I Will Take You In
the heavens cover me like a sleeping baby
with a star-dappled blanket,
the color of night
the sun worships me as a wildflower goddess
spreading its golden dress in a shimmering curtsy at dawn
and bowing its head with respect at dusk
with my two loving open palms,
my acres of gently waving fingers,
I accept all the land might send for me to gather in
I am a joyful child
with yellow butterflies and shining dragonflies about my face
with industrious burrowers beneath my feet
when startled, I shudder with a burst of flapping crows
but I am reassured by the meadowlarks,
the soft brush of breeze, and singing bees
I am the Purple Poppy Mallow
I am the Pearly Everlasting
I am the Yellow Evening Primrose
go out beyond your fence, your gate,
past the ramshackle barn,
the silent plow
look for the end to the path, and go farther
look for the vole, the shrew, the spittlebug,
the winding garter snake, the leaping orange fox
look for the place where rabbits hide and wild begins
let go of all in you that has been tamed
and I will take you in
~First published in Writing in a Woman's Voice, May 1st, 2022.
Listening to Snow
crystalline voices
as old as water itself
have come to visit again
this time, disguised as little white shivers-
when listening to snow
be gentle with yourself
as you watch each long, soft journey
from the beclouded heights
you may overhear
a beautiful, frightening truth
as they speak of destiny
of transmutation
you may find yourself
for a fleeting moment
clutching those things around you
that seem solid
or visited
by a vague memory
of disappearing from one life
and being born into another
~Published in Verse-Virtual Online Community Journal of Poetry, September 2023 Issue
The Sharing Circle
I can say I walked awhile with you
and dreamed within your dream-
that you welcomed in my heart
like a wounded wanderer at your door
Yes, I can say you fed me as if I were a sacred part of you,
once lost and left behind
Companions on this tangled road,
you played your secret violins for me
and I, my skittering flute for you
Around the fire of the sharing circle,
we sang old and buried words for the first time
letting them rise to freedom with the ashes
How can I forget you
when I have known that budding part we shared-
full of courage
full of hope
longing to blossom in the Spring
Rise Up and Sing
you will not know
that land beyond
from which it first took flight
nor who sent it
or how it came to be
inside your own sky
listen for the fluttering sound
of arriving wings
open the window
let it into your being
lead it to
your true-heart nest
if it wishes
before it leaves you
it will gift
one fragile
blue
speckled egg
that holds the sleeping words
of a folded poem
dreaming it is already born
with silence, with time
it will awaken
and emerge
open wide its wings
rise up into your sky
and sing
~Published in The Bards Annual 2022 Print Anthology
Blurry Fluttering
on the shelf
by the window
a picture of you in a place I’ll call heaven
playing piano in a garden
next to it, your aftershave
opened briefly and only on special occasions
and lots of angels left and right,
just in case, though neither of us believe
a small photograph of us when I was two
you are directing my attention to the camera
then, and even now
you are encouraging me to smile
was that you
just now, in the window?
or was it only the blurry fluttering
of peripheral birds?
first, the sound of muffled flight
then, the hollow silence of empty air
Constant Window
I open my heart to find you
unfasten the bright round buttons of the starlit sky
reach into the black felt cloak of silence
feeling along time’s flattened breast
my fingertips push through porous ribs
scattering a heart-shaped cloud of dust
searching forbidden inky pockets
I find the note you left for me
written in a teacher’s hand
saying, I am right here
the palm of my hand forever pressing
against my side of the constant window
look again
this time from your side
see, the glass is as wide and blue as the sky
to touch me
you need only raise your palm
and press it up against the heavens
~Published in POETiCA Review Autumn 2022 Issue
Addition and Subtraction
how much does the sky weigh at any one time
when counting all things that fly
that intermingle and evaporate
that rise and fall
all things hidden from our view
do the gods calculate such things
standing on the clouds in their rhinestone sandals?
one came to me through my open window
on a summer night
when I was a child hiding inside my heart
her hair a radiant curtain, gently lifted
she smelled of green cut grass
and wore a dress of soft white moon cloth
she smiled and when she spoke
a sparkle of fireflies floated out into the air
believe, she said
and gave me a tiny pearl covered in wings, to swallow
use this to float up to the sky
and you will be counted
what is the power of hope
when compared to the density of darkness
what is the weight of the gravity beneath our beds
what is the weight of the sky when we arrive
do the gods consider such things?
Published in Verse-Virtual, June 2022 Issue:
White Dress on a Clothesline
who has left this delicate cotton cloth
handsewn with care
to fit a young girl’s shape
with its small white buttons
its white lace collar
pinned at the shoulders
on this worn clothesline
behind this empty farmhouse?
the cloth is thin
and made for dense summer days
when this tree above
would have been fertile green
when there would have been
birds singing
a song for rising
a song for resting
a song by which to wander
a song to call the children home
more empty than the broken chairs
on the collapsing porch
this abandoned house
will soon be embraced by wild
come to claim, consume, console -
one day, it will call this cotton dress
with its blue satin ribbon about the waist
to rejoin the brown earth
this empty white dress
uplifted and released
ascending and descending
in the chilly breeze
Poem "White Dress on a Clothesline" published in Writing In A Woman's Voice, April 30th, 2022. Winner of the 95th Moon Prize. https://writinginawomansvoice.blogspot.com/2022/04/blog-post_30.html
The Key
in the house of the mind
its windows of desire
poppy-lipped
its ceiling fans spinning
its kitchen timers unwinding
its intricate hallways painted with a lifetime of faces
here, clouds and sparrows drift in the attic
the widow’s walk looks out
upon a departing sea
something courageous puffs and hopes
in the chimney
something ecstatic sings in the wires
something in the shadows
beneath the stairs
offers a trembling answer
it holds the key
it holds the feather
it speaks in tongues
Erratic Balloon
I understand
I do
you are not the only one
who sometimes feels like a frightened child
afraid of an erratic balloon
filled with angry exhalations
the shadow of birds
swooping too close
a zigzagging kite
controlled by the wind’s demands
a cloud that suddenly covers the sun
threatening a storm
it was a necessary habit
formed too early on
now, useless time spent
worried about ghosts that vanish into nothing
~Published in First Literary Review-East