Sin – encouraging total
self-appeasement
gorging
waist deep
inch by inch
sin creeping,
encircling
widening the arc
from a once lean oval –
amazingly so easily matured,
wideness, sin encased in baggy clothes.

Time like a hungry survivor eats me;
time, a rodent
destined to hunger,
cherishing its kill –
victim for surviving,
nibbled and well chewed,
merciful yet merciless,
time, destined to survive.

Reflection on early daffodil

little petals struggling
to grow as cold nips their fringes,
curling their tender skins.
1/14/03

Reflections walking through the empty music room and classrooms

Wandering through hall-like corridors –
some active, some empty –
avoidance of cognitive
thaw, obedience of choice;
rows, rules – a music
of yesteryear – a symphony’s
negotiation of empty chairs.

The voices gather,
a rumble of words
dissonance of friendly anger
no thoughts of tomorrow
giggles of the moment
words lost – floating away,
air – crowded, bumping traffic
gathering at unlighted traffic corners.

A sorrow deep within skin –
a heart whose vessels
contract with pain,
losses of loving friendship
a feeling gorging hunger,
a beating hear contracting
mourning its loss, a vital organ
a limping pump attempting
self-healing, no surgery goes here,
no bandages, just hemorrhaging
loneliness, a pump divided
severed at its artery of love.
January 19, 2003

frigid survival –
nature’s peak test,
food a scarcity,
food a necessity,
food a risk
against the white
earth’s melding peaks
screaming individuality –
forces stark
ever watchfull,
the hunter,
the final exterminator -
death sentence appealed,
but hunger winds
death immediately imposed.

I crawl,
I walk,
I run
to where?
where is there?
run run run
never catch me
never find me
but…
I am the seeker
so…
I crawl,
I walk,
I run
out there – to where?

Single calorie underwear,
thongs, one size fits all,
would someone please tell me,
where did the back strap go?

alone, crowded
an unsecured world
dragged by external forces
like air
toying with a fallen leaf,
landing tossing,
till the wind has tired –
sudden death.

sweet swingings
a cool breeze
blue gingham bonnets
a great ponderance
bout the swinging soul –
tomorrow, a week,
maybe a month,
a year –
blue gingham bonnet
lifeless on the ground.

nerveless, a roadless road
no one breathing,
just lubs and dubs,
meaningless ants
lost in carpet
sprayed to death
walking the roadless
road to nervelessness.

Ground Zero

Blinding round light
burning ice into a deeper freeze,
shivers molded in time,
chilling bones to brittleness,
breath left dangling
awaiting a sounding-thaw.

Waterless floating
a clear mirror –
sun so cold
a frozen sky –
brittle clouds
flacking,
cracked skin,
life in an ice cube.

Names are very important, she thinks,
A name introduces a person, a forever
image linking one’s life to the world.

Emily Anne?
Lisa Marie?

Inside her emerging self, rhythmic movements
begin to pattern our a new spirit. Hiccups and kicks,
gentle and loving reminders of developing life.

A living nursery designed for appeal and comfort:
Winnie the Pooh surrounded by a pale peach world,
cotton soft blankets and a worn cherry rocking chair.

Christopher Robin?
Robert Edward?

It’s time and nine months of anticipation culminates
in a labor of love; a countdown of contractions
to one last deep breath for the final push.

Her father’s miniaturized skislope nose,
her grandmother’s tightly curled cold-black hair,
and her mother’s sea-gray eyes, no closed with sleep.

Victoria Rose?
Cassandra Lee?

Counting one by one ten fingers, ten toes;
holding her baby one day old,
she lays her daughter in the tiny white coffin.
1994

I remember the fragrance of Cologne de Rose,
a breath of sweetness surrounding
me on those hot summer days, as I’d
walk the long rose-lined driveway
to the backdoor of my Grandmother’s house.

I’d walk through Grandma’s door
and there she would be, smiling and dribbling
love wherever a sad face dwelled. To me,
Grandma always smelled of wild roses,
their scent lingering, filling my senses,
like sweet sugar candy canes, a teasing
pleasure for a small child’s heart.

The memory of those roses still ripple
through my senses, echoing of yesterday,
even though Grandma’s timely gone.
When I am sad, filled with the ache
of missing her, I have only to close
my eyes and picture her smiling face.

Suddenly, like a yesterday never having passed
me by, my nose perks to the scent
of Cologne de Rose, spreading a tender,
loving hug of aroma across my heart. I
know then that Grandma is only a sniff
away, and I smile in spite of myself.

Beggars of a heartless drought,
praisingly thankful as torrents of water
rain down on their homeless
roots, drifter of vacant spaces.

The suffering thrive, and revived
they don their seasonal best,
decorating space with their
multi-colored coats of rhythmically
swaying with the wind’s beatless breath.

Nostrils gapping a wide with first breath
eyes darting for a familiar form,
her emerging life lingers in another’s hands,
while fragments of her old life’s story
are erased by warm hands caressing softly.

One soul’s awaited embrace bridges
a spaceless and eternal moments,
as a daughter nurses her mother’s love
and a mother embraces her child’s life.