09/16/2019
March for Pisces, a collection of poems, some from as far back as the 90's...
March for Pisces
My Piscean Way
I have these smiles for people
that tell how far inside
I have let them come
define our water's edges.
Coast
to coast
I coast
divying out
puddle...
droplet...
ocean...
bathtub...
street gutter...
flood...
draught...
smiling... always.
I gave one today
a deep clear ocean
to a bathtub seeker
who wished for the flood
and after rain
received only draught.
I knew that someone
was going to get hurt.
Bathtub smiles
only come from me
one person at a time.
That is the
kind of face I have-
the kind of mouth
I want to keep.
Sometimes I feel arrogant
doling the way I do
smiling - always...
but it is my way
to choose degrees of happy
to coast
from coast
to coast
to give the depth and breadth
I have to offer
as insufficient as they are
at times.
I have these smiles
you know
that tell people things
that tell on me.
2004
~~~~~~~~~
Cedar Meadows
We creatures have a path.
Cows have babies
Chickens lay eggs
Goats give milk
New things live
Old ones die
Life revolves and so do I.
It’s green here and quiet
I can think to let you go.
I’ve come to know
we’re both the same
‘just staving off the lonelies.
The garden spreads
cats play in it.
Dogs lie on the porch
in the dense sun
dreaming of catching them.
Hummingbirds plant.
Bees plant.
Butterflies plant
and so do I.
On the farm we’re all alone together.
~~~~~~~~~
Getting On
Sitting here waiting on the waves
cause that’s how it comes, you know
oh my love that’s how it comes.
Out of blinding laughter crashes salt
takes my breath drains my blood
oh my love that’s how it comes.
I rise and fall in this old hammock
cause that’s how it comes you know
oh my love that’s how it comes.
Feel me drowning out here?
But I’m fine yet I’m crazy,
rise and fall oh my love that’s how it comes.
Like counting beats of music,
the time between each beat
being the essence of the piece,
the time between each wave
being the essence of this throe
an echo of the rhythms of my soul.
Life jacket on, going under again
cause that’s how it comes.
But I’m in the fire hot and clear
rusted over missing you oh my love.
Out of blinding laughter crashes salt.
But I’m fine takes my breath.
yet I’m crazy drains my blood.
Rise and fall oh my love
just waiting on the waves
like counting beats of music save my soul.
The sun is up
I’ve gone down
cause that’s how it comes
oh my love that’s how it comes.
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Hush
I will miss all of the things that we do together but I have them as memories so they are mine to know and love. Looking forward looking back is where I get lost…
I miss you hearing all the songs you’ll never know I’m singing for you
I miss curling my legs around yours playing footsie in the middle of all of the nights we will never share.
I miss all of the books we’ll never read together, and all of the walks we will never take.
I miss feeding you key lime pie with my fingers in a cool bath on a hot summer afternoon long from how when I don’t know you anymore.
I miss anticipating what you will look like stepping out of the shower each day, at seventy-two.
I miss the sunflower gardens we’ll never grow together.
I miss smiling back to you lying close to me the day I rest my head for the very last sleep I’ll have in this lifetime.
I miss knowing you’ll miss me too.
~~~~~~~~~
Imperfect
97%
Her assigned number for me.
God, what a ratio.
There is no other place in existence
where that amount is so insufficient,
except on Nichols Lane where KC lives
with Ella and Fisherdog
and not me
because of the 3.
I am so sad to know
that I am
3
away from lovable..
keepable…
I am only a fish.
Maybe if I were
one of the dogs,
I would have been
able to stay.
~~~~~~~~~
Just Beyond the Daisy Bushes
Raindrops falling on my windshield
make sharp, unexpected turns,
like my life,
each one connecting with another
to alter its path or stop it altogether.
The faster they fall,
the fewer turns they make.
Physics holds no regard for human emotion.
These raindrops are only
fallen pieces of cloud
and I am only
fallen pieces of stardust.
Spring, 1992
~~~~~~~~~
Mabon
Summer yields
while spring melts
through my hands.
It looks like I’m a season behind.
The wheel turns.
She changes face.
Still pansies waltz
around the bathroom.
The beast rides high across her flesh
to cleanse by means
we are merely subject to.
Cold and ruthless,
bent on healing,
bound to Karma,
he is temered only by her grace.
I cry to her.
My greetings sent with blue cold feet
on this rock from a day
when I was dreaming.
She remembers what it was
I came here to find.
She reminds me
what I found here and lost.
