Posts Tagged ‘winter

07
Feb
11

Black Bird

black bird against blue
sky framed by still bare branches.
crows eat anything

08
Feb
10

Not About You

Sunny day in early spring/late winter
I’m driving with the windows down
Singing along with my iPod Shuffle
And not thinking about you.
The Salsa music doesn’t bring to mind
The Latin dance lessons you said would be perfect
For getting to know someone…else.
The sun’s heat doesn’t remind me of when
You got drunk in Spain and between dry heaves
Tried to sleep with the hotel maid.
The sky is not the blue of the cashmere sweater
You didn’t wear if we went somewhere together;
You preferred ratty logo shirts from jobs you’d lost years ago.
I’m driving along on this winter/spring day and the
Sun is shining and the
Music is blasting and the
Wind is ruffling my hair
And I’m not- heartless cheating bastard-
Thinking about you.

23
Jan
10

Noon

clogged storm drains, puddles
spread, lunching workers leap and
splash like frantic fish

22
Jan
10

Winter

Until the Santa Ana winds stop blowing,
Until smog deserts our city skies,
Until the Jacaranda spreads her blue petals
Filling our streets with lush fragrance,
It is not yet spring
And how can I write about love?

25
Dec
09

Scrooge Was Right After All

I’ll keep Christmas in my way and let you keep it in yours.
Not for me the jostle of crowds, the tinnily amplified renditions of carols in the malls;
Mothers- patience nearly exhausted- tucking frazzled hair behind one ear
As she herds children ahead of her, children bawling and bleating for toys, for treats, for a nap, for one more ride on the mechanical horse and then they promise to be good;
Drivers, once mostly fathers but now mothers too, neck stiff and eyes straining as they pilot the car and its sleeping passengers through rain or snow and darkness and endless hours on the highways and byways, tossing a couple quarters into the jar for a cup of coffee, a chocolate chip cookie, a chance to stretch road-numbed legs;
The clatter and clink of silverware and china at brunch, starched white tablecloths quickly ruined by a mimosa, a Bloody Mary, or an elbow ill-placed in the cup of much needed Irish Coffee;
Mistletoe hanging above Abe Lincoln on Main Street- am I imagining having seen it? How appropriate the old scholar should get the affection now he so often vainly craved when alive;
Hawkish east wind swooping down reminds me of the damage time has done to my body- the twisted ankle I thought was healed, once frostbitten toes, calcification and arthritis developing between shoulder and neck- and that I’m much too old on the outside to wait to shower acclaim on Santa when he appears at the end of the parade;
Give me instead a Snuggie’s warmth and a hot mug of coffee to wrap in my chilled hands;
Her tongue poking out at one corner of her mouth, a child struggles to turn felt, Elmer’s glue and a tomato soup can into an attractive present;
Mapley, pineappley hiss and pop of the ham in the oven beside the baking potatoes and the yams;
A cyclical rainbow of primary and secondary colors transforming the old aluminim tree in the corner from a misshapen agglutination of foil to sparkling centerpiece in a child’s half-remembered Christmas dreams;
And the thrumming joy of the cat getting stoned on the catnip infused scratching post we bought to save the loveseat.

24
Dec
09

Work In Progress

The wind stung our cheeks and levered crystals of moisture from our tear ducts. Aaron grabbed my hand and dragged me, my thick feet stumbling, into the last remaining full-length phone booth. He shouted over the gale threatening our sanctuary, “Think of something sad.”
“Like what?”
“Think of Albert. Think of him dumping the box of Legos on Christmas morning. Surveying his new-built city and strutting like an emperor. And we’ll never see him.”
The tears surprisingly swift and sweet in the warmth they brought to the surface, coursed down my cheeks. I felt my face thaw and then sag as if I were melting. I rubbed my face on Aaron’s scarf and the earthy scent of the wool tickled my nose.
“You’re right,” I said into his neck, my words chipped, sharp. “That’s why I can’t forgive you.”

22
Dec
09

I’ve Heard The Song For Years

I’ve heard the song for years and
Just found out- it’s true-
This really *is* a marshmallow world.
Quick! Leash up the dog!