red sky at night brings…
allergies, fires, candles…
and love. my love. love!
red sky at morning
sailors give warning: heart bursts
for what’s lost at night
truth
Daykeep
eyes burning, itching
allergies taking over
lost words from far back
yet, i’m so happy
house tucked into dream pocket
i could let this go
this and my students
who deserve America
(this dream we all have)
and i’ll fight for them
and she’ll praise him, she’ll praise him
(but he wouldn’t fight)
and we all know it–
how deep my love grows. hard ass?
abso-fuck-lutely
hard ass, heart of gold.
that you can’t forget. you can’t.
and why now, why now?
cause it’s easy now?
cause you have a house, a home?
cause we’re good enough?
cause we were good then,
as golden as these lost days.
i’ll keep my days. thanks.
Wrung Out
my words get twisted
like drying-on-line laundry
that the sun can’t catch
Anywhere but Here
with windows wide: write.
because you’ve missed my poems, love.
since yesterday’s dawn
girls in sun’s shadow
as she announces her move.
life: cycle in, out.
you know you’ve missed me
my “seven-likes” followers
’cause i didn’t write
you count me daily
amongst the regular loves
that make us a life
and i was just born.
(it was like i was just born
the day i met him)
’cause seventeen years
can’t be measured in mountains
or wildflowers
or whining children.
but in the steps we oft take
on our way back home
and in sunsets. Sun!
lighting my way across love
across city, life.
cutting down this ‘hood
into what it’s meant to be:
scraped, demolished, lost.
circular i am
because that’s how tires spin:
neverending globe
that brings us back home
wherever that home may be.
anywhere but here.
Sunny Skies Ahead
he comes home with clouds
hovering over new joy
(where we could be free)
but then i must ask:
is freedom found in money?
so hard to answer
those without know best:
lack of money’s a prison
choking month to month
those with all know best:
too much money is a trap
biting claws of greed
it was just enough
for shoes, road trips, water parks
just enough to breathe
i want that freedom–
monthly-cycle jail-cell break
so far from the clouds
If the Shoe Fits…
reality hits:
plumber, groceries, shoe shopping,
clean car, room, laundry
not a moment’s rest
to really run a household
two incomes looms big
will it be worth it?
one week i’ll be back at work
he’ll have long hours
what i did today?
dispersed between homework, school,
kids’ activities
never the down time
he’s given us all these years
(but… we can buy shoes!)
Nino’s Antiques
home: car cleaning bribe
so i can get my work done
and they earn their game
insurance battle
because i won’t be bullied
by corporations
i wash out bottles
and my new/old egg beater
from Nino’s Antiques
(the shop in Gorham
i went to as a child
with just two pennies
and Nino emerged
with his wax-curled mustache
and sold me his goods
and this egg beater
will remind me: he’s still there
in my timeless town
his mustache now gray
asking my girls about school
his PBS on
selling his antiques
for much too little money
and chatting with kids
he’s no CEO
no insurance scam artist
my hometown hero)
Day Seven, Road Trip 2015
walk across downtown
with my urban planning mom
walking rating: zilch
veggies are heavy
when carrying Kentucky
weight on both shoulders
redemptive moment
on green lake with blue kayaks
(words he’ll never read)
a campfire end
to a summer daydream trip
(only innocence)
full circle i’ve turned
since five years back, her birth year
(my first niece. cousins)
but he won’t see that.
only weakness bearing down
on our bright union
love like this? just once.
with dark swings on late porches
he can’t even touch
but for her bright eyes
the firelit sunset eve
forgiveness follows.
Love=Family
a morning discourse
to get me through the last day.
she gives in. i win.
when one of her five
desires the same gender
will she change her mind?
families surround us:
single, married, divorced, set–
love makes children grow
not biology.
(we’ve been friends forever now.
we have climbed mountains).
valleys take their turn.
she will judge, blame, point fingers.
i will love, love, love.
Hazel at Best
four weeks: iced mocha
from his teacher’s salary
to my starving morn
one more disruption
to make my students argue
(entitlements rule)
his blue-eyed gesture
almost makes the sacrifice
worth the sinking sun
he knows and i know
that he can’t buy my return;
best or not–i’m gone
no blue eyes at home
(from my man or anyone)
on my girls’ faces
nor a mocha bribe
for the heart-winning teacher.
cynic? true. best? yes.
no film, court judges,
observers, department heads
are worth this money
’cause money can’t buy
another summer soon lost
in a blue-eyed search
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