These empty hands serve well
to cloak my wrenching eyes,
as I stand frozen
watching life move all around me.
Hello Fall.
~~~~~~~~~
Marrowed Bone
Do you still know that first day when your car brushed bast mine and all your lives rubbed off on me like stafe make up on a clown kissing childrens foreheads… and you became naked? Or, five days later on your nineteenth birthday making sexy love high on chocolate cake and brandy and forevers that never came because I let them go?
God or goddess or sun moon stars mountains or mother mother earth or somebody listen to me…
You come round in dreams sometimes doing those things that you do picking sage picking heather smiling all over me. This night dressed in a fabulous tuxedo green hair on your gace and head and lime skin on your eyes, quite like some Grinch come to steal my Christmas.
Oh god goddess or santa clause or father father time somebody lisgten to me…
And in this dream she pulled me from your grinchy arms to stand in a beautiful rain barbequing veal for her. She lay low and close, breathing in her victory as she did the day she called me from our sweetheart’s love to fry your innocence while she preyed on to savor the stench of our rotting souls, protecting her matriarchy, and I let her.
And I let her, she who eats brains and claims to love me, but laughs when I cry over death used for food. She who used us to get back to her comfortable place had me doubt you, and I let her.
God or goddess or ands on a molehill or seafoam bubbles somebody listen to me… or you, can you hear me? I still love you.
Figured out the turnabout. That’s no excuse but I still love you…
~~~~~~~~~
Oh, so…
I
am
so
high
no cake
no brandy
no birthdays
just
the
lovely sweet scent
of where we have been
again…
again….
~~~~~~~~~
Once
“You’re the love of my life”
There, I said it
to the silence on the line that broke with,
“Oh, how sweet”
But, it is not sweet.
And if it is, that’s coincidental.
It’s confusing and complicated.
It’s ill-times and inappropriate.
But I don’t care because it’s true
and not sweet at all until I see
that if you were as brave as I am stupid
you would say the same to me.
I remember once, a surprisingly long time ago
this voice beckoned you
to donne your dagger
to slay dragons and cheesecake,
in pinkest new light,
still smelling of our loveliness.
Once a surprisingly long time ago,
this voice whispered through pillows and skin,
“Yes m’lord, m’love do as you will
and I will will your bidding.”
And I know if I cough or stop speaking
you’ll try to go, a little
and I’ll say, “Oh, please stay.”
And you will laugh
because you know my constance wins you
just enough to keep you on the line
and get you breathing heavily.
And you say you want to see me.
But I know you just want to see yourself
being seen by me making love to you
through bad lighting in some strange bar.
I know why you stiffen when we say hello.
Do you remember?
Once, this voice beckoned you
to donne your demons
slaying fears and secrets
in purest black truth
still wanting me wanting you.
Once, a surprisingly long time ago,
this voice whispered through rain on your breath,
“Yes, m’lord. Oh, my love,
do as you will or nothing at all.
Do as you know I will,
and I will will your bidding.
“You’re the love of my life.”
There, I said it once again
but I’m not gonna come… not this time.
We both know that if I go there
we’ll make love for all the years we’ve missed
and fit so well that I cry.
You’ll kiss my toes, we’ll defy clouds,
and you might even get brave enough
to love me like you do.
So, love of my life, the love of your life
will call you back next week,
‘cause once a surprisingly long time ago,
this voice… my voice…
beckoned and whispered and held you
and you loved me.
“Yes, m’lord, you loved me.”
And that is good enough for me.
Winter, 1998
~~~~~~~~~
Post Script
Is that a snake coming out of the water
or a savior rising up from the storm?
I don’t know.
I used to be pretty good at this
living breathing thing called life
but auburn curls and sweet worn lips
danced me dizzy
left me reeling
standing threadbare
on familiar wet porch slats
with the scent of disenchantment
dripping from my tongue.
Is that a spider coming down from the ceiling
or my fear rising up from my toes?
I don’t now
I want to sing with the radio
or watch a movie with the folks
but the lightening calls me back every time
to the cold porch with the cats in line
waiting for my lap or a corning of my blanket
on the dry side of the hammock.
Is that my lover coming clear through the fog
or a Nomad rising up from my soul?
I don’t know.
Silver leaves fall slowly through the storm.
With curls and lips now blown away
I bow to the Emperor
say a prayer to bygone sand
and take my place alone again
with only voice and pen.
~~~~~~~~~
Rock and Japanese
Chestnuts roll in hot,
pungent, black, coal pebbles,
their scent expelled and lost in one chemical process.
