Written during time of transitioning love
VALENTINE’S DAY
She buys herself carnations in the market,
Pretending they were sent to her by someone
Whose fingers read her body in the dark.
For she who has no lover must invent one.
Flowers have a brief and poignant time
To lure the hummingbird or honeybee
Or luna moth before they wilt on the vine,
Sterile, unfulfilled and incomplete.
OCTOBERFEST
The maples are jars of cherry-orange
Marmalade. I eat them with my eyes
And then the peach and crimson dahlias
Flaring between cranberry candles
In my sunlighted kitchen pass-through..
The month of great expectations is not
June or January but October, the season
When all things still are possible in the school year
For teachers and for students. That
Was the month I wanted for my wedding.
The torches of trees set my spirits on fire,
Reflected in our pond or spread across
The Appalachians like Indian beadwork
Shadowed by southbound Canada geese.
Someday I’ll make a fall journey to Japan.
Sitting in stillness at the sea of sand
And stone I’ll empty my inward space
And take into myself the plum red
Gold embroidered hills of Kyoto.
NUCLEAR THREAT
This solitary passion cuts the core
Out of my apple.
Bloodless lasar surgery burns
A frozen section
Out of my heart. I stare at the eclipse
Of the sun and go blind.
My tongue is welded to the icy iron
Knocker on your door.
A falling meteor consumes itself
Inside my womb.
My radiation count is high.
Beware of me.
I could be tranquil as the summer seas
If you were here.
Your kiss would turn the strychnine I have drunk
To sparkling burgundy.
ENDINGS
Overnight,
Like a peony,
Love may fall into a heap
Of petals
Or stand tall,
A pearly everlasting,
Nectorless,
Sundried.
When Venus burns
beneath the moon
And dawn ignites
the mountain snow
My thoughts will always
turn to you
And I’ll be thankful
for our love
That season of my life I now can savor
When goldenrod on every back road border
Ignites its solar flares, and purple asters
Lift their wine in one last toast to summer.
My sugar maple leaves illuminate
The swamps where darning needles copulate.
My milkweed pods are tightly packed to labor
And let fly seeds on any passing vapor.
Meteors arc across my inner spaces.
Unblemished roses baptize me with fragrance.
The wild geese point to south my weather vane
This is the time for riding hurricanes
Before the tawny grasses crystallize
Before the long dark winter nights arrive.