twenty mile morn
miracle van renaissance
baby’s cap and gown
My Day
twenty mile morn
miracle van renaissance
baby’s cap and gown
poetry
Cottonwood Colorado
trees don’t grow on beaches
and they shouldn’t be here
eighty years old
stacked up along the sand
a domineering presence
of the shade i crave
it is June now
and cotton floats in the air
in and out of our hair
our mouths, our pieces of food
a dreamy landscape
of seeds starting anew
i sit for hours
as lyrics drown out
the blue-collar Bud-drinking
daytime neighbors
i could sit all day
my cottonwood Colorado
a dreamy landscape
of all i will leave behind
soon we will breathe
the salty seascape
there will be no trees
only a faulty umbrella
unable to withstand wind
no cotton bleeding with life
no comparison to this life
and will my girls
sassy as ever in their new bikinis
remember what it was like
in the cottonwood Colorado
of their youth?
or immerse in a
languagefoodculture
that blends together
in a different dreamy landscape?
Reality
with bursts of blue light
clouds blow across our beach day
typical of life
May (2012) Daughters
Riona
with Starburst in her pocket,
girls follow behind like
needy pups.
only one knows the destination
of the gift:
the quiet child who always watches,
who often plays by herself
and becomes the coveted pet tagalong
now she pipes up,
i know who those are for–my mama,
because she loves my mama
and my mama loves Starburst.
i would like to be that unnoticed
and that necessary.
Mythili
you’re the middle child
unaware of sisters’ quirks
living in your world
Isabella
you gave me a dose
of grumpy teenage hormones
what will we do then?
Dots on a Map
yes, it was Hitler.
he gathered them up,
took family members one by one,
and like feathers
tossed into a torrent,
the survivors fled home
that’s my first dot
their home across the sea,
ancestors’ ashes scattered
into a grey Polish sky,
is what brings them to me
my second dot
a rejection letter,
a flyer in a park,
three daughters and a school
quite fluent in Spanish
who years later would fly in
two Spaniards
to fill every moment of our lives
my third dot
was it her Inquisition,
or Hitler’s wrath,
or the coming together
of lines on a child’s paper
that connected the dots,
the dots on a map
that make my dream a reality?
three Colorado girls.
Spaniards full of life.
a doctor from Jerusalem.
with a few words,
desires both evil and good,
we are all connected.
Reflection
she puts it there for me
and i could copy this
and be someone else
just like she desires
but then i wouldn’t be me
i wouldn’t be that person
who put in that application
and told her husband
at age thirty-four
we’re moving to Spain
i would be just like
just like
all the other souls
who fit into conformity
who settle into the home
that’s so familiar
i would be you
i would be your mirror
and how happy would you be
looking back
at the reflection?
The Truth
i am authentic
the exact character trait
so despised by all
Fraction
behind these lyrics
i leave back pieces of me
the world will not see
Imaginary Waves
arriving just after dawn
trees bend in the breeze
by midday we swallow sand
the beach’s beauty tainted
a hot wind to bring a new season
I could put my hand out the window
make imaginary waves
pretend that my rhythmic motions
are wings carrying me elsewhere
instead I stare into the distance
mountains masked by haze
and wait for the moment
my moment
when wind will mean more
than bent branches
and the coming of summer
Open
don’t do anything
i wouldn’t do, i tell him,
love’s door wide open
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