She sits by the window
Pink robe
Peers at the rain drops
Like tears down someone's face
Another year and the shadows
grow beneath her eyes
Nurses hurry
strawberry ice cream and TV
Glazed stares
as evening stars
and years pass
Sometimes there is her daughter's hand
Blue business suit
and cell phone
chocolate candy tastes good
Her voice sounds underwater
Somewhere in the back of her mind
people are dancing on
black and white linoleum
Jazz plays and cigarettes are smoked
Love is intoxicating
Laughter deep
No way to tell them
No way to keep up her home
or pet the dog
or plant hyacinths in the garden
No more spring baskets or snow covered trees
Just the window
Seasons turn
Shadows grow beneath her eyes
Friday, January 4, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Chicago Summer
Florescent pinks and greensare the sidewalk chalks we wield
over hula hoop circles
in well worn lawns
with our brown feet
flying above the sprinkler
swooshing through the turquoise
wading pool in my
frog patch bathing suit
Nana beckons with pretzels
in wax paper
from the dim kitchen of the town house
She warns me to stay out of
the shatter glass, garbage can, black paint
alley way
and I do
smelling lavender lilacs
eating purple popsicles and chewing grape gum
Dancing in the blue green water color afternoon
House Sounds
He was left with creaking floors
in the night
and the shifting sound of an oil heater
Sometimes he could imagine
she was still walking
across the rugs
or hanging her robe on the brass hook at bed time
But only the voices of wind chimes
on the porch spoke to his loneliness
The melancholy tones reminding
that half of him had been ripped away
Years later, he chose to survive
and began to collect new sounds
Small, quiet notes at first
A new friend
The song of a shared laugh
Somehow, bit by bit
an orchestra emerged
Loud and discordant at times
But boldly alive
When I visit him now
the rooms are full of clocks ticking
Busy voices
mingling with a dripping faucet
or the heater clicking on
But having been away
so long
I feel the emptiness
and racing in my heart
whenever those foreboding chimes
are blown in motion
Occasionally, they sound like her
or angels hearing all my thoughts
in the night
and the shifting sound of an oil heater
Sometimes he could imagine
she was still walking
across the rugs
or hanging her robe on the brass hook at bed time
But only the voices of wind chimes
on the porch spoke to his loneliness
The melancholy tones reminding
that half of him had been ripped away
Years later, he chose to survive
and began to collect new sounds
Small, quiet notes at first
A new friend
The song of a shared laugh
Somehow, bit by bit
an orchestra emerged
Loud and discordant at times
But boldly alive
When I visit him now
the rooms are full of clocks ticking
Busy voices
mingling with a dripping faucet
or the heater clicking on
But having been away
so long
I feel the emptiness
and racing in my heart
whenever those foreboding chimes
are blown in motion
Occasionally, they sound like her
or angels hearing all my thoughts
Tricky
Third story balconyIt all tumbles down
like a sad sunset
a glued up glob of orange
Glimmer, shimmer
Cigarette, spray paint
Silver, green burns
Brown bottles downed
Everything is funny
Way up here
Paper skinny
Cartoon tall
Eye sockets growing shadowy
over a soiled grin
Your horrified face looks like
a Black Cat firecracker in the bottom
of a Halloween bag
Your tricky as a wall full of African masks
trying to paint an outline in street colors
With your sense of humor
and prankster ways, it is as funny as bubble gum
Cold, frosty, pink and blue
If a steam roller flattened you any flatter
you'd be a tick of juicy fruit for the devil
Random Memory
It was raining and the neon greens, blues, and pinks reflected up from the pavement. I slurped up the last of the sweet soda and threw the striped bag from the fast food place in the trash. I couldn't finish the chewy greasy burger and fries inside. I missed my mom's homemade meals. The night before we'd tried to choke down a frozen pizza piled high with some nasty spiced hamburger meat. I was picky about food as it was, so I was looking pretty gaunt in my burgundy plaid dress.
