rain in the Smokies
greening the enchanted woods
our daughters long for
Road Trip Haiku #3
rain in the Smokies
greening the enchanted woods
our daughters long for
weather
Fire and Rain
same fire-fueling wind
brings us forgiving rain clouds
nature’s irony
Lighting Up My Lake
the sun beats its way into summer
and simmers along the shore.
all i see are sparkles
brighter than diamonds
lighting up my lake,
my little girls piling
watery sand on my
abandoned-nail-polish feet,
hazy mountains in the distance
popping under bright blue sky,
my Colorado begging me to stay
but i know, i know,
their sand-castle grins
captured in my shitty lens,
that i will be home,
we will be home,
as long as we’re together
No One Notices
she is five
she is my baby
we stand in hot sun
beneath a bittersweet ending
i help her hold up her hand
and when she isn’t included
no one notices
and i feel smaller than her
when he comes up and asks
if i’m some other girl’s mother
so he can invite her (not mine)
to a birthday party?
all i can do
all i can do
is be grateful for my new
dark sunglasses to hide my tears
and the worries that rest
deep in a mother’s heart?
this is the bittersweet beginning
of a lifetime more
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
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
Thirteen Ways of Looking at These Brownies
Modeled after Wallace Stevens’
“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”
I
my grandmother’s hands
sifting the too-expensive flour
to make my father his
50th birthday cake
(the last time she would show me
her Italian kitchen)
II
the torn-apart bag
flour spilling at the reams
and the brownie recipe of my dreams
III
the first bite of brownie
a culinary orgasmic attack
against the tongue
of every sweet i’d
previously put into my mouth
IV
the shy nudge
the first placement
of a brownie on another’s desk
a reach for friendship
V
imagine a bicycle
a saddlebag
a laptop
five pounds of brownies
1029 feet of elevation gain
gratitude at the end of the ride
VI
Thursday evening
sun setting over every season
a thick black spoon
eight ingredients
black brownie mix
as thick as hope
VII
brownie thank-you cards
mysteriously appear in my mailbox
VIII
handwritten notes
begging to be included on
The Brownie List
IX
popping peppermint in at Christmas
and my daughter’s two-month-later birthday
because everyone has a favorite brownie
X
the joy that rests in your mouth
after eating the brownie
and the joy that rests in your heart
after sharing the taste–
they are one and the same
XI
the small hands
that crack eggs
that beg for a taste
that show the mercy of generosity
as together we make brownies
XII
4500 applicants
an ocean
an opportunity of a lifetime
a store without my brownie ingredients
XIII
seven of the best years of my life
a semi-broken heart
and all the brownies
i will never be able to bake
Sprung
fire-banning drought
sucking spring rains from wildlife
broken by night’s clouds
Crossroads
every morning
as i come to my crossroads
just after dawn
touches her fingers to sky,
i make my decision–
an uphill battle
breaking my muscles,
the wind of the highlands
an ever-greater challenge
than the meandering creek
i pedal for simple sights:
the middle-aged blonde
with two matching goldens,
(sometimes leashed, sometimes free)
the bright yellow spot
of a SmartCar, and me
always wondering just where
on the curvacious beauty of
a road i will pass it,
the ever-silent deer
who peer intently at my machine
as they stand cautiously
at the edge of civilization.
and today? a gift,
the top of the most tenuous climb,
the wind bending back leaves
and straightening out flags,
pushing against my will,
when what should cross the road
but a lone pronghorn,
its native spirit leaping
over barbed wire and into
the chaparral, leaving me to
finish my ride, open up
a starvation-induced chocolate
whose wrapper reads,
You are exactly where
you’re supposed to be
(i don’t throw it away,
its aluminum words
imprinted on the crossroads
that may lead me elsewhere tomorrow)
Step Write Up 