Friday, May 9, 2014

small poems: written since March 18, 2014

I don't blame you, crow —
under my wide-brimmed hat
no one would recognize me

my wandering mind
brings me back home

Sister Crow
you want to borrow my sparkly new earrings
sorry to disappoint you 
but the answer is no

torn paper lantern
summer moon
drips rain

my cautious friend
wherever you go
your purple umbrella

unexpected downpour
neither of us want
to leave the picnic

Sister Crow
my only regret —
I never invited you for tea

you     me     a bowl of tangerines
and now at last
the rain

afternoon rain
impossible to nap
I reach for my pen, again

we live in two different time zones
you and I —
but in the same house

Sunday afternoon
our old house creaks —
your footsteps, overhead

icy fingers on my wrist —
remember when we 
walked the frozen pond?

lacing up my walking shoes
hello sky
hello earth

yellow crocuses
my neighbor's white cat

my shadow
grows further away from me —
long walk home

fills in
the empty spaces

my neighbor's backyard
prayer flags hang on the clothes line
Sister Crow exhales

my friend unlocks 
the heavy wooden gate
I've passed so many times before —
and there it is
a secret garden

curled leaf
cups rain drops —
a fairie's spring bath

burns out
wakes me

hibiscus tea —
the temperature continues to fall

wrapping myself
in deep purple
dear old shirt
I remember wearing you
for the first time
30 years ago —
that was a good day
this is a good day

Sister Crow
a fat snowflake lands on your head —
April beret

look up
look up
3 bluejays cross my path

stranger in front of my house —
his neck heavily tattooed
his voice gentle —
"warmer today"
he assures me

too late in the season
looking for snow geese —
on the drive home
peepers find us
before we find them

45 years later
the old manual typewriter
louder than I remembered

on my back porch
the old typewriter ...
only one new sentence a day

the old typewriter
a small plant
would fit nicely inside

I meant to type "test" —
instead my fingers tapped out "tears" —
strangely accurate

on the back porch
3 daisies
fresh from someone else's garden
and a typed note
too faint to decipher

old typewriter
with suppressed words

the sash of your robe —
your guests look away

full moon
we share the last tangerine

your red plastic piano
left out
for the cat to play

my mother and a hot pretzel
long ago . . .
mustard stains her new blouse

peeling an orange
even now
grandmother's hands guide mine

my birthday cake
stale —
brushing away the last crumbs

singing along with Sam Cooke
morning meditation

good morning purple flower
I don't know your name —
I will call you Ahhhhhh

with much satisfaction
turning the calendar
to May

someone planted pansies
all along my street —
thank you someone

breezy morning
as I pass them the pansies 
shake with laughter

hung to dry
colorful underwear
across the front porch —
my neighbor waves
her own prayer flags

strong wind —
chasing my hat —
Sister Crow is delighted

beside the monastery
a plastic chicken
guards baby tulips

flower shop closed
daffs open
all the music I need inside my head

Sister Crow
I made this beaded necklace for you
come closer
let me hang it 
around your beautiful neck ...
you look so good in red ...
garnets? are you kidding?
these are glass beads
(who knew you had such expensive taste?)
I strung them with care
and affection
thank you for watching out for me
all winter —
caw caw right back at you

Happiness is a phone conversation with my mother 
and she says something funny 
or I do 
and we start to laugh 
and we don't stop laughing 
for a very long time

Happiness is when 
I've been crazy worried about doing something new 
and I say I don't want to, I won't do it, you can't make me — 
and then I do it 
and it's the most wonderful thing 
and afterwards I say 
I want to do it again 
and you say 
let's do it next Saturday

Happiness is when 
a girl and a dog 
both panting 
appear behind me in the middle of my morning walk 
and the girl is making high snorts of exhalation 
she is that out of breath 
and I think 
oh no! 
this girl and her dog are going to follow 
behind me all the way home 
disturbing my peace
but I keep on walking 
a straight path to my house  
because what else can Ido? 
and then I realize the dog 
(followed closely by the girl) 
have veered off to the right 
heading toward the coffee shop on the corner 
and I keep on going 
and I never have to see either of them again — 
that's when the happiness kicks in