some days I feel that history is written all over my body
the pressure in my left knee
as it hangs by the side of the bed
the knee which released blood into needles

some days
the divet at the tip of my nose
shines bright, whiter than the surrounding skin
a mohs procedure a few years back

some days
I consider polishing that toe nail
still misshapen after a collison with the
recycling bin wheel more than a year ago

some days
the crescent scars on the first and second knuckles
remind me of a kitchen I’d hoped not to remember
and a glass that shaped them in a soapy sink

some days
I smile about my oh so thin legs
and am reminded of my father
who was embarrassed to run on to the court

a skinny poem

One afternoon at the Uffizi I turned the corner into the room to find one canvas –
Venus
birth
scallop
breeze
Venus
modest
beauty
roses
Venus
A single canvas in the room one afternoon at the Uffizi

haiku

a few brief moments
after work on the back porch
already too hot

two dogs and one man
not a bad way for week’s end
and a cold beer too

I never knew

it was February 23, 2014
I’m sitting at my desk facing the window in my classroom
in a matter of seconds a cardinal flies into the window,
falls and a hawk swoops from the tree towards the fallen bird
then returns to the tree

at my desk I sit eyes glued to the hawk in the tree

I never knew I liked hawks

last summer we watched a hawk in a tree over by the church
each morning as we entered the parking lot we looked for the hawk
if we were lucky we watched it swoop from one tree over to another
and we stood watching it in that tree, watching it do, what hawks do

I never knew I liked hawks

this week I noticed a hawk on the power pole just beyond our backyard
the first evening I noticed it swoop in and land, as I sat on my bed
doing exercises I watched, and admired the hawk
it was back the next evening and the next,
I admired its red color in the setting sun
and this morning the hawk was back joined by two smaller birds

I never knew I liked hawks

Mirror Poem

I began with Gary Snyder’s poem,

How Poetry Comes to Me
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light

Now my version of

How Poetry Comes to Me
It breathes a fragrant breeze into
the porch in early day, it sends
Shafts of light across the
Page spread on my lap
I wait with my pen, refreshed
by morning’s gaze

the mask

far from the door I sit alone
mask lying beside my laptop til
someone approaches my door and
I wave them in, don my mask

adding the mask becomes a gesture
of welcome, after months of alone
do we sit to talk or stand and wander
the nearly empty space

this mask now hardly noticed
not a shield to hide who I am
a cover to keep me present
to whoever you may be

words shared escape the mask
small talk or words needed to be shared
it’s what we used to do
we’re finding our way back

so we wear the mask

speech to my house cat

Say to him
say to the nap taker,
the loud purrer,
the plushest cat,
the soft loaf of fur.
“I love when you rest on my chest
even when I need to get up.”
You will hold me.
What’s another few minutes?

Sleep on the couch, all day when we are away.
Sleep on our bed, whether we’re home or at rest.
Sleep on the chair to watch the goings on of your house.

don’t want to be someone who says no

I don’t want to be someone who says no
shutting down opportunities for myself or others

I want to be someone who says yes
so that new experiences are explored,
and others are supported.

When my daughter wants me to join her on a holiday,
I don’t want to put work before her.

When a colleague wants help power washing ChromeBooks,
I want to be remembered standing at the table typing commands
repeatedly so that the task is completed.

When a friend wants someone to walk with,
I want to find the time that works.

And somedays it’s just time for me.

Thirty minutes for a podcast to distract me from my day,
or to kneel in my garden clearing weeds from just one bed,
or a chance to get back to the story sketched on the pages.

I don’t want to be someone who says no.

my state of wonder

This house I call my home
always in a state of wonder.
I wonder what we’ll do next –
paint the bedroom walls
now that the closet doors need paint.
One thing leads to another.

But that’s only one room.
Carpet came up in the living room
and bedroom.
Undecided what to cover the concrete.
The kitchen ceiling has been waiting
for a drywall repair found a new ceiling light.
While stains and uneven tape wait
til the final touches are added.

Outside so much easier to care for
the sun shines bright on bare arms.
A cleared bed a clean canvas
for flowers, a plant I’ve been wishing for.
Sweeping, raking, mowing,
my state of wonder.

shadows poem

the shadows hold their breath

the shadow of the trees
form a skirt beneath their trunk
a dark puddle where the light misses the ground

some tree shadows leave
a filigree on the ground
and I wonder how long
that pattern might last
long enough to run out
and paint the sidewalk

trees leave a lasting impression,
ya know?