Holding Water Moon

            Holding Water Moon

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Sea otter on its back

Floats the world

In a clam shell.

Moon

A sliver of praise

Upturned in its palms.

Walk across the skies

Never spill a drop

Holding water.

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Hard to Be Me

Hard to Be Me      

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It’s hard to be the new girl

In school, on the block, at the office.

Doesn’t get any easier when we get older.

Here we are, strangers, in a tiny colonia

In a village in Jalisco, a dozen

Gringos. That one has long history here,

Others have family connections,

Some hold long-time friendships. I’m

The New Girl, the unknown element.

Someday I’ll have my “place”; I will know

Where I fit. But today, I’m new.

The hallways are confusing.

I’m not sure how to find

My classroom. On what street

Is my new house? All the cubbies

In the tall office building—am I in the right

Building?—confuse me. I feel alone

Like that big-eyed girl in third grade

Who moved to town from South Dakota.

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You’re So Strong

            You’re So Strong

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When tragedy strikes

Even quasi-tragedy,

Such as divorce,

Friends line up,

Smug in their safe roles,

Say, don’t worry,

You’ll get through it,

How wonderful

That you’re so strong.

Sub text:

I saw that one coming.

Thank God I’m not you.

If only she’d been . . .

            Fill the blanks . . .

                        More understanding, sexier, compliant, nicer . . .

Nicer? What the hell does that mean?

And the friends fall away like water.

That’s why you grit your teeth,

Feel like you’ve been patted on the head,

Given a plastic bone;

Go lie down in your corner.

You’re so strong.

What about him?

Doesn’t he have equal blame?

He gets sympathy, casseroles,

Comfort in many guises.

What you want to hear:

I’ll help you.

Go ahead and cry. Tissue?

Wanna go see a movie?

Let’s hang out.

Dinner at five—my house,

No excuses, bring your soggy self.

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Woman

Woman

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I am drunk with summer sun.

My petals, open, reach

Into purple night while stars

Settle into a blanket. I sleep

Smelling your sweat on my skin.

I am fruit, ripe, skin bursting.

I paint dripping juice colors,

Write life-lived harvest, play

The full moon low and slow,

Catch tarrying notes in tangled

Hair to store for later.

Winter lingers beyond allotted days

And though I’ve had babies born

And die in winter, I’ve learned

To settle into the quiet

Beneath fallow snow where grass

And flowers make ready to push forth

Erasing the cold with fresh truth.

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Sing the Song

            Sing the Song

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All I ever wanted

Was somebody to love,

Somebody to love me,

So I got married, believing,

As our generation believed.

It took years

Before I realized

I do

Didn’t mean he did.

Now I’m an old hermit

And I’ve lived long enough

To know love is a gemstone

Cut with many facets.

Morning brought a stray

Rag-bag of bones to my door.

She’s part Siamese, part Calico.

I fed her, of course. Food

Is one facet of love.

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The Rain

            The Rain

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The rain-that’s-not-a-rain

Misted my face, upraised

To catch your spirit flying

With incoming geese. They

Alighted on the lake in pairs.

I walked home alone.

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RK Loves TD

            RK Loves TD

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A valentine heart on the bathroom wall

In the Seattle ferry terminal

Is no guarantee of love.

Does TD still hold RK

Tightly in his arms

And help her sleep at night?

Does RK wake up,

Rub sleep from her eyes

And smile the sunrise

Into the sky?

TD makes the coffee.

RK makes the bed.

Is breakfast today toast

With warm nuzzles

And promises of another night?

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