Recent Writing in the Works.
Still Life with Melons
STILL LIFE WITH MELONS
Begin here each morning
in the clean light at the breakfast table.
Begin by breathing
and begin listening to each breath.
Every morning come back
to your body with each breath.
Begin with this wet wedge
of fresh cut melon.
Begin where you are, here
at the beginning, beginning again.
Everything Waits for Winter
Everything Waits for Winter
It is not winter
but everything waits for winter.
The beach grass loses its green
and lays itself flat
before the coming season
that seems to always
be taking something from us.
It is November
and grey, as it should be.
Wind blows the coppery leaves
from the maples’ branches
I stoop to catch one
from the ground
and save it, like a lucky penny.
Bedtime Stories
When I was a child
a boy two houses down told me
each night he saw “to be continued”
written in white
at the end of each dream
and that the next night
the story would continue
from the night before.
I believed him because
there are some stories
that cannot be told in one evening
like the story my father told me
on nights when I came to my parents’ room
crying from shin splints.
My father ran his thumb
down the outside of my shinbone
and his hard fingertips down the other side
to press the knots from my muscles
as he told me about a mermaid
who used magic to split her tail
into two legs and walk beneath the moon
that continually renews itself
over this aging earth. The split
was painful, but still she accepted
dance after dance with a prince
so he’d be charmed by her.
When my father had rubbed
the soreness from my legs,
he sent me back to bed
saving the rest of the story
for another night. I drifted to sleep,
dreaming different endings. Would
the mermaid be swept ashore
by the prince, saved forever
from the cruel monster
at the bottom of the ocean?
Or would the prince become emperor
of a wet underwater dynasty?
It went without saying
the two would fall in love.
The only question was how
they could be together
when she could not live on land,
and he could not breathe in the sea.
Each night, the story rounded itself off
like the fullness of the growing moon
that renews itself over our aging earth.
I continued imagining endings,
even years later when I had grown
to love a man with a tattoo of a mermaid
covering his entire forearm.
He was a diver and brought back
so many pink shells and dried starfish
from the Gulf of Mexico
that I seemed to live in a drained aquarium.
There was no doubt we’d fallen in love,
as the moon renewed itself over
and over the same aging question:
when he could not live in my world,
and I would could not live in his,
was this story to be continued?
Attempted Flight
Long after the crash, Daedalus
still dreams of taking flight
to find his son before he falls
from the dim grey sky.
Each night, Daedalus beats his wings
loosening a scatter of feathers
to stir with dead leaves
across the dark weight of the earth.
Fixed there to the ground
he shakes his heavy arms
until daybreak, until,
finally he dreams of yellow wax
melting in the morning
sunlight that wakes him.
THAT STRAIGHT TALK AMERICANS ARE CRAVING
Hey, can I call ya Sarah?
I been havin a hard time
taking ya seriously, there,
being the folksy hockey mom
and having that "Sarah Baracuda"
and what with the bloody caribou
dyin in the snow, there.
And the moose hunting, also.
But ya know, you're right, though
sayin how Americans
are craving that straight talk
and I'll betcha
if ya go to a kids' soccer game
or to a hockey game, there
or to a softball game, also
and just, ya know
turn to any parent
there on the sidelines, too
and say, "Hey!
What's a bulldog wearing lipstick
anyway, do ya think?"
I betcha you're gonna hear
some fear in that parent's voice.
And I guess that parent might say, also,
"Perhaps a dangerous, ya know
possibly rabid, attack dog, there
that being also
one of God's beautiful creatures
bless its heart
and rubbing Vaseline on its teeth
like Alaskan beauty queens
always smiling, too,
on camera?"
Now, if ya think that parent
being a hockey mom
across the nation, also
would say, "The ideal VP candidate,"
Well, I'm gonna have to disagree with ya there.
And again, I'll betcha they're not even gonna say
"hockey mom," but, perhaps, even
"What in the heck is Palin
rambling on about now?"
Darn right, they will.
Now, the people of America,
the hardworking
average
middle class folks, too,
being people
who are people like me
and not how you are
being an elected government official, also
they do take issue
and I do, also,
being a Mainstreeter like me
with a kitchen table, too
and wantin that straight talk
that's what Americans want
knowin how callin McCain a "maverick"
doggone it
just don't make him one
and knowin also how too
even if he were taking hits
from both sides of that aisle, there
he couldn't, also, at the same time
bring folks together
putting the country
back on the side
of the American people
being bipartisan.
Cause, ya know
when America sits around that kitchen table
like we do here on Main Street
having no view of Russia
but wanting healthcare, also
we are craving that straight talk
that, with all due respect
comes from someone
who does a heck of a lot more than
just say, "Gettin down to it and gettin the job done."
What folks want to know, also
is, "Hey! What is 'it'?
Just what job are ya talking about, there?"
And wantin, too, someone
with a darned good idea
how in the heck to do it, even.
I guess what I mean, here
is what every day American people
the Joe Six-Packs are wantin
is someone who knows that, ya know
a surge in Iraq just isn't an exit strategy.
Darn right, it's not.
And too, calling John McCain a leader
in banking regulation
forgets how his being
one of those Keating Five, that
with all due respect
shored up the deregulation
that is hurting our economy
of the American people
and too, the savings and loan scandals
of the 80s also.
That is unpatriotic.
So now, Sarah
say it ain't so.
Sayin it
ain't so.
Sayin it don't make it so,
Joe-"Sarah"-Six-Pack.
And ya know, also
the chant isn't
"Drill, baby drill."
I mean, doggone it
the chant is
"Yes. We. Can."
you betcha we can.
And you betcha
we will.
SEVEN HESITATIONS
With her earrings, lipstick
and good shoes, they'll say
she's put on airs. Without them
they'll say she's let herself go.
She hasn't let herself go
beyond the yard in months
hasn't left Sant'Anna in years.
She will have to take the child
with her. They will whisper
when she passes. Even if
she leaves the child
they will talk about the child.
They will talk about the father.
Then too, it might rain.
If it doesn't rain
the road will be dusty
and ruin her good shoes.
If she doesn't go, they will say
she hasn't left the yard in months
or the village in years
for fear of what might be said.
Tonight
TONIGHT
Theirs is a red dance
Quiet, hot and damp.
He knows to hold each girl
The way her shape holds her.
His hand plays along her side
Thumb against the ribcage
His smallest finger on her hipbone.
He lets her take the first step
To see how she wants to be led.
His thighs lean into the dance
He steps back and guides her
To the right, to the right
She closes her eyes
And trusts she will be moved
To the right place.