Saturday, June 29, 2013

small poems and a few dreams

May Moon
the way you kiss
each bud awake

my friend's garden
I sit and catch my breath
then let it go again

thank you
for filling my empty spaces

hurry —
it's tea time in the fairy garden —
all your friends are waiting

another orchid blossom falls —
my grey hairs
are also shedding

blue morning
a hole in the basket
where a cloud slipped through

first slow rain of summer
dear iris
there you are —
reveling in your 
luscious self —
making the most of all
your moments

a lifetime ago
fitting ourselves
around each other —
   lavender-scented bath
   oh how we laughed

along the back fence
mushrooms —
they weren't there this morning

"lost bird"
a sad sign firmly taped to the lamppost —
   around the corner
   in my friend's garden
   an empty bird house

a stranger's garden
three kinds of mint neatly labeled

the roses don't know
this house was abandoned
years ago

walking creekside —
a clutch of peonies 
gossip about their neighbors

stars rustling
in the still-grey silence —
the Post Office is closed —
I walk on

"Tell Me" "I'm Pretty" —
2 signs dress up
the sagging grey house

2 a.m.
my dream eyes
snap me awake

2 travelers find refuge
in a tea room —
soft bells and thunder claps —
the afternoon unfolds
slowly, sweetly

2 clouds
one looks like a cup
the other, a saucer —
   we stop the car at the side of the road
   and munch on dry crackers

brushing my fingers
over your laugh lines —
look at the moon!
it's laughing too

9 cups of tea
before the leaves reveal
the answer I am seeking

at the bottom of this small blue bowl:
a single grain of sand —
so many years
since I've been
to the sea


the way you stand
beside the tall marsh grasses
waiting to catch sight of the
great blue heron

(the one we call Rupert
because he reminds us of an English gent)

from a distance
I keep my eyes on

you are my
precious bird


sometimes you ask
did we do that last summer?

and I say
no, I think it was
eight years ago

you think about it

you're right, you say
eight, maybe even ten

all our long loose years
blowing in the wind


In the dream: a miniature horse, the size of a small dog, has come to live with me. She sleeps in a corner of the living room near the radiator but I sense she isn't warm enough and I go searching all over the house to find the perfect blanket for her.

In the dream: I am standing on a subway platform. A change in trains has been announced but I don't know what it means. Trains come and go but I don't get on; apparently none of them are the one I'm waiting for. My confusion and anxiety mount. As a new train pulls into the station I ask someone if this one is mine (though I don't know how to ask in a way that is understandable). A man says "You have to know if you're on the Inside Line or the Outside Line."

In the dream: I am driving up the hill toward Cornell — someone I don't know is actually doing the driving — a young man with a European accent. He's telling me about an essay he wrote for a class but I don't understand him very well. It starts to snow heavily. I realize I am wearing high heeled shoes with slippy soles. I am on my way to the first day of work at a new job at the university. Then I'm no longer in the car, but in a bus going along College Avenue. It's still snowing. I see that my stop is approaching but I'm not sure how to signal the driver so he'll know I want to get off. When I wake up I'm relieved to realize that: a) it's not snowing, b) I haven't worn high heeled shoes ever, c) I don't have to start a new job today, though I wonder if it would it be fun and exciting if I did), d) I don't ride the bus to work anymore, I just walk down the stairs from the second to the first floor of my house . . . and here I am.