to sit down and write

the best place to sit – out back on the porch
feet mounted on the wall
but if I find myself indoors
I’m at my desk facing the window
gazing out at the trees

before I pick up my pen
I take time to read a poem
time to think about the poet’s work
a look for sparks

there’s no grand introduction
an open notebook, add the date
and spill the stuff in my head
out on to the page

I write til I give out of steam or ideas or direction
I read and ponder
wonder what I had to say
had I considered that thought at all
a moment of insight
or merely a spilling of words

 

the closet thing to a miracle

in awe of the life in my arms
your breathe heaves your chest
and seems to reverberate right
down to your toes

those tiny peas
curled against your feet
smooth soft skin
velvet to the touch

til there was you
played in my head
there were birds in the air
but I never heard them singing

to this day the melody
brings back those early hours
holding you
in awe of the life in my arms

transfixed by the miracle of life
closed eyelids
even the sounds you made
were soft

already feel like I’ll never tire
looking at you

Bill

beach walks in the morning
rest of the day to play
outside in the yard at home or in
the woods by the house in Hilton Head
have never lost the ease to connect
even during the last years of Mom’s life
reunited reconnected never lost the ease

why I write it down

if I write it down, I’ll remember to buy it when I’m a the grocery,
even if I forget the slip of paper.
if I write it down, I’ll look at the words “Please tell me, how can
I love you better” and remember what’s important.
if I write it down, I can lay out plans, see it what I want to do,
and adjust them to fit the time.
if I write it down, I can think about the words I’m copying
and know and understand the meaning more deeply.
if I write it down, I’ll get back to you with the answer
to your questions.
if I write it down, we can look at the ideas together
and grow your essay to be just like you want it.
if I write it down,  I just might find a poem.

Sans training wheels

for weeks I pedaled along the walkway
my dad’s hand on my lower back
he ran along beside me

as soon as his hand left my back
the handlebars wobbled, shaking my arms
ultimately landing me on the walkway
while a collection of scrapes accumulated
on my legs and elbows

I could not be discouraged
I was going to ride this bike

and finally it happened

I was riding a two wheeler
my feet easily pressed against the pedals
my knees pumped up and down
wheels smooth against the asphalt

and I was proud
the wind caught my hair
swept across my face
my bike moved in sweeps across the street

and I rode around the block
over and over
past Jeffrey Lauderdale’s house
where he sat on his front porch watching

House numbers

407 Victory Drive
first home address
linked to phone number 554-2411
post office box number 411
numeral representations of me when
old enough to know them, share them
identifiers

511 Regent Place
my second home
last house at the bottom of the hill
a stately drive up to a red brick house
asphalt and pine trees
azaleas and boxwoods
the number less significant
than the visual memory

2701 Rockingham Drive
my current residence of nearly
30 years, a home where I helped
plant the memories, where two
children grew up,
gardens grew and trees planted
birthdays celebrated, pets buried
numbers mark the location
identifiers

April in Austin

anything’s possible, the month I bore my second daughter
days before her birth I squatted in the garden to plant basil
and hoped the child would be inspired to arrive

two mountain laurels planted to mark her birth
today their height marks her time here, tall and full

some Aprils outdoor gatherings required sweaters
and I was grateful for a porch to provide protection
for those of us who gathered to celebrate another year

today I padded around the yard bare feet and in shorts
though mornings still require a fleece top
tomorrow’s forecast 98 – crazy!

Looking back at 15

Not sure if I’d call it waking up, or growing up.
Life had provided a little more context than it had at ten.

At the beginning of my fifteenth year my parents sent me to Israel with my cousin, Rachel, and the Baltimore Hebrew College. I was the youngest in the group. Though it did not stop me from doing things. Dancing at disco on the Sea of Galilee to Sly Stone’s “Take me Higher.” The Israeli youth who did not speak English knew all the words to the song. We studied Hebrew in Netanya. Duane Allman died that summer, and I listened to his music through my high school years. My first trip out of the country, and my parents allowed me to go without them.

I returned home to a nation divided by Watergate. Raised by a pair of Democrats I found it incredulous that a nation denied the crimes of the soon to be reelected president’s committee. Accurately named CREEP – the committee for the reelection of the president committed the crime. When I returned to school in the fall I wrote an article for our school newspaper in support of McGovern.

In Munich Israeli Olympic wrestlers and other athletes taken hostage by Black September were killed. And the belief that the Olympics represented a moment when nations could come together for a common goal was shattered. Years later I found it hard to accept Arafat as a negotiator though I realize all parties have blood on their hands.

Among all these serious moments I lived a traditional high school life. I started dating the guy I would date through high school. This far removed it’s hard to say I’d fallen ‘in love.’ Though I’m sure the word was shared. The relationship was healthy for both on us and lasted til I outgrew it.

I learned to drive. My father the calm and patient one drove with me most evenings. We drove Jonathan to 7-11. He was collecting cups with basketball players. An extension of baseball cards. Bubble gum was replaced by a coke slurpee.

Tonight a little bit of me looks back at the fifteen year old, and doesn’t think she’s that much different than the one typing these words on the screen.

Cathedral Lake

the wooded trail through the aspens wastes
no time to climb

as it steepens views spread out and
highlight the valley’s meadows

near the boulder field the grade subsides
with a talus slope below

up switchbacks to the basin’s wall through
scrub brush, trees as hand rails

the trail turns down to the shore beside the alpine jewel,
Cathedral Lake

 

Detail of the shore line

From the moment I step into the sand,
my eye holds the horizon.

The flat expanse of water,
sweeps out from the sand.

To the line where it meets the sky.

Multiple flat surfaces.

The sandy shore hot on the
soles of my feet.

Swallowed up by the waves as
they spread out on to the sand,
flat against the shore line

Out beyond the waves the dark
bluish green water
stretches to reach the sky.