SIXTEEN
(the eclipse)
Grandmama hides her face
Behind a dark earth
Plays peek-a-boo
All earth children
take one step toward
the future they choose
SEVENTEEN
(Some women make lists)
If I had made a list,
I would have said, "he must be able to carve clothespins
When we live in that cabin
By the woods,
Like two folks stranded from the eighteenth century,
Pretending the occasional car drifting by... isn't."
I'd say, "he must bring tea in the mornings
when we travel, no matter if it's raining,
no matter how far he has to search
for hot water while the sky is lightly sleeping,"
I'd say, "he must find for us,
not only a roof to sleep under
But something on wheels that rolls us
to the next place when circumstances
decide against our staying put."
I'd say "he must help make three daughters,
Goddesses incarnate,
Each one perfect and in charge
of her own destiny,"
I'd say, "he must know the value of a tailgate party
outside a convenience store
on dusky summer evenings,
the glamour of old bookstores
beside broken city streets,
and the comedy inherent in
any serious conversation."
If I'd made a list,
these would be on it,
but having not known
any of this before I met you,
I didn't.
(To my Honey on our anniversary: Thanks for hanging around
And being part of this thing
called "us".)
EIGHTEEN
(The bite of the white dog)
Once you know the books full of answers
are fiction, and the only truth is hidden
in stories of giants, elves, and
ghosts who haunt
narrow streets between
derelict buildings,
Once you see the desperation,
of trampolines in yards
Of poverty houses,
And you know the seeds
You plant are mutant,
There is nowhere to go.
Lean back,
listen to that song
playing over and over,
There is no escape,
The sound won't dissipate,
Rest in half-measures,
Tap your foot,
Get up and dance,
The old refrain will tire of you,
And rise like dew
To form a new body of evidence.
NINETEEN
The nineteenth trump is the Sun,
Original empowerment,
The ability to be,
Let there be light,
In the light of the sun,
I'm not what anyone invents,
Don't draw me a shadow
to a shape you like,
I won't move to that,
I've sidestepped your praise
and criticism with the same laugh,
the joke's on you,
When, in the night, I wake, forgetting,
I close my eyes and see
the sun, my shadow, and me rolling
down some green grass hill,
giggling like old friends.
TWENTY
Happiness is wanting what you have.
I have a house with a roof and walls,
In a town where buildings crumble
There is a man on my porch talking guns,
And lights at night shine in my windows,
(But I have windows),
What I'm saying?
Happiness is not a dead moth,
Can't pin that sucker down,
One morning over toast and tea,
"Stay" on the radio,
Happiness flitted by and landed,
Half second,
I held my breath,
Which broke the enchantment,
(now I wait its return)
I know it's not about things,
And I am not ungrateful,
But to be a fish in water....
A bird in flight...
To let happiness pursue me.
Fifth set (poems 21-25) 30 for Thirty
SEVENTEEN
(Some women make lists)
If I had made a list,
I would have said, "he must be able to carve clothespins
When we live in that cabin
By the woods,
Like two folks stranded from the eighteenth century,
Pretending the occasional car drifting by... isn't."
I'd say, "he must bring tea in the mornings
when we travel, no matter if it's raining,
no matter how far he has to search
for hot water while the sky is lightly sleeping,"
I'd say, "he must find for us,
not only a roof to sleep under
But something on wheels that rolls us
to the next place when circumstances
decide against our staying put."
I'd say "he must help make three daughters,
Goddesses incarnate,
Each one perfect and in charge
of her own destiny,"
I'd say, "he must know the value of a tailgate party
outside a convenience store
on dusky summer evenings,
the glamour of old bookstores
beside broken city streets,
and the comedy inherent in
any serious conversation."
If I'd made a list,
these would be on it,
but having not known
any of this before I met you,
I didn't.
(To my Honey on our anniversary: Thanks for hanging around
And being part of this thing
called "us".)
EIGHTEEN
(The bite of the white dog)
Once you know the books full of answers
are fiction, and the only truth is hidden
in stories of giants, elves, and
ghosts who haunt
narrow streets between
derelict buildings,
Once you see the desperation,
of trampolines in yards
Of poverty houses,
And you know the seeds
You plant are mutant,
There is nowhere to go.
Lean back,
listen to that song
playing over and over,
There is no escape,
The sound won't dissipate,
Rest in half-measures,
Tap your foot,
Get up and dance,
The old refrain will tire of you,
And rise like dew
To form a new body of evidence.
NINETEEN
The nineteenth trump is the Sun,
Original empowerment,
The ability to be,
Let there be light,
In the light of the sun,
I'm not what anyone invents,
Don't draw me a shadow
to a shape you like,
I won't move to that,
I've sidestepped your praise
and criticism with the same laugh,
the joke's on you,
When, in the night, I wake, forgetting,
I close my eyes and see
the sun, my shadow, and me rolling
down some green grass hill,
giggling like old friends.
TWENTY
Happiness is wanting what you have.
I have a house with a roof and walls,
In a town where buildings crumble
There is a man on my porch talking guns,
And lights at night shine in my windows,
(But I have windows),
What I'm saying?
Happiness is not a dead moth,
Can't pin that sucker down,
One morning over toast and tea,
"Stay" on the radio,
Happiness flitted by and landed,
Half second,
I held my breath,
Which broke the enchantment,
(now I wait its return)
I know it's not about things,
And I am not ungrateful,
But to be a fish in water....
A bird in flight...
To let happiness pursue me.
Fifth set (poems 21-25) 30 for Thirty
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