John plays guitar on the strip
and sings “Harvest Moon” in Japanese.
We watch, eat mochi ice cream, and talk.
Later, we will fight for this,
these quiet, simple times
fight for our life together,
and we will win again, barely.
But, while you dream of past Miss Piggies,
and future beauty queens,
I talk to Matt and cruise the word mall,
like some intellectual ‘tween,
searching for that one line to spark a feel.
You say you like it when I join John,
taking the lead for you,
or humming for his pigeon.
You’re smiling, cooing, swaying,
then you’re walking away,
or going to the car,
or off for warmer nuts…
newer nuts…
fresher nuts…
softer nuts…
‘just finished listening, I guess.
We are like that,
like all those churning,
popping,
fragrants
finding and losing in one getting movement,
our hot, pungent, blackness
nearly taking precedence, taking over.
And we fight for this,
these awkward, lonely times,
fight for our life together,
and we will win again, sadly.
And while you’re out with the new cast,
my feeble Travis Strum
hums remnants of 2112,
Geddy’s magic lilt,
Neils timeless words,
and the absence of our kindness.
~~~~~~~~~
Sunflower
The memory of your auburn eyes, flecks of freckles chasing over your sunbrowned nose, wild curls abandoned down your back, and your majestic smoky love lingers here. Dark and rich the earthbound god creature that you are holds in waiting under layers of my newly thickened skin to be spurred by a distant wind, an unfamiliar scent, color, or the beating of a pulse under my feet. On days like this, I die again in chaotic silence, deafening understanding, and you face… your beautiful, lost, face…
~~~~~~~~~
Tempestuous
I would love
to make
love to you
inside a spring storm
taking turns with the howling sky
screaming
drowning
in the lightening
and you
my lover’s moan
~~~~~~~~~
To Sooth The Wild
A spark of kindness
a last gentle reminder
of who we should have been
but couldn’t tangle out…
A note on the door
in lieu of her many faces
The rest of my belongings
in a pile on the back patio…
Saving me the hurt of seeing her…
but I know she was saving herself, too.
Back and forth
car to yard
stand mixer
the big Kitchen Aid one
Squish pillow
aids Day 2000 glass coffee mugs
both of them?
Hmmm…
Amp
Speakers
Stnds
Gig bag of Cords
Mics
All dragged to the car to sit beside
Pride
Self-respect
Dignity
The other things I found again
since I put her away.
Winter blooms wave goodbye to me
and I to them
with two handsfull of soil from the
planted-last-summer-together
front yard flower garden
to be tossed into the ancient arms
of the oak tree across the street
its shade a major selling point
of the housenothome on Nichol’s Lane…
this should have ended better,
with green tea and honey maybe
hugs…
tears…
honest regret…
but coyotes kill and haul away
not-yet-carcasses to
Snevels and Yeneds
and other acks
to finish on.
I have sung to the Moon and turned her face
and sung to wildcats who turned their tails
and to her in frazzled lost ago moments
bringing her back down
…beasts and space and lovers
tamed just long enough to get away…
maybe she remembered.
Spring 2004
~~~~~~~~~
To The Falls
White moths lead the way new as spring,
iridescent as a lovestung heart.
I follow
she calls
I follow
she calls
and through each step you are at my heart
and in my mind and on my lips.
She envelopes me warmly
familiarly
yet, I am different.
Her voice, once filled with winter’s thunder
is now a gentle reminder
a constant.
My feet are steady; her strength, astounding.
As I rise up to meet her,
her waters shuffle down like a soft shoe
to find me wakening to hope and dream
and the ponderment
that it is hope that keeps us alive
and the dream that keeps us moving.
White moths dance around my head
like a cartoon fairy tale.
I must surely be at peace now,
sprawled out naked in the middle of my life
the day after love came home.
Spring 1998
~~~~~~~~~
Heart's Desire
Take your pen and paper
to the farm.
Tell me all about
the sweetness there
how
dragonfly
horsefly
timefly
Find out where the residents
spend their birthdays
bunnies by the lake
squirrels in crisp hay
pillbugs on holiday
in tall trees.
For
I’ve misplaced
my heart’s desire
and need to borrow
a cup or two from you
generous neighbor.
So please
take your whimsied spirit
to the farm.
Draw a crayon map
to the innocence I’ve lost.
