From the "Union Pier" poems:

Small towns 

A squad of red-wing blackbirds

perched on wire fences squabbles

their short, harsh syllables.  Swallows

overhead chase insects.  Driving

through the back roads of small towns we

catch glimpses of abandoned gas

stations, rusting road restaurants, a self-

service vegetable stand:

Take your strawberries and leave the money in the basket. 

We trust you.

In South Haven, the soda fountain still

stands in the old department store dispensing

hot fudge sundaes and banana splits in clear

thick glass dishes, the aluminum stools covered

in red vinyl still spinning and swiveling, our legs

dangling way above the linoleum floor.   Life

is mostly slow here, mostly

good, but then --

life is always better

when you’re on vacation.  To the small harbor

we saunter after our sweet break.  A green

heron stands near the shore, unmoving, mulling

like a question, well-camouflaged among 

the deeply green weeds that stand up straight,

the cattails splitting their seams, grey shadows

drawing their cover over sailboats, the water,

the pier.  On the drive back I glimpse a llama

sitting in a field.  She’s far away

from her real home, I muse, and feel sorry for her.

From the "Union Pier" poems:

On this hot day a beach poem may refresh you --

Beach Day

A calm Lake Michigan

laps up its sweet waters on

the shore.  The sky clearly

blue and clean of clouds, I

surrender my body to the stunning

sun.  Stretching down on the sand I

spill down one shoulder at a time

along with each pelvic bone, first

the left side, then

the right.  I mold a hollow where

my back finds its place,

carefully,

vigilant of sharp

pebbles, seashells, chunks of

green or brown glass, cigarette butts.  I

breathe deeply two

or three times to

unknot each nerve, loosen

tendons and muscles. Though shut,

my eyes know the sun’s

rays, their glow too robust for

my sheer eyelids, their heat penetrating

crevices and pores like

the slender threads of the surgeon, able

to patch together fragile membranes

with three or four swift stitches.  All

peacefully warm now, the loud

squawks of the gulls above

startle me out of my slumber.  I open

my eyes to see them delineating circles

and zigzags against the liquid sky,

screeching,

diving,

catching a fish.  

Time to sit up and eat!

With one hand, I hold a ham and cheese

on whole wheat, with the other, shoo away

invisible flies.   Not a bother really, perhaps

a small nuisance.  What are minute insects

compared to this luxury, to these dazzling dreams I

inhabit daily, awake and certain. 

Hours later, the rain storm comes.    Bright

threads of lightning

illuminate the darkening sky and

the downpour surprises me on

my way back home.  Furious

and sudden, the rain falls

on the hot asphalt,

raising steam, the woods becoming

the foggy background of a horror movie.  This cooling 

rain, welcomed and short, as

it should always be.

From the "Union Pier" poems:

First Day

The season of snow has given way to this month of May

when wildflowers tumble out of the darkness, strutting

their warm purples and deep yellows out on the prairie. 

After this morning’s rain, the sun slices in-between

impossibly-high red oak branches, its lukewarm rays diving

all the way down into the forest floor where

the smell of the wet woods rises

to meet my deep breathing.

Excited --

like children on Christmas morning -- we

descend the rickety, narrow steps to wander

on the wide beach, our bare feet sinking into

the unwalked sand, freshly dried and loose

between our toes.  This is all ours!  All ours

to contemplate and listen to and smell,

a peaceful pleasure for two, a miracle. 

David skips stones into the lake’s shining sheets

but I can’t.  I

don’t know how

no matter how hard I try to hold the flat

pebbles just so, fling them straight out

with a twist

of the wrist, wishing for at least one bounce

or two.  Before long,  the fog -- that portent of cooling

temperatures -- begins to travel slowly overhead.   With the mist

on our shoulders, our backs, we quicken our pace,

craving some warmth in the face of so much dampness.  

And climbing the shaky stairs up to our newly rented cottage I

wonder how much of an urban dweller I am,

needing cellular phones and emails

to feel a part of this world,

when

a glimpse at a red cardinal perched on the slanted roof,

its black throat gleaming as he takes flight

should be enough,

when

in the black and quiet night the sound of waves crashing on the shore

should suffice.

THE CLEARING: PHOTOS

SYROS

VACATION DAYS: Chicago

I finally feel like vacation has started for me.  No packing and unpacking, no airports, no teaching, no emergency rooms. I can do what I want when I want wherever I want.

Thursday I took myself to Andersonville for a long browse at Women and Children First on Clark Street.  The bookstore has been part of my life since the early 1980s when they were on Halsted and Armitage.  (Ironically I live in this neighborhood now but then I had to take the "L").  Back then we held meetings of the Feminist Writers Guild there and had many readings, many many readings.  Since then I've read my work at the bookstore many times and have been a member for a while now.  After browsing and purchasing a book and a calendar I met my friend Betty for lunch at Andy's.  Later I browsed in other shops before returning home.

On Friday I met my friend Sandy for a lecture at the Art Institute on the French Revolution and art.  Although my back hurt after standing up for almost an hour, I loved the lecture about four pieces of art the lecturer chose to focus on in his talk:  a David portrait of Louise Pasterai, a painting by Fuseli, a marble head of Comtese de Pange, and another painting by DeSoria of Constance Pipelet.  Fascinating details such as, the red ribbon the women wore around their necks during those years meant that they had lost someone to the guillotine.  Next time you look at a painting of the late 1700s-early 1800s and see that, you'll know why. Then we lunched in the garden of the Art Institute before the rainstorm came.  I sought refuge in the members lounge until the rain subsided.  The lounge was full but I managed to find a chair and, after reading for a while, I took a quasi-nap: closed my eyes and counted backwards from 100.  It is very relaxing.  In the evening David and I went to see the play Immediate Family at the Goodman Theatre.  It was not as funny as I had hoped but entertaining.  Some of the characters were too broad and almost cartoonish.

What a treat!  Next week I plan to go to the lakefront, perhaps the beach, get my feet wet.  Read.  I live so close to the water but almost never go and yet it is right here.  I need to see water.  Oceans, seas, lakes.  I must spend some time looking out over the expanse, daydreaming.  I would also like to go to Navy Pier and take one of those cruises they offer.  And how about the public pools? And Millenium Park.  So much to see and do in the Summer!  I don't want to waste it indoors.  Anyone wanna come with?

BACK FROM PARADISE: Chicago here I am

So lucky the temperature got back to "sane" temperatures!  After arriving home I sat near the open window in the sitting-room and absorbed the cool breeze, catching up on the news of the day.  I've been gone quite a bit since mid-May.  I am a bit disconcerted, a bit disoriented.  And brimming with things to do: unpack, do the laundry, put books back in the bookcase, hang posters on walls, shop for groceries, catch up with the writing, pick up shoes from the Village Cobbler, get sunglasses fixed, and on and on.

But this morning I read the Sunday paper and sip coffee out on the deck.  Alone!  I don't have to make small talk nor smile nor tell my life story first thing in the morning.  I can be grumpy.  I can be quiet.  I can walk around wearing my nightgown.  Even David is out.  Later we talk with grandchildren on Skype who call their grandfather on his birthday.  Internet!  After, we watch the Wimbledon final.  Television!  What else has been missing?

I must confess that after a few days I needed some tv, some easy access to a phone or the Internet.  And some solitude.  We still wait for the bells to ring calling us to supper or breakfast but the pizza delivery man rang our doorbell last night and that was enough.  We can eat when we want to, we can get up from the table when we are finished.  I didn't realize how difficult it is to live in a community where we have to do many things together and at the same time.  Is that how Summer camp for kids is?  Is it like military life?  Regimented, scheduled, unified?