Wednesday, April 18, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 18


DREAM
In the desert we are fleeing
and fighting. My four front teeth’s caps
fall out. I try to stick them back on
but to find them I have to search first
because  my palm holds all these other things:
pine cones and dates and assorted insects
lie among my teeth's caps. Then, on a bed,
in the middle of the desert my colleagues
gather around. We walk and walk
to reach a building where our offices are. 
Finally I manage to put my caps on but
I’m afraid they’ll fall out again. What does
it mean? when your teeth fall out in your dream?

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 17


How to make a fire  

Light a match. Watch the blue wedge

flutter in the strong wind, weakening,

weakening. Hurry up. That’s your last

one. Throw it on top of the woodpile


swiftly, before it goes out.

Sit and wait now. And hope the red flame

grows big enough to warm you up in

this dank crook of the world, chilled


to the bone as you are. Breathe

deeply and watch: the darkness might

bring uninvited guests. Sooner or later,

the sun will rise, the wind will die down.


It will be your time to stand up then, to go out

into the world and start other fires, other fights.









Monday, April 16, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 16


BIRDS IN “EL PARAISO” (San Miguel de Allende, Mexico)

A vermilion flycatcher flutters around the shrubs,
bright red breast, black head,
could not be more beautiful jumping from branch
to branch, hiding in the tall trees in
the distance, coming closer to my window. 
A red slash against the blue sky, impossible not to admire. 
Two grackles walk back and forth across the street,
their long black tails sweeping the cobblestones,
determined and purposeful.  Sometimes
one of them perches himself on the dome
above the house and calls out
to who knows who - a mate? a friend? us?


Thursday, April 12, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 12

Flat earth, bare trees, where I live 
we welcome warmth unabashedly. 
We wear our legs bare too soon, as soon
as the merest hint of weather change
announces itself. Sun. We wait all plants
to bloom and blossom, to explode
in yellow, red, pink, blue,
orange, purple, many more. We sit
at sidewalk cafes and on park benches,
we open our eyes and our mouths
to breathe in and swallow what has
been denied us for so long. Trees no longer
bare, earth still flat, we begin to smile
slowly, slowly, the new season has arrived.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 11

a junco skips on the deck
picks a seed
picks another
then skips some more
I watch his white belly caress
the wood, his grey back shine
under the welcome sun
this morning that promises
the warmth
we've been waiting for it

now a house finch in a red coat
and a multitude of sparrows and
a chickadee
or two
they all visit our birdfeeder
all day long
sometimes a male cardinal
graces us with his presence and
brings along his wife

silence and peace reign
this morning
only birds disturb but
we're not complaining
we're happy
we feed them and watch them
and worry about their well-being


Tuesday, April 10, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 7/8/9

I missed a few days thanks to life's unpredictable predictabilities.

Here is today's contribution.



You are the polio survivor too for sure

with your limping leg, your loose foot

that doesn’t obey, doesn’t act properly,

doesn’t walk the way it should:  lifting the heel first,

then the toes. No, you just lift the entire foot,

the leg up from the knee, then

you stumble, you slip, you fall. Sometimes

you roll down rocks, knock your head twice

and come to rest for the third time on the clearing.

Your husband watching in terror. Dumbfounded.

What should I do he thinks.

You say I’m ok, what happened. 

You don’t lose consciousness or pass out or forget

your name and address, just a myriad of bruises,

cuts, some blood, pain. Looking like an abused wife

you walk into the hotel where people stare. I’m ok you say.

Embarrassing you think. Stupid you berate yourself.

 But

your foot, your leg, they just got sick one day,

a long time ago. Not your fault they say. Yet you don’t

believe that. Shit! you say, why do I have to walk

like that? Trip? Stumble? Fall and keep falling.


Thursday, April 5, 2018

NaPoWriMo Day 5


1.

The last time I saw her

she was lying in a casket.

With hardly any wrinkles – her skin

smooth and pale, she always

looked younger than her age:

hair, still black and shiny at 92,

lips full, cheeks rosy. If her eyes

had been open, their large black pupils

would’ve astonished you. Always

a beautiful woman, she delighted to say

that she looked exactly

like her mother.



2.

When I look in the mirror

I see her.



3.

I am 6 years old.

The middle of the afternoon on a week day.

After school, after lunch, to bed, to nap.

I can see her sitting by the window,

looking at the sidewalk across the street;

the winter air filled with cold and wind,

the sky grey. I imagine

she wonders why she’s there,

what she’s doing so far from home.

But it’s too late now.

Home is many thousands of miles away.

And she has a husband and a child.

I imagine she gazes at the house across the street

its gleaming white walls and iron wrought entrance.

Perhaps one of the neighbors is walking home

from the day’s errands saddled with shopping bags.

The light in the room

pale and weak

and all I can see

is her silhouette,

sitting by the window,

framed by the white drapes,

a glimpse of trees outside,

the light blue walls.

I imagine she can see the afternoon get dark.

Days are shortening,

light failing too soon,

and all that is left is darkness. And sadness.

Unimaginable sadness.





4.

In the old days – she used to say–

parents were not like today. They

didn’t hug

and kiss

and cheer their children on. 

She would say

don’t cry.

You make me cry.

She would say

don’t complain.

She would say

why are you unhappy? You have

everything.

We were like ostriches

digging our heads in the sand, avoiding any unpleasantness.