National Poetry Month

In honor of National Poetry Month, I am going to share some of my poetry. These are some of my favorites that I wrote back in college when I majored in writing.



Sleeping Beauty

By day she walks the streets
and even on the hottest days of summer
she wears a long black wool coat
and wrapped around her neck, a heavy scarf
that must have once been
a shade of white,
and a gray hat pulled down to her brow,
a seafarer braving a storm.

She stands on the corner of Congress Street
screaming of sin and evil.
Not preaching – – but an angry protest
to anyone who will listen.
She tells of hate – –
her hate of you,
a complete stranger.
She carries a Bible
tucked under her right arm
but never opens it,
clutching it's worn cover
as though ready
to use it any time.

But at night when she has finished
her bitter tirade,
she must sleep, as we all sleep.
And, if dreams that made
to rest our minds,
I hope dreams
are of Greek islands
and gentle Angels.


From the City


She left the city
to find truth
beyond skyscrapers
with shiny windows
reflecting the blurry image
the people rushing by,
somewhere beyond the limits
of subways
speeding through dark tunnels.
buried beneath the crowded streets.
She drove until she could no longer see
the tallest building on the horizon
looming in the rearview mirror.
She drove until she breathed fresh air
and the trees were not placed
on every corner,
but grew tall and thick
in forests.
She saw no people,
only signs of their existence
in lean-tos built
in a small clearings,
and clothes drying
on ropes tied between two trees.
She saw unfamiliar animals
walking gracefully through open fields.
From a hill,
she overlooked a pond,
the water still and glassy.
She ran down the hill
holding her arms out
to keep balance.
Sitting on a log,
she leaned over the calm water
like a portrait,
only she was smiling.



Homophobia

At your trial
the prosecution
uses the witnesses to show
you have no morals.

Your parents say
they think
they
did something wrong.

A fat woman stands
and says
there's nothin' a woman
can do for me
that a man can't.

A man wearing
tight Wranglers
proudly states
that all you need
is a good fuck.

A precher says
that AIDS
was sent
to kill
you off.

The jury frowns,
believing that
you are
unnatural-
the Bible says so.

Your only defense is
"I love her."

Mid life Crisis?

Life is funny. It really is. Not always laugh out loud funny, sometimes more the isn't it interesting funny. I have been doing a lot of contemplating lately and have come to some realizations that strike me as funny (in the odd sense of the word).

Isn't it funny how if you choose a point in your past life and try to think of what at that point in your life you would have expected your now present life to be like, it has no resemblance to the life you are actually living. In my teenage mind, I suppose I would have pictured myself married with children at this point, but that is where the resemblance ends. I can't say whether I pictured it better or worse, just different. Because really, how much of being a wife and mother does a teen comprehend? Fast forward a few years and my 25 year old self, a newlywed and mother to an infant, I knew I would someday be the mother to that infant as a teen but didn't picture it like this.

Do you think that if we were able to accurately envision what our future holds we would continue on, or freeze in our tracks?

Isn't it funny how we may look in the mirror every day and see the same face, so the gradual changes don't appear as glaring discrepancies. Can you even picture your elderly self? How does it even happen? You look in the mirror every day and one day your skin is no longer firm and smooth, your hair no longer lush and shiny. You see an old picture of your partner and forget they ever looked so young. We forget the sweet voices of our toddlers as they deepen through the years. If videos and photographs didn't exist would we have an accurate memory of these precious images?

Isn't it funny how life can change on a dime? One day your are healthy and then next fighting for your life? You can be down on your luck, standing in the unemployment line and win the lottery. The thing is, we never know. We do the best we can to ensure our health and secure our future but ultimately it is not always in our control.

It probably sounds like I am going through a mid-life crisis. Maybe I am. Mid-life being the perfect time to look forward and backwards and contemplate. Mid-life being the perfect time to pause and soak in the wisdom life has given us before moving forward to whatever life will present.

Recycling

I haven't written in a while. My husband has found that he is able to get more work done when he is using every computer in the house simultaneously. Thus, my time for being creative is spend being annoyed and waiting patiently (not really) for Joe to get his new laptop so that I can write when the mood strikes. In the meantime, I am going to cheat and post some of the newspaper columns that I wrote during my brief, but satisfying, stint as a published writer. I hope you enjoy.

The Joy of Cooking

I stand in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, arms laden with my favorite ingredients: sun dried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, pesto, fresh parmesan. My mind creates flavor combinations that instantly cause my mouth to salivate. I search the vegetable drawer to see what is on hand. Fresh, thin, green asparagus –oh I am in heaven. I stop for a moment to consider the others I am feeding. Joe, my husband, would rather have a meaty tomato sauce with sausage and meatballs. Actually, he would probably even prefer Spaghetti O’s. Alec, who is 12, loves artichokes but not so much the asparagus. It is too late to reconsider; my mind is already made up. They will just have to deal with my taste for tonight.

The sauce begins with olive oil and sausage. These are not just ordinary sausage, but special ordered from Sausage Heaven located in New Hampshire. You can’t even compare these to any they have in the local grocery store. You won’t find any indistinguishable hard lumps in these. Cheddar garlic is my choice for tonight and the smell is amazing. When the sausage is gently browned, I toss in the vegetables and add some white wine and pesto. The smell begins to engulf the kitchen and then enters Kyle, my eight year old.

“Whatcha making for me?” he says, peering into the pan.

He asks this question every night, fearing that there won’t be a plain carbohydrate in sight. Kyle is one of those children who won’t eat anything. He has a plain palate and desperate fear of trying anything new. He is also extremely stubborn. We have consulted his pediatrician, who assures us that children will not starve themselves. I believe Kyle would starve before eating anything that has a trace of color.

We have tried everything. First we tried making him sit at the table until he ate his dinner. Then it became just sit there until you try it. He would sit at the table, in the dark, until it was time to go to bed before he would even put one taste on his lips. We have tried bribery, trickery, begging, and loss of privileges. We even tried Dr. Phil’s suggestion of giving him the same plate of food over and over until he eats it. Think about that. If they aren’t willing to try it when it is fresh and looks good, what makes him think they will eat it when it is three days old and dried up? Seriously.

Alec emerges from his video game induced coma to see what smells so good. He is quick to note that I have used artichokes and believing he is unnoticed begins to sneak them into his mouth. He would continue this practice if I didn’t tell him to leave some for the rest of us. I mean me.

“Mom, what am I going to eat?” Kyle persists.

“I don’t know, Kyle. What are you going to eat?” I sigh, adding pasta to a bubbling pot. Relieved to see there is in fact something he will eat being prepared, Kyle grabs a fist of the uncooked spaghetti and munches while waiting for the rest to cook. I add the fresh parmesan to the sauce and set the table.

Joe comes home from work just as I add some pasta to the sauce, making sure to leave some plain for Kyle.

“Good timing,” I say. “Dinner is ready.”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m not really hungry. I just had Japanese at a late lunch meeting.”

At this moment I am very happy I had to open a bottle of wine to make the sauce. Pouring myself a glass, I sit down and savor a meal I made for myself, which rarely happens these days.