Hoodwinked

 When I wear my leopard print
faux fur hat
I sense some hostility
along with
the joviality
of those I meet

Playful and fun, and
warm as toast, my head
can manage
sub-zero mornings
with a smile

Catching admiring eyes
that surprise me
entering the supermarket
and the coffee shop
I perceive more

Perhaps they see
the animal in me
conjuring images
smoking and insincere
strength and ferocity
under that
faux fur hat


photo unknown, pinterest.com

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warmth

he got into my car
and immediately
after ‘thank you’, offered
did I want to discuss
literature
why yes, actually
I would love to, in fact
I am trying to finish my novel(s)

he had been shoveling driveways
he said
and he was so happy
telling me how
he had earned 30 bucks
sopping wet and no coat
he said
it was a really good day

he could not open the door
and I reached to unlock it
on my side, ‘it is
an old, weird car, I must
unlock it on the door’
he said
‘oh, it is
a beautiful car’

I feel unsteady

these days
not the metaphysical bit
of the mind off kilter

but the way you did not expect of me
toddling over ice and snow
in fear of falling

no longer dancing lightly up and down steps
my skirt brushing my ankles
daring me to try it

The shortest day of the year

I sit in the dark–eyeing the window
the sky still stark, the dozen odd
apples clinging to the tree out back
slow about preparing my coffee I.V.
that life-blood we cling to
as the sun presents itself

It is slow coming, like me
the scent of coffee out of place in this darkness
the pillow calling back to me–‘linger a while’
my fingers on the keys tapping along
while my family slumbers
and day takes its sweet time to show

A glint of light says it is time, the
finger of God across the sky speaking ‘patience’
for in time all will be revealed
the plodding boots of winter, and the sun
that same star that brightens summer
will get in your eyes like every other day

quick, be in it
before it slips back behind the clouds
to hide with the gold
like leprechauns

It is quiet now.

I cannot hear your stories anymore, how you would repeat the same one over and over once the dimentia had got you. Now you are not here to ask about the parts I have forgotten. How come you told me five times and I cannot remember?
It is quiet now, and I miss your grace, your smiling face, your eyes that inspired trust.
Do not worry, I will keep feeding Frisky while you are gone.

a worn Bible sits
snow falls on the fence posts
her smile on dark days

Monday Random

  • I went to mail a letter in my building without looking in the mirror first.
  • Day by day, I am getting back to my normal self
  • Whatever normal is
  • Perhaps normal is what I feel like inside, without anyone else’s expectations
  • I would also try to erase some regrets, though they cannot really be forgotten, and add to our experiences, what makes us wiser
  • sadder and wiser
  • Today’s weather here is a good illustration of how I view my life right now

Continue reading “Monday Random”

their seasons

damp brow
hard work and well-
earned rest
a starling sings, and
she lifts her hands
in prayer-full stance–
the wind is shifting
and she remembers

pre-twilight
early summer blues
a man-boy’s voice, inviting
don’t forget about the love
don’t leave behind
don’t leave summer behind

evergreen
through July’s singe of grass
first raspberries tart
and sweet
red lips musing
a wipe on the back of her arm
leaves
traces of longing

what do you suppose
the clouds talk about
congregating in cirrocumulus bevy
when they see all of it–
the neck bite
the slammed door
one red apple

by August’s fireflies
he-on the road
writing sonnets on social media
bursts
from her pen
epics he will not read
reams, of
her late night daydreams

just in time
for September,she
will answer the phone
breathless
wondering why he waited
until he finished the bottle
to call
each word counted
and kept

starting his wander back
he searches for her key
in a pocket with a hole in it
knowing
it will take nearly ’til May
to speak of her again. Until

the breeze catches her scent
and he returns, to
find her once more–
his brown-haired fay
he swore was made of vapour
from the clouds
of early June