Help me see my way
back to simple,
and I will return
a chalice
filled with
cool
salttinged breezes
04/13/05
~~~~~~~~~
Hearts
When we were eleven
Philip Johnson gave me
a tiny red plastic one
that he picked up
from the sidewalk
on our way home from school
so tiny that it sat
on the end of my pencil eraser
comfortably.
"Here"
He said with intent
and
not looking at me.
"Thanks"
I replied with understanding
in his direction.
We never mentioned it.
All through
junior and high school
he never asked about it
although
what would he have said?
"Hey, whatever happened
to that tiny scrap
of discarded sidewalk
plastic remnant...
that monumentalmoment
in my boyhood scrap of red...
that way
coming seemingly
right out of the ground
to be braver
than I ever had...
that onestepclosertomanhood
tiny scrap of red...?"
And I never told him
that it rested
in the bottom drawer
of my jewelry box
nearly invisible
against the alsored velvet lining
its gravity and innocence
radiating through.
When I was fourteen
James Jimenez and I
exchanged Christmas gifts
"Friends" I said.
"Only as friends"
He gave me a little gold one
floating on a thin chain
slid through its middle
clasping it under my hair
and dressing me for the first time
the way men like to do.
I never took it off
except for my wedding day.
Georgie carried
an Avon sachet one
to me at my house.
It was in a white box.
I filled it with
cinnamon and vanilla
and nested it deep
in my panty drawer.
A couple of years ago
he shared with me
how his own pounded
with each step
and the anticipation
of giving such a gift
to the girl across the street.
For a wedding anniversary
Greg gave me a bracelet
of Stampado ones.
Two years later
I lost it on a
lone, latenight
Christmas shopping trip.
My only solace was that
maybe it bought presents
children's toys
or
clothes
for someone who couldn't
before finding it.
He replaced it
the next Valentine's Day
and although he is gone
giving them to someone else
I still wear it
now and again.
I lost the little gold floater
twelve years after
while putting 'nanna down.
She reached up
for a nighty-night snuggle
and its chain
just melted from my neck
the dangling end
allowing it to fly away
into the universe
of her winter's covers
or to tangle in her
mermaid hair
or hide deep in the carpet
maybe tucked safely
by the baseboards
or in a crevace
of Grampa Winder's
old timeworn cherrywood bed.
I prefer to believe
that the dog found it
sparkling in
the morning sun
where we could not
see it the night before
and gobbled it up
and it is back
where a heart
in its time
should rest
outside
in the soft, clean dirt
under a
long
constant
desert sky.
9-12-05
~~~~~~~~~
Love at First Sight Today
Leaving the swings
he sat to my right
squinting into my face
“Elizabeth...
do you have
Poetry Reading
today?”
“No. I am spending
the whole day with you.”
“Oh…
Do you have
a poem with you?”
“Yes. Would you
like to hear one?”
“Yes."
"Would you like
for me to read one
to you from this book?”
“No. One of yours.”
“Okay. I only have
Saying Goodbye to Jane
with me.
Is that one okay?”
“Okay”
“Okay…
Saying Goodbye to Jane…
‘Your sweetness
made my space here
a little softer…’
and as I read
he listened
thoughtfully
watching the page
as I shared
with him
through the last line
‘…It will be often.’”
and he continued sitting
thoughtfully still.
Then he clapped
all alone
as he has learned to do
at so many more formal
readings than this one
here today
in the park
for him.
“That was good.
Thanks Elizabeth”
“Thank you, Landon.”
And he left me
sitting on the
brownwooden parkbench
alone and
newly loving
the amazing boy he is
and the beautiful man
he will become
to catch the last
available swing.
2-17-06
~~~~~~~~~
March for Pisces
Flutter ruffles above my head
mix with the few
incidental vibrations
of my presence…
I like the way
my shoes sound
on this empty street
heels taking over
breaking through
silent
saltysoft
Sunday morning
4:48
on a well traveled frontage road
in Redondo Beach.
Well traveled
but no traveled now
except for me
and these heels
that carry me through
the fog of this
clear
quiet
asphalt pathway
from your space
back to mine.
And again I find myself
swaddled in wafts
that are only you and me
lovelysweet.
We have been lovelysweet
for as long as
we have been
years do not change
elemental perfection.
… and the crows es**rt me
They must have heard
the need in my stride.
It is their way to.
Even when I do not
they do
thankfully…
And I wonder
will it always
be this way
that I
come and stay
and
come
and
leave
comforted only by
temulent aftermath
intangible muskcandy
gone by sleep
…my hand resting
in the small of your back,
believing in our unisonpulse…
and the faintest echo
of click clack
back from curbsides
in the stilldark
through streetlights
and close black wings?
