears still running the show underneath it all i say stop

like the red pencil dennis used to correct every perceived imperfection

in a safe measured margin that put order into our unruly full-of-rules lives

in these memories i fell in love again with unspoken unwritten freedom


not everyone needs to be busy

not everyone should fill up their days

on a snowy morning it is good to take time

to linger in bed covered by blankets

to think a good idea 

to have a bright new thought

to roll over and go back to sleep

to dream of mornings that stretch into time

to taste a sense of forever

Wading Pool

in a rare remaining film

from my childhood

zoom in to three small

children in and out of a

wading pool, mother

filling it with a stream

of water from a hose

a bright sunny day

children splashing

wearing life preservers

to keep them from

drowning in inches

of supervised water

overkill, anxiety

just-in-case thinking

yes, that was our

real world: dangerous

we did not know 

it yet, so watched

were we, so bundled

in outer securities

we managed not to

drown even when

they stopped 

trying to save us