I don't blame you, crow —
under my wide-brimmed hat
no one would recognize me
my wandering mind
rainstorm
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
approaches
my shadow
grows further away from me —
long walk home
spring
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
nightlight
burns out
wakes me
brewing
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
swelled
with suppressed words
untied
the sash of your robe —
your guests look away
full moon
we share the last tangerine
unevenly
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
soulful
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