My pa took the job as motel manager, because employment opportunities were lean. They gave us a two room apartment off the back of the front office. It smelled like cleaning products and endless amounts of drying sheets and towels. I slept on a metal springed cot in the backroom. I spent a lot of time there reading Nancy Drew novels and "Casper the Friendly Ghost" and "Archie" comic books. There was canned soda to drink and Oh Henry bars for 25 cents. I spent a huge amount of time daydreaming.
It was the early 70s, so my pa was playing a lot of folk music on his guitar. He was whip thin and wore a Stetson. He played records like Neil Diamond, the sound track to "Midnight Cowboy", and 45s like "Seasons in the Sun" and "Alone Again, Naturally". He'd roll cigarettes from tobacco in a pouch and it seemed he was often swearing.
Things had started to get pretty boring for me at the front desk, except for the chocolate bars, which were going fast. But then Sara checked into the motel and I think she livened things up for both of us. She was a robust young woman with short, dark, shiny hair. She was loud and wrote her songs that she strummed out in the lobby and later on the shabby couch in our makeshift living room. Apparently, she had been in the hospital and was running away from someone. I didn't really understand. I only knew she talked to me, which was cool, and she eventually bought me a guitar. It came with a book and I learned some chords during her visit. Pretty soon I was playing "Down in the Valley" almost perfectly.
I remember resting on my cot one afternoon and Sara was at the desk with pa. Everything seemed normal until the front door opened and a bunch of people piled in. Some lady, who was apparently related to Sara was speaking in high pitched loud tones. She was ordering Sara to come with her and the others. The sound of her voice scared me, so I tiptoed to the front room.
The group of adults stared at me and the high pitched lady said something about a guitar. I guess Sara told her she'd bought me one and the other woman was angry about it. She was also upset because Sara wasn't being compliant. Then, this weird bald guy showed up. He had a face like a weasel and little wire rimmed glasses. He grabbed Sara and pulled out a syringe. That scared me a lot cause I hated shots. Sara was crying and yelling, asking stuff like, "can't I buy a present for a little girl?" My pa gruffly announced no one had authority to bother Sara at the motel while he was in charge. For a moment or two it was silent, but then the group then....I can't remember what happened, but they drug Sara away. I could hear her protests fading as the unwanted visitors carried her to the parking lot.
To this day, I'm not even sure what happened exactly. Who she was. Why she was on the run. But I do know I kept the guitar for a long time. I took it to a birthday party a few years later and won a talent contest for playing and singing "One Hundred Miles". I think the prize involved some yummy candy.
My pa took the job as motel manager, because employment opportunities were lean. They gave us a two room apartment off the back of the front office. It smelled like cleaning products and endless amounts of drying sheets and towels. I slept on a metal springed cot in the backroom. I spent a lot of time there reading Nancy Drew novels and "Casper the Friendly Ghost" and "Archie" comic books. There was canned soda to drink and Oh Henry bars for 25 cents. I spent a huge amount of time daydreaming.
It was the early 70s, so my pa was playing a lot of folk music on his guitar. He was whip thin and wore a Stetson. He played records like Neil Diamond, the sound track to "Midnight Cowboy", and 45s like "Seasons in the Sun" and "Alone Again, Naturally". He'd roll cigarettes from tobacco in a pouch and it seemed he was often swearing.
Things had started to get pretty boring for me at the front desk, except for the chocolate bars, which were going fast. But then Sara checked into the motel and I think she livened things up for both of us. She was a robust young woman with short, dark, shiny hair. She was loud and wrote her songs that she strummed out in the lobby and later on the shabby couch in our makeshift living room. Apparently, she had been in the hospital and was running away from someone. I didn't really understand. I only knew she talked to me, which was cool, and she eventually bought me a guitar. It came with a book and I learned some chords during her visit. Pretty soon I was playing "Down in the Valley" almost perfectly.
I remember resting on my cot one afternoon and Sara was at the desk with pa. Everything seemed normal until the front door opened and a bunch of people piled in. Some lady, who was apparently related to Sara was speaking in high pitched loud tones. She was ordering Sara to come with her and the others. The sound of her voice scared me, so I tiptoed to the front room.
