Category: Poems

REFLECTIONS

In my mother’s mirror with its faux

Ivory, celluloid handle and backing,

I am looking for her, and I see some

Of her and some of my father’s face.

I ask myself why it is that I,

Their only child, should have striven

Always to differ from their prescriptives,

Always to escape their vigilant directives.

Was it the sound of my mother crying

Every Saturday night and emerging late

And red-eyed on Sunday mornings?

Or was it the summer she took the car

And we drove to her friend’s cottage in Hampton

For a week on the shore before we came back

To the boy scout camp my father directed

And they stared at each other while I watched?

Or perhaps I knew at my father’s funeral

To which his handsome, never-married waterfront

Director came, why his grief was greater 

Than mine and why the siblings I longed for

Had never arrived.  And so I determined

That my sons would have brothers

And my daughters would have sisters,

And their parents would be truly a pair.

So much does my mother’s mirror

Show me as I look for her face

And some of the face of my father

And find at last only my own face.

(March, 2014)

TOUCHSTONE

I was delighted to discover that

The big blue-handled soup bowl

With its fat sergeant major,

Wavy kelp, squid and scallop

Shell, was made in Kuaui.

Dear Lynne: with all her household

Goods she has endowed me and now

She has willed me her son’s memento

Of island bliss: the fierce Na Pali cliffs

Over-watching white sand beaches,

Bright-feathered Jungle Fowl

Parading the streets, kayaking

The Wilua River and then trekking

In Tevas to the Sacred Falls,

Dramatic over-looks in Waimea

Canyon, admiring the green beans

In the Kuaui Coffee Company groves

And then sampling the sacred brew

That even now recalls Hawaii.

 

MIXED BLESSING

Driving up, I heard and saw water

Pouring from a pipe above the door

Down the wall and onto the walk,

Flooding over the threshold and

Saturating the new floor mat.

Some welcome! was my first thought.

Here I am on my first overnight

In what was to be a snug retreat,

A refuge from the work of pain….

But all was not lost.  The plumbers

Shut off the flow and I

Mopped the floor and hung the rug to dry.

I poured myself a glass of wine,

Nuked the soup and veggie pizza,

Turned on the lamps, sat down and

Drank a toast to new beginnings

Feeling somehow strangely blessed

By this most improbable baptism.

HARD TO KEEP UP WITH

They are so frighteningly bright,

These cousins, gathered for a night

Of school vacation at the house in Maine

Around a Mexican Train dominos game

To which they have been briefly introduced

And all its rules have instantly deduced.

Their ages range from eight to early teens.

I, as a grandmother, am not so keen.

They fidget at the time I take for thought,

Remind me of some rule I have forgot.

I must take time to calculate my moves,

I am outrun by their unbridled youth.

(February, 2014)

TIME OUT

What better than falling snow

To cover yesterday’s scars,

Make the clock run slow,

And quiet our racing hearts

Giving us leisure to pause,

Permission to sit still,

Cherish the chance to withdraw,

Watch the curtain fall.

In this welcome hiatus,

Secure in a warm room,

We can appreciate

The morning’s several boons:

Coffee, the morning news,

A crossword puzzle nailed,

An email from a friend,

Tax papers finally mailed.

A PLACE FOR US

I have always looked to the hills,

As the Good Book tells us,

And I have been soothed

By dipping my paddle into the still

Waters surrounding our canoe.

I have been awed by desert places:

Zion, Mesa Verde and Arches,

And under the ocean’s surface,

From which our ancestors emerged,

I have been mesmerized by squid

And captivated by manta rays.

We humans need our habitat.

But corporations plunder our planet

While we breed like flies,

And scientists seek God in the light

Of dark matter or the atom’s

Ever more elusive heart.

(FEBRUARY 2014)

RELUCTANCE

How can I bear to think

That one day I will not see

Chocorua’s winter-white peak

And the Three Sisters Ridge,

That one year without my note

Pine limbs will bend low

And birches make their bows

Under the weight of snow,

That I will not add my tracks

To those of the snow-shoe hare,

The single-footing fox

And the high-bounding deer

While ice particles chime

In the breath of the winter wind

And cardinals still proclaim

Their expectations of spring?

(February, 2014)