Month: December 2010

Public Library

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Dear Self-Absorbed Republicans,

Thank you once again
for denying public interests
and literacy
and all that is good
to us lower-class citizens
who can no longer use
the “public” library
that you voted down.

Go ahead and take your
free cards in
so you can stock up on
rated R movies
ignoring the masses
that surround you
and can no longer
check out thirty-three books
a week for our children
to benefit from.

One day,
just like Karl Marx predicted,
we will rise up
and show you that,
despite your measly offerings,
we are still strong,
still united,
and always willing
to fight our way to the top.

Eagle

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you are the eagle
you see in these shoes
smiling, ready
your claws on the ball
your dreams in front of you
waiting to walk you
into the future you’ve imagined.

Pedal My Way

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with dry, windburned cheeks
and layer upon layer,
my headlamp prominent
as a beacon on my helmet,
i face this winter like no other.

it stands between now and the end,
these hills and my mountain,
and no matter how cold,
no matter the unending wind,
no matter the disapproving glances,
i will pedal my way to a better tomorrow.

Cat

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December has crept in
on catlike toes, a seemingly soft
and adorable animal
with a wild side
that hunts in the night
and proudly places
mutilated prey on the doorstep
for its owners’ delight.

i’d say that August is better,
but with its expectant mews
and incessant need for
potty training, that baby
is far worse to care for
than a simple shoveling
of bones, blood, and fur
into the trash can.

perhaps in January
i can enjoy the soft purr
of an animal who knows its place,
and we can cuddle on the couch
under a blanket,
cat nip for him,
hot cocoa for me,
and remember how to relax.

Grateful

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i doubt i can write this
in between hundreds of
papers piled up like
cow dung on my desk,
but i’ll try.

they’re entertaining,
to say the least,
almost as good as
the television show
i’m about to watch
or the burlesque show
that my husband and i
enjoyed last weekend.

but not quite enough
to make a week night
pleasurable, inundated
with extra work, reminding
me just how grateful i
need to be that only occasionally
must i succumb to others’ realities.

Pine

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the only thing better
than knowing we’ve helped the earth
just a tad
with our fresh cut tree
is coming home
from a long day at work
to a house
with a lingering smell of pine.

Marinated

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on giant skewers
more sword-like than knife-like
they shave off our marinated meat.

we pile it on top of our
quail eggs, turkey salami,
and marinated mushroom salads.

they pop up every thirty seconds
until our plates are smaller than our eyes
and the tastes linger, love in our mouths.

you walk with me across this city, hands in pockets.
we look at all the lights. we stop
for coffee/tea in our bookstore.

the horses are decorated with glittered hooves
and Santa bells, antlers strapped on
and Mrs. Claus at the reigns.

we step into the tower again. the Santa-hatted
door man convinces us to go downstairs.
we laugh until we cry and miss the light rail.

the crisp winter air bites at our lungs
as we walk from stop to stop. images and tastes
boil up within my blood. you keep me warm.

it is three in the morning before we’re home.
the years have marinated, because we never did this,
not once, before we had them.

now it’s more glorious than any gift you could have given me.
was it the meal, the rainbow of lights on Larimer, the show?
i will never know. only passion will i remember.

The Market

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it’s still here
this place i knew
where last i came
under these same sparkling
rays of light
as a teenager with friends
where we bought coffee
and chocolate
shipped in from Vermont
where we sat in
these same heart-shaped
wire-backed
uncomfortable wooden chairs
and laughed and laughed
and walked around
looking at expensive
hot cocoas
and liberal media magazines,
the same ones
that line the shelves this evening,
beer and dinner in our stomachs,
i fall in love all over again.

Music

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the leaves left from fall
dance across our patio,
their crisp skeletal skins skidding
to the howling background hymn.

this same howling harmony
danced across the road today,
beating me down to my bones
as i pushed toward a quieter tune.

trapped inside a fluorescent prison,
i couldn’t quite find the melody
that with a few angry notes
the wind whipped out of me.

perhaps you stand somewhere
on the other side of the sky,
unable to hear the song i sing
amidst the howling, haunting music.

Writing My Bike

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it came to me in the summer.
Writing My Bike:
this should be the name of my new blog.
will i only write when i ride?
will i only ride when i write?

winter’s creeping in
with bitter cold mornings
that make my pedals run stiffly,
my layered legs tight with frost,
my mittened hands gripping
the first wisps of light on early mornings.

He may try, but Jack Frost can’t deter me.
i’ll be writing my bike to the top
of a mountain in May (racing a train),
and i need these legs to pedal me
through everything that will come
between now and then.