Saturday, December 10, 2011
Monday, December 05, 2011
5 December 2011
Sunday, December 04, 2011
I have learned there’s a treatment
to amputate whatever
silence cannot be tolerated,
whatever noise needs hushed.
Extremities are a nuisance, even when
Nature herself dictates that I receive
the gift of acute feeling
for a time. To numb is the norm;
Experience has become
a choice against the grain--
to dive in, to know, to stay sane
amidst the chaos.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
I stir my tea and think
of everyone half a world away, wonder
if Lizet stirs her tea counter-clockwise;
how Ruth manages to stir her tea at all;
if Dottie drinks tea when we’re not there
to make it for her, to sit and sip and enjoy
the simple moments that sometimes we,
yes, even we take for granted.
I stir from the bottom and wonder how
Deb can manage coffee without sugar,
if Gina is ribbing her husband instead of me
over half-and-half this early in the morning.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
USED to, he says,
and then looks
puzzled at my offense.
Used to indeed!
Why, just the other day,
I wrote a note
our son was not in school.
I wrote a grocery list;
a collection of items,
things I must do before
I lay down to rest.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Time is taking hold of my eyelids,
dragging them along
a mostly predetermined path. Evidence
of many meals enjoyed,
perhaps too much,
certainly too late,
bring softness where once
I was, by and large, unyielding--
but my hair in sunlight is still
the color of polished wood.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Think before you call it quits--
you’ll never stop
realizing all you’ve lost,
even when the sting subsides
and you’ve forgiven yourself
and other. There will always be
another reminder of where and who
you could or should have been;
who you should be with.
No matter how good it gets,
it’s never quite perfect,
and you can’t ever make it
what it’s not, no matter how you long,
no matter how you try to believe
you never loved,
you never broke faith.
Friday, September 09, 2011
I have been enjoying Bexley immensely this morning. The trees are old, the sidewalks are wide, and almost every house has a large, inviting porch. This place is made for walking, and it's not just the residential areas. Main Street is a quarter mile from where I'm staying, if that, and it's lined with small businesses of every description: Thrift stores, coffee shops, bakeries, grocers, you name it. There are at least two banks and an elementary school within walking distance.
Who wouldn't want to live in Bexley? Who wouldn't lose 10 pounds within the first six months of living here, just from walking everywhere--because they could? I am envious of pretty much everyone who lives in Bexley.
Granted, from my house I can walk to Kroger, the gym, Starbucks (not that I would), RiteAid, and several small restaurants. However, walking in my neighborhood is not the pleasure it is here in Bexley, with walker friendly routes going any direction you could choose. The sidewalks in my neighborhood are narrow, and in places they are non-existent. Getting into the Kroger parking lot on foot is, at times, a practice in taking your life into your own hands.
I wonder if it's possible to transform a neighborhood like mine into a neighborhood like Bexley? I guess I can do my part, anyway. I'll need a front porch, large shade trees out by the [scrawny] sidewalk, and a willingness to start walking, even if the paths are not quite as friendly there as they are here in Bexley.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I bought a very old, wood sewing machine table at Goodwill yesterday for $7.50. Can you believe that? I must conclude that someone didn't know what they had, because this is a very nice piece of furniture, and perfect working order.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Saturday, July 02, 2011
You give me poems to write:
space for me and mine to work out
our idiosyncrasies here
in a place Friendly to such things.
There is so much opportunity.
I am afraid to go to sleep,
even at 11:32 PM, when
my children have long since
left their struggles to find rest;
when my husband has been in bed
for at least an hour without me.
You must understand, this is unheard of.
Home is a complicated combination
of many ingredients. He is the first.
My children are a close second,
and after that, it's all a matter
of geography, and being in the same space
together--safe and somewhat understood,
if only for a moment.
You needn't catch every nuance;
understand every shade of meaning
entailed within our struggles.
The matter is only one of willingness
to be present, to endure,
to come together at the end of the day
on the porch with the sun in our eyes
aware that the time is slipping past us;
this won't last. We have to enjoy of each other
what we can, while we can.
That's what matters most.
Friday, July 01, 2011
The porch is a good place to sit
and take in the rest of the farm.
Mail comes when it comes,
and if I sit here, I know when
to walk down the driveway and retrieve
the junk and what I imagine are rare
precious posts--perhaps less rare here
in such a friendly corner of the world.
The wind is cool, just right
on a day when, if I step off the porch
into the sunlight, I'm a little too warm
for comfort. The leaves are singing,
the sky is lazy, the trees are wearing
shadowy skirts that brush the grass
a darker shade of lovely.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Sunday, March 06, 2011
6 March 2011
I never have understood this brand of non-conformity,
everyone building their own unique
from homologous blocks of vaguely varying hues;
differing degrees of sameness. The very pretty
people somnambulate to and fro scrutinizing;
assimilating bits of cleverly pieced cotton and ramie;
making their resulting congruence
a little less distinctive, a little more
just like everyone else.
"For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."
"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Friday, January 21, 2011
21 January 2011
I've never been a fan of fishing--
the smell of stink bait, or the wriggling
of worms I send to their deaths
so I can feel a moment of exhilaration
when an unwitting catfish, trout, bass
runs scared from my hook inexorably
piercing, tearing the flesh of his cheek.
This has never been my idea of a good time,
though some revel in that moment, whether
this terrified creature is dinner,
or an unfortunate participant in a game
of catch and release.
I might be persuaded to sit lakeside,
unsuccessfully casting my line
in an unpopulated shallow, enjoying
the warmth of the sun, the cool of a beer,
the seemingly self-satisfied state
of the fish who think
they've pulled one over on the hook today,
the story telling later
about the one that got away.