Maybe at
forty-two and thirty-three
or
forty-three and thirty-four
or another year
other than yesterday
I will hear over the rush
of some not so early
Sunday ease
the soft shuffle shuffle
of your new Bjorn’s
next to me
and the flutter ruffles
all on our way to breakfast
…sunglassed…
9:00
instead of
4:48
3/13/05
~~~~~~~~~
Morning After
My dog’s breath speaks to me
of garbage can rituals
and the wreckage of last night’s dinner.
The irregular girl next door
turns her bedroom stereo up
past the parentally imposed red mark
and slams her door
reconfirming her four-walled independence
to them… to me… to the neighborhood.
A mushy-headed lady strolls
a matty-haired poodlish ball by
on the end of a thin, purple chain.
Upstairs, my shower runs.
He is washing me away
shaving me off his face.
I think that her dog probably doesn’t strew
empty cans and carrot shreds, like mine does.
The broom and I entertain my waggly, guilt free pal,
as a steady line of ants stops in mid cadence
to spectate our trio
waiting for him to take his coffee and go.
~~~~~~~~~
Remembering Nomad
We sat together
cross legged
on my old, blue sofa
faces facing bodies facing faces
eyes closed.
Already swirling back,
he asked,
“When was the
first time
I
knew
you?
Walk through the web,
and tell me
what you see.”
A Hierophant
sat on my
shoulder-
The Moon
poised
in his lap.
I spoke...
We were happy,
you and I,
picking stones and twigs
up off the ground.
We were neither brighter
nor dimmer than
each other
and
our gifts were
made of
gathering;
our gifts were
hand-to-mouth.
There’s a child
in this cave
who will not make it.
Travel is so hard,
and she’s so small.
Two others play and dance
around our fire,
and for the early moon
who lingers
long and whole,
just to
the right of us.
The sky says we are
moving slowly north.
Flowers on the hills
grow high and new.
We do this every year,
file down
in clumps in Autumn,
climb back
to meet our families
in the Spring.
I do not possess
the language
to tell you
that I love you,
to thank you for our
step-by-step
existence,
and
for sharing
your gifts
from the gods
with me...
and on my old, blue sofa,
Hierophant turns round to
hieroglyph,
protecting us from
overhead.
..I love them so,
these children.
They are pure joy for me-
the smell of them,
their brown faces.
I do not understand
why I love them
so
intensely.
Your womb,
and the gift of gods
are nothing of me,
yet,
I love them so...
and on my old, blue sofa,
Sun eclipses Moon,
and his space
radiates.
..I did not understand
that our love made them,
that their bodies
were our bodies
combined.
And I need you to know
I loved you, too.
I could not
have made those journeys
without you,
your love,
your strength.
I’m sorry that
I did not know to say it,
that
I did not know to
thank you
for your love.
Thank you
Thank you
Do not forget
next time
that
I loved you
before lifetimes
and millennia...
and on my old, blue sofa
eyes open,
cross legged
hands touching faces touching hands
reeling from our journey,
we cry, and smile.
“I am a
stronger woman
for being
the man
I saw
I was.”
I said.
“And, I am
a better man
for being
your
woman.”
He replied.
~~~~~~~~~
Two Fish
Gulls, Pigeons, Brown Pelicans
huddle rigid like surfers
on the dry tips of sea edge rocks
and watch the sunset everyday.
It is a good gift
for having to live a
hand to mouth existence.
It is an exchange
I wouldn’t mind making
and one I know
she wouldn’t mind either.
And in a little bit we will
but for now we wash walls
and swallow hard and
promise promises we both believe
because we both believe
the other and ourselves and
have both become strikingly honest these days.
We have set our sacrifices to sail…
the lovers
the teachers who lent us to be keepable
and stayable
and
lovable and
worthy of the common exchange
in simple work
for beautiful perfection and forever
day to day
hand to mouth.
It is a good exchange
seabirds swimming in the sun
fish flying home together.
4/16/06
~~~~~~~~~
Into The Earth
I'm still singing
a little soft spiritual
and having a beer
the kind you like
and watching the Sun
curl into the
Newport Pacific...
I am a beach girl
not much a beer girl
but the lime and swaying
from this second floor
windowseat above the pier
lulls the rock in my soul
harder now
since I left you there
with the Airmen 21 guns
and the saving graces
shielding you from us
and the sadsilent pulling
between our middles.