The group of adults stared at me and the high pitched lady said something about a guitar. I guess Sara told her she'd bought me one and the other woman was angry about it. She was also upset because Sara wasn't being compliant. Then, this weird bald guy showed up. He had a face like a weasel and little wire rimmed glasses. He grabbed Sara and pulled out a syringe. That scared me a lot cause I hated shots. Sara was crying and yelling, asking stuff like, "can't I buy a present for a little girl?" My pa gruffly announced no one had authority to bother Sara at the motel while he was in charge. For a moment or two it was silent, but then the group then....I can't remember what happened, but they drug Sara away. I could hear her protests fading as the unwanted visitors carried her to the parking lot.
To this day, I'm not even sure what happened exactly. Who she was. Why she was on the run. But I do know I kept the guitar for a long time. I took it to a birthday party a few years later and won a talent contest for playing and singing "One Hundred Miles". I think the prize involved some yummy candy.
Green
My favorite was green
and used to think
the Lord was car floormats
because they were blue
and I'd look at them
on rainy days
with windshield wipers going
and it felt the same
as crying into my pillow
and seeing him with golden hair
while my heart beat in my ears
I 'd hear so much it scared me
Branches moving, crickets chorus,
the screech of a horse whinny,
telephone wires talking.
The orchestra kept me awake
all night or I'd drift,
dream a strange voice,
and awaken in terror
There were monarch butterflies
and rainy days with
grey puddles, yellow coats,
and the roar of busses like lions
There were blue corduroys and
homemade frosted sugar cookies
that seemed to last forever
Grass so brightly green
you wouldn't believe it
and clouds rumbled in the sky
like giant heavenly gears
and used to think
the Lord was car floormats
because they were blue
and I'd look at them
on rainy days
with windshield wipers going
and it felt the same
as crying into my pillow
and seeing him with golden hair
while my heart beat in my ears
I 'd hear so much it scared me
Branches moving, crickets chorus,
the screech of a horse whinny,
telephone wires talking.
The orchestra kept me awake
all night or I'd drift,
dream a strange voice,
and awaken in terror
There were monarch butterflies
and rainy days with
grey puddles, yellow coats,
and the roar of busses like lions
There were blue corduroys and
homemade frosted sugar cookies
that seemed to last forever
Grass so brightly green
you wouldn't believe it
and clouds rumbled in the sky
like giant heavenly gears
Untitled
A sophistry in laundry soap
on creaky floors
in Morse code
a bird's eye view
of you
on roller skates
The fitful
slipping vision
on creaky floors
in Morse code
a bird's eye view
of you
on roller skates
The fitful
slipping vision
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
New Year's Day
It's been a long time since I've posted here and I hope to change that. This last quarter at school was so busy with reading and writing and I could hardly take a break. Then we were hit with the hustle bustle of the holidays. I tried to avoid the craziness, but seemed there was so much happening that I had no time to journal in my notebooks or to blog here.
Last night, hubby and I had one of my dear old friends, Doug, over and we watched the extended version of "Fellowship of the Ring" and pigged out on various treats. We made "almost vegan" shrimp dip with soy cream cheese and 100-percent vegan Mexican pizzas. There were lots of veggies, crackers, chips, and stuff to drink. We opted for no alcohol, however, because I had to work today. It seems like subtracting booze makes for less drama with me anyway, although it might have been okay to have a grasshopper with soy ice cream. My mom always made those on New Year's Eve. We did have various kinds of ice cream on hand, but we were all too stuffed to eat it.
I am glad to NOT have a hangover and to get double pay for working today. I hope to go out and buy a new soup kettle tomorrow. We have been cooking in a chipped Teflon thing and I shudder to think of how much toxicicity it has inflicted upon us. I did read an article that said artificial fragrances are a much bigger threat than flaking Teflon chips and fumes. I'm a sucker for all those lotions at Bath, Body, and Beyond, so I'm probably slowly killing myself anyway. Oh well. I'm taking a drive out to a department store to get a copper or stainless steel kettle tomorrow. We have a gift certificate from my husband's aunt, so I'll try to get something sturdy. I have all the ingredients for a delightful vegan stew (potatoes, purple cabbage, shrooms, celery, broccoli, carrots, peas, and more) just waiting in the cabinets and fridge.
