Moon Phases

I started to write these moon poems on April 6, 2012 and found that I didn't want to stop! The last one came in the middle of May. 

Birthday Moon

I felt your presence all day —

illuminated heart

Passover Moon

you are the perfect 

matzah ball

Melancholy Moon

do you still miss

last summer's hyacinths?

Lonely Moon

I know 2 herons who would

welcome you into their nest

Sleepy Moon

I crocheted an afghan

for you to snuggle under

Ballet Moon

utterly adorable

in your tangerine tutu

Shakespearean Moon

surely it is better to be

than not to be

Bear Moon

I'm all out of honey

but please come for tea anyway

Laughing Moon

I love the way 

your belly rises and falls

Haiku Moon

each syllable 

brings me closer to you

Walking Moon

in your brand new sneakers

I can hardly keep up with you

Patient Moon

inching toward you —

your friend the spider

Upside Down Moon

now the rivers don't know if

they're coming or going

Nearsighted Moon

how often have you mistaken 

dustballs for dragons?

Matchmaker Moon

what a brilliant introduction —

bee, meet flower

Midnight Moon

when you can't sleep 

do you count stars?

Old Woman Moon

still looking through

young woman eyes

GPS Moon

everyone knows you have no sense

of direction

Rebel Moon

breaking all the rules

you make for yourself

Hungry Moon

I get it —

you're sick and tired of seaweed salad

Traveling Moon

how is it possible —

you missed your train . . . again

Forgetful Moon

may I suggest

mnemonics

Possessive Moon

you'd have more friends

if you shared your marbles and plastic trucks

Brave Moon

you stood up for me

I'll do the same for you

Fashionista Moon

on you 

the hot pink feather boa is divine

Yoga Moon

don't you think you've been

standing on your head long enough?

Mango Moon

impossible 

to get enough of you

Disheveled Moon

you look like you were tossed around

by your dreams last night

Thrifty Moon

shopping with you isn't as much fun

as I thought it would be

Adolescent Moon

you're right

I really don't understand you

Bronx Moon

I'm sorry to have to say this:

you can't go home again

Grieving Moon

countless waves

carry your tears away

Tango Moon

claiming the horizon

as your own private ballroom

Worn-Out Moon

now is the time

to sink into a lavender bubble bath

Curious Moon

go right ahead —

ask me anything

Hula Hoop Moon

spinning spring

into summer

3 a.m. Moon

take a flashlight

the next time you go to the outhouse

Suspicious Moon

stop looking over your shoulder

no one is chasing you

No-Poem Moon

all I can do is love you

there are no words

Roller Skating Moon

who would have thought you could be 

so graceful on wheels?

Turtle Moon

leave your shell on the sandy shore

let's go skinny dipping

Purple Moon

I almost mistook you

for a field of irises

Zen Moon

I dropped by to help you

rake your rock garden

Cautious Moon

you must be weary

sleeping with one eye open

Gypsy Moon

it's not about the accordion

it's about spirit

Mother Moon

for you it will always be

lilacs

Ice Cream Moon

not everyone can handle 3 scoops

but you can

Garden Moon

thank you for reminding me —

nobody owns the flowers

small poems, april 2012

These small poems were written in April, 2012 (except for a couple about crows, and one that's a real oldie but I wanted to share it again anyway):

before the garden blooms

folding 100

origami roses

(Inspired by "High Summer, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

a stringless guitar —

the Joan Baez Songbook

on the unmade bed

(Inspired by "Lady in Blue with Guitar, 1929," by Tamara de Lempicka) 

blue rain

we share an umbrella

until your bus arrives

(Inspired by "The Girls, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

that summer

sailing paper boats

on the pond — —

now you live 

an ocean away

(Inspired by "Portrait of Arlette Boucard, 1928," by Tamara de Lempicka)

I recognize your handwriting

even in my 

sepia dreams

(Inspired by a letter written by Tamara de Lempicka to Gabriele d'Annunzio, 1926)

purple leather gloves —

I bought them for you

but kept them for myself

(Inspired by "Lady with Green Glove," by Tamara de Lempicka. Years ago I bought a beautiful pair of purple gloves to give my sister. I'm still wearing them.)

skating around the corner

entering another

country

(A childhood memory: my first pair of roller skates, with those silver metal clamps that kept them from falling off my shoes, and a heavy key dangling from a lanyard.)

a single candle —

not even her birthday cake

knows her age

(I wrote this as a little joke to myself for my 61st birthday.)

after the seder

all the cousins

play Gefilte Fish

(In other families I think that card game is called Go Fish)

sipping tea

no thoughts

no ceremony

(This is an old poem but it felt right for this month, with Passover. I wrote  it many years ago at a retreat. We were having a tea ceremony and suddenly I felt the presence of my Grandma Yetta. She used to take "a little refreshment" in the late afternoon: sometimes a small dish of vanilla ice cream, or a glass of hot water with lemon; maybe an hour spent with a novel, or just a few minutes twiddling her thumbs, or humming. Whatever she did, she did it gently, calmly, intentionally, with grace and dignity. No fuss. No ceremony.)

with a worm in its mouth

the fat robin

sings to itself

dawn—

spring crows just as loud as

winter crows

even among crows

some are bossy

some are nice

an open basement window

raccoon accepts 

the invitation

in another country

you wake     laughing     from a dream . . . 

and so do I

remind me

how we both went to the river

but only one of us returned

I knew you'd arrive today —

in my dream

the call of a bamboo flute

overnight train

home from the mountains 

in my hair — pine needles

holding my breath

across the bridge

last train home

wind chimes on your back porch

after all these years 

the same breeze

rubbing my finger

down the book's spine —

dust from before I was born