beach day ends summer
(though it’s already over)
school can kick our ass
she’ll paddle toward sun
let weekend sparkles shine through–
make this week worth it
with our lives packed up
these small moments so matter
more than i can say
even with the rain
that raced us back to our car
we dried off. and won.
my thousandth visit
just as pretty as the first
brings peace to my stress
and seeing her run
beating her time on day two
goose wings to the sky
my first orgasm
given to a boy now dead
life’s too fucking short
my childhood park
lit under a cloudy moon
is what calms me down
i’d walk the world
to find my way back to you
eighteen years in, love
we’re all grown up now
me a woman, you a man
let’s let bygones… be
there’s no other moon
to shine city-bright tonight
just my love, your love
first day of too old
can’t believe how big they’ve grown
so far from our shell
yes, they’ve broken free
walk out into the world
chick fluff gone with grins
last days of summer
mini-golfing with grandma
home before the rain
in thirty-eight years
he’s made me miracles
(since before we met)
miracle one: birth–
an afterthought, late-marriage,
named-after-dad fourth
miracle two: shy–
wouldn’t say more than needed
from grade school on up
miracle three: serve–
mother, father, siblings, friends,
country, lovers… wife
miracle four: kids
who can capture his essence
in smiles, sweetness
miracle five: love–
couldn’t come to broken hearts
till we met. and healed.
miracle six: hope–
’cause without him there’d be none.
happy birthday, Babes.
joy found in river
dipped in snowmelt for hot days
better than a beach
no hot tub lies here
just a circular rock wall
perfect for chilling
Colorado sun
mixed with friends, camping, river:
rays of happiness
blue moon this July
because of this rare campout?
old friends united
over the mountains
it fills sky with silver light
it guided us home
tomorrow? August
all the stress and joy it brings
to our small family
but for now? spotlight
reminding of our past
our future lit up
she mentioned poem theft
when i went to Toronto
and i laughed and laughed
would someone steal poems
so specific to my life
day after day… kids??
would they steal this pic
formulated by daughters’
view of this bright world?
would they steal these plates
drying when hot water broke
no plumber can come?
would they steal our ride
our dip in the river, creek?
and claim it’s their poem?
would they fix plumbing?
be my man–wire phone lines?
they couldn’t be me
my poems, words, are mine
trapped here for worldwide view
no one would steal them
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)