You are a fish
disconnected from the Moon.
I know you can tell me
where it is
but you just
don't remember
how to get there.
You know Ocean
as a fish
as the fish that you are
know the language
and the current in your hair
at sixty feet
know the sound
of your own
primordial breathing
understand the balance
of buoyancy
take it with you
as you walk across the
Earth
as you walked
from car to grave
to car to dirt
steadying yourself
above the gravity
of the day
as I watched you
from my edges
watching me from the
edges of yours
lifting you with songs
for the dead...
for the man
who met the grave
for the me
I thought I was
and know now
that I'm not
for the you
broken and wrenching out
to find yourself
..watching out
for you watching out for
me singing for the dead
for redemption and completion
of the last
threadtears
in the circle
like I sing now
in my sealost voice
to the fish that I am
to the fish that you are
to the fish
who swim beneath me
whom I fully expect
know your face
like I sing now
in my breadcrumb voice
carving holes into the Earth
for the Sun to hide
and lying out a path
for you to find you way
back to the Moon.
3-7-2006
~~~~~~~~~
For Sadie Sadie
Tie a rope around my waist.
I’m going out to chase the sun
and don’t want to forget
how to get back.
Don’t want to be the afterburn
on the hiss of some distant
oceanbent sunset
spent
heatwashed in incinerated default
unable to find my way home.
Tie my shoelaces to yours.
I’m going out to chase the sun
and don’t want to forget
how to get back.
I used to know you
when I was
cleanersouled
and didn’t need to
scorch away my skin.
I loved you then
and never should have told you
that I did
that I do still
in this
oldolder body
soilworn and stained.
I would not need a rope today
if I hadn’t.
I would not have this
catching need for something
I will never be.
So, tie a little yarn
to my faucetmouth.
Don’t want to forget this
farfast fall
my skinned knees
and
your afterface
Don’t want to evaporate
into the thick
dustsettle thud of a quake
in a twilight sky
New Mexico horizon
parchcracked and grounded
with no life to save
for the dreamheroes
who watch for my return.
Tie a ribbon in my hair.
Please
make it yellow.
I’m going out to chase the sun
and want the moon to know it’s me
when she comes back around.
Hold the ends
please
and wait by the ocean
for me
with the moon
and
the cracked earth
and
my nightsaviors
and
your coolcloth touch.
I never should have told you
that your voice
releases the rain in my head…
I’m going out to chase the sun.
Please cut the line
when you start to see bone.
3-7-06
~~~~~~~~~
Paia
On Panini Street
She lies with me.
She is in my hair
in my mouth
under my hair
under my mouth.
The ceiling in our quietroom is tall.
There is much air between us and it
but it is soft air
and takes on an extension
of our skin
and we are not pushed down by it
or by this night’s sky
so unfamiliarly glowing with life
from here and far into the Universe.
We are not tourists
in this town
or in each other.
We did not come here for a visit.
I did not find her
for anything but home.
I will keep her and give myself to her.
We will stay here
at home in Maui.
9/13/06
~~~~~~~~~
The End of 56 Days
The stillness
in this room
has held me
listened to my tears
my shatterings
these involuntary spasms
of truth
and
horrors
of
thirty year secrets
newly disturbed.
It has been
the boundary
between everyone else
and
my wracked sorrow.
Under it
I slept
close to the ground.
I breathed it in
with the honing
of
childhood confusions
and
let my vagabond nature
sprawl
over its constance.
I reconfirmed old friendships
hosted a
silly Friday night
slumber party
met a Harriett
saved two silverfish
in the bathtub
and
solidified my
spiderterror.
I never watched
a sunset
in the stillness
of this eastfaced room
but
I did stay in
for a rainstorm
and
saw drops fall
with such passion
that they turned
to bubbles
on impact.
I saw lightening
longer than a
New Mexico
sky
off the balcony
of
the stillness
of
this space
and
gave myself to
thunderfear exhilleration.
This carpet
has been soaked
in my grief
and
dried by the breeze
of my joy
over and over.
I have said more
learned
more
grown
more
written
more
and better
than
any other 56 days
I’ve known
and
I am frightened
that I might not
ever know
another like it
frightened
that I am
backing into
chaotic harmonious stasis.
I am frightened
that I
will be sleeping
up high in a bed
again
and the new stillness
in my new rooms
will be a stranger…
11/2/05
All poems and titles c. Elizabeth Fellows
