Monday, March 17, 2014

small poems: early 2014

lining up all my pens
new year
I am ready for you

January irises
filling the space
between us

moving the photograph 
an inch to the left —
the still life becomes
an altar

the teapot you gave me 
for my birthday
back when we were still 
best friends

gray day —
I could always pin 
a pink plastic peony
to the collar 
of my black winter coat

something as simple
as moving the garbage cans —
this crow can't take his eyes off me

winter daydream —
in six month we'll go on a picnic — 
who will we be then?

a twist of tissue
grandmother's bookmark
nestled between War and Peace

the warmth of your hands —
last winter's mittens

come closer
speak to me of Paris
while the streets of this city fill with snow

dusty and untuned —
your piano —
such a melancholy day

second-hand quilt
no memories
no comfort

my fake smile 
smoothing itself out —
at last the train leaves the station

in her kitchen window
a vase of silk daffodils —
my good neighbor

all day
on the other side of the window
crow — 
yes, you

wherever I go
it follows me —
this wretched cough

the difference between yesterday and today
is the difference between February and March —
later I'll go in search of flower buds

neighbor crow
your impatience teaches me

Saturday night
party time —
slow dancing to Mozart adagios

delicate Japanese cup
you lived with me for 28 years
shattered in a careless moment
   I tuck the shards
   among the Clementine peels
   and tie up the trash bag

hello butterfly!
this busy intersection
crow keeps careful watch

once there was a frog
who fell in love with the moon —
I am that frog

gone — a small blue stone
from my new earring —
no point in crying —
wabi sabi

wabi sabi: acceptance of transience and imperfection

library book
lost and found —
someone else's long gray hair

calm and content —
all the houseplants —
waiting for the storm

one after another
3 candles burn out —
heavy snowfall

shaking off snow
neighbor crow 
re-claims his dignity

how far did I walk this morning
back and forth
with my yellow shovel
heart racing
getting nowhere

early morning walk —
a different route each day
just to confuse the crows

"not far
as the crow flies" —
but we are not crows
the horizon
still out of reach

in the stream bed —
their winter was also long

the distance between us
I'll draw the map
you color it in

crossing the bridge —
where are the koi?
long gone…
where are you, my friend?
long gone

5 women in a boat
circling the shore —
only one is a ghost

neighbor crow
with his drum and kazoo
flying off to welcome spring

this morning
not a single person
returned my Hello —
but oh
the crows the crows the crows