Wednesday, January 2, 2013

small poems from the last few months

different smells
at my old house —
and the hollyhocks are gone

yesterday was yard sale day —
my neighbor's leftovers
still left over

the way they take off —
cat among the pigeons

crossing the driveway —
a green apple in your mouth —
silly squirrel

Sunday lunch —
she cooks my grandma's chicken
she has my grandma's hands

standing under a broken cloud
your past becomes
my future

purple grapes 
hold tight to the vine —
your last uneasy slumber

dear tree, your leaves have left you —
I hang paper lanterns
from your beautiful limbs

from the ocean's waves
our bodies still rocking

neighbor's old toilet
out on the curb —
curious cat climbs in

my neighbor's new roof —
exactly the home
these pigeons were waiting for

chalked on an icy sidewalk
1 to 24 —
wait! "3" is missing

up and down the street
parking tickets flap

this evening
waiting for the sun to set —
neither of us in a hurry

if I tell you I can hear you
you might stop —
so I don't say a word
and you continue humming
as you walk from room to room

from a distance
all birds are bald eagles 
to me

analyzing their front steps:
capsized trolls, shrunken pumpkins —
are my neighbors depressed?

gap-toothed girl
beneath a purple umbrella —
laughing into the rain

these long winter evenings
we listen to the moon
we listen to the stars
we listen to the beat
of our own hearts

2 turtles 
watching 2 women
watching them —
time moves slowly

Solstice Moon
longest night of the year —
let's play hide and seek in the dark

waking from a deep sleep
all is changed —
winter solstice

first snow
someone left an apple
on top of the corner mailbox

can you remember tomorrow?
it is as far away as five billion years ago
and just as unlikely

paper butterflies
hang at the front door
reminder to tread lightly

strands of glass beads
in the window —
welcome back sun!

morning walk
passing your old house —
what close friends we used to be 

insomnia —
even after solstice
such long nights

anticipating a big storm
I rush out
to the library

striking the brass bell 
to welcome the snow —
last Thursday morning of the year

flower shop window
a droopy begonia
the start of winter

sleeping late these mornings
dreaming my way
into a new year

winter garden
shadows and ghosts
flit among the swaying pines

across the room
her gentle snoring —
I am content today

we are of two minds
she and I —
a spider's fate hangs in the balance

at the window —
hour after after —
yes it is still snowing

eucalyptus overwhelms the kitchen 
beans stick, toast burns — 
the snow continues to fall

long weekend —
tangerines turn soft —
still, the purple asters bloom