that's mrs. mediocrity to you

he brings her flowers
and that is what she will remember
as they walk her into
the cage of old age
too old to fight
and too weary to cry
but strong enough
to understand
that life is filled
with wrongs

he makes his way
back to a car
filled with forms
and receipts
cat hair and missed
moments and he sits
for a moment with tears
in his eyes before setting off
towards the comforts of home and
cold sandwiches

.

.

.

A dear friend of my family (really more like family than friend)
who is 86 years old, had to give up her independence this past week.
It was hard, oh, so hard, to watch.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for”people” at Poetics, join us!

Also linking up with 100ThousandPoetsForChange” at Tashtoo’s Place.

.

it could be

the road to nowhere

it could be

the road less traveled

either way

here i stand

right smack dab

in the middle

.

my wit has left the building and
elvis is everywhere

i have wrinkles on my ankles and
my favorite pajamas
are unraveling

i love crows but that
doesn’t make me dark
at least not as far
as you know

i survive on
hope and chocolate
wine and water
pickles and promises

i spent the first 49 years
of my life hatching
a wise old crone

i expected to hate her
but find myself
suddenly falling in
love

my sister cried when
elvis died
and all i could do
was hold her hand

while she said
yeah yeah yeah

and that’s from a song
you’ve probably never
heard

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

you never know
where life will take you

we like to think we know
or at the very least

can guess

but

we are born
with all the knowledge
we need and
spend the rest
of our lives

forgetting

each step brings us
a tiny bit closer
to understanding
that in the end
we know

nothing

because even in
the worst of years

the driest hottest
drought of summer

can bring forth
the perfect blush

of one september
rose

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Unexpected Poetics, join us!

.

the unspoken syllable that catches in your throat

.

the kite caught in the high bird branches of a tree

.

the smile that plays across your lips on a thought kept silent

.

the reflection of a life in another broken mirror

.

the leaf that never made its way to freedom

.

apparently i’ve forgotten
how to be offended on my own
i need instructions
reinforcements
coaching and
missives, shouts and apoplectic
derision

to come to the conclusion
that everything you say
or do
or think is wrong
even when it is

i wander these streets
lost but not wanting
to be found

listening

shhhh

listen

here
i can hear
myself think

remember thinking

back before it was
all done out
loud

and i’m craving grey
with its less than stark
observations

something soft and not
at all cataclysmic

to rest my head on

for just

one minute

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

equality is not the same as experience

and it makes me wonder if
all the first times
have to add up
to the same number
as the last times

and who made that rule
and why do i have
to follow it

it’s all in the numbers
it can all be calculated with
equations and dollar signs

first
smile step kiss

last
kiss laugh breath

not exactly the same
not exact at all

because no one has the right answers
and no one gets to see
the cheat sheet

or all the lines, verbs, nouns and
adjectives that wriggled their way
in between

and the teacher is sitting in the corner
wearing her carefully decorated dunce cap
trying to figure out how to make
her last first time
add up

to all the time
that came before it

and she has all these numbers
crisscrossed on the palm of her hand

but she can’t find one zero anywhere

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Poetics, join us!

Last night the light was gorgeous.

Gorgeous enough to drag me up off the couch despite a migraine, gorgeous enough to warrant the real camera rather than the phone camera, gorgeous enough to bathe everything in beauty.

Today, I still have a migraine. I am behind in the work I need to get done this week, I am tired and my house is a mess.

There is always something that needs doing, always a reason to be here instead of there, always the feeling that the pile of sand in the bottom of the hourglass is larger than the pile of sand left at the top.

Last night, I didn’t care about any of that. Last night, I sat in the sun as it slowly drew long shadows over everything in sight.

I read and listened to birds, threw my head back and stared at the sky, inhaled crisp air just beginning to smell like autumn.

Life can seem so complicated. But really, it’s all so simple.

It’s all about the light.

ten eleven years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

I wrote this last year as the 10-year anniversary
of this tragic, horrid event approached.

I am re-posting it again today, in honor of all those hearts.

Never forget.

.

as I watch quietly from my garden, alone, exhausted, content,

listening to the trill of cedar waxwing,

the sharp bark of tree frog,

the never-ending harmony of crickets.

it’s ever so much better

than silence.