School starts next week, so I hope to squeeze in a little chill time (even though I'll be working Thurs.-Sun.). I have been reading bad fiction, like the latest V.C. Andrews and other books I got for Xmas from my sister-in-law. There's a book called "The Time Traveler's Wife" and another called "Garden Spells". I forget who the authors are at the moment. I also want to read some young adult novels that have some positive press. The bottom line here, is I am reading whatever the Hell I feel like for a little bit longer! In another week, I'll be glued to textbooks and writing 20+ page papers on a regular basis. I made a New Year's resolution to write in my paper journal and to do more creative writing here and there. I'm going to try and fit it in, even if I only have half an hour per day while in grad school.
There are so many more things I could write or say about our trip to visit family and seeing my childhood home. I dug around the garage and basement and in my mom's old trunk (she has been dead since 1995). There were still some beautiful, hand made Christmas ornaments that I managed to haul home. Many of the decorations were made by my grandmother on my mom's side. There were some items that were store bought, but they have special meaning to me. I couldn't take everything, but did the best I could with one extra suitcase. It was so lovely to unpack some of it last night and take out a couple things to use for our new Year's Eve get together. Over the next week, I'll put it into storage and know it is there for future Decembers.
Last night, hubby and I had one of my dear old friends, Doug, over and we watched the extended version of "Fellowship of the Ring" and pigged out on various treats. We made "almost vegan" shrimp dip with soy cream cheese and 100-percent vegan Mexican pizzas. There were lots of veggies, crackers, chips, and stuff to drink. We opted for no alcohol, however, because I had to work today. It seems like subtracting booze makes for less drama with me anyway, although it might have been okay to have a grasshopper with soy ice cream. My mom always made those on New Year's Eve. We did have various kinds of ice cream on hand, but we were all too stuffed to eat it.
I am glad to NOT have a hangover and to get double pay for working today. I hope to go out and buy a new soup kettle tomorrow. We have been cooking in a chipped Teflon thing and I shudder to think of how much toxicicity it has inflicted upon us. I did read an article that said artificial fragrances are a much bigger threat than flaking Teflon chips and fumes. I'm a sucker for all those lotions at Bath, Body, and Beyond, so I'm probably slowly killing myself anyway. Oh well. I'm taking a drive out to a department store to get a copper or stainless steel kettle tomorrow. We have a gift certificate from my husband's aunt, so I'll try to get something sturdy. I have all the ingredients for a delightful vegan stew (potatoes, purple cabbage, shrooms, celery, broccoli, carrots, peas, and more) just waiting in the cabinets and fridge.
School starts next week, so I hope to squeeze in a little chill time (even though I'll be working Thurs.-Sun.). I have been reading bad fiction, like the latest V.C. Andrews and other books I got for Xmas from my sister-in-law. There's a book called "The Time Traveler's Wife" and another called "Garden Spells". I forget who the authors are at the moment. I also want to read some young adult novels that have some positive press. The bottom line here, is I am reading whatever the Hell I feel like for a little bit longer! In another week, I'll be glued to textbooks and writing 20+ page papers on a regular basis. I made a New Year's resolution to write in my paper journal and to do more creative writing here and there. I'm going to try and fit it in, even if I only have half an hour per day while in grad school.
There are so many more things I could write or say about our trip to visit family and seeing my childhood home. I dug around the garage and basement and in my mom's old trunk (she has been dead since 1995). There were still some beautiful, hand made Christmas ornaments that I managed to haul home. Many of the decorations were made by my grandmother on my mom's side. There were some items that were store bought, but they have special meaning to me. I couldn't take everything, but did the best I could with one extra suitcase. It was so lovely to unpack some of it last night and take out a couple things to use for our new Year's Eve get together. Over the next week, I'll put it into storage and know it is there for future Decembers.
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