Heroine
My poor gingham girl
home from the fringe
“you weren’t there, Auntie Em, so you’ll never understand-
I killed & killed again
evil’s dustbroom in my hands!”
She’s always been a little off
but what am I to do?
Too much time alone in her room
with books & Toto, too.
Obligato
What I hate of snow-
no full-throated birds
to stitch the light sky
no light sky, either-
just unfallen landscape
on my music stand
white page on white page
lines like telephone wires
black flocks in quarter notes
I will sing for them
until we come to a rest.
Chapel
Morning spread like
orange marmalade on
toasted bread, my coffee
soon cold, an offering made-
made as I make ready
ready to honor
the born and unborn
and the risen and the dead.
Iron
My mom saw us all
forever dust & wrinkles
wiped faces with a napkin
smoothed shirts with flattened
hand
sprayed me with
Lemon-Fresh Pledge as I ate
chicken by the fridge-
she would have cleaned the world till her dinner was cold...
ice cold, Mom, your dinner's ice cold.
Lines
Ripe apples that don’t fall
ocean waves which never break
forever, the sun
behind museum rope
each painted day
but one evening-
salted air & chilled wine
shoulders cloaked in the dark-
I devoured a McIntosh
in bristling, foamy Atlantic
to the dying notes of a gull.
Mostly Yellow Paint
Some poems are
ruby slippers-
you could’ve gone home all along
but first must kill a lady
then love a metal man &
miss him most of all-
there’s just a guy behind a curtain-
he'll be a sort of help,
now wrap your finger round your pen, & click, click, click.