Garden of Delights

The child,
I hear him,
a giggle
a tap
the door shoves open
a wet hand
some jam escaped
the smell of a garden
and I



Remember what it felt like – what it FEELS like to be that woman, that girl.
The daughter, mother, wife, woman, girl. Remember.
In tears and sorrow when no one wants to follow
your heart
is empty of causes
'cause you have no where to run to
until your ends have unraveled to reveal
threads of a thousand colors and fibers with which to renew
yours into ours
and we shall then follow
the strands down into the trembling hollow by her neck
for the moment between the beats
warm lips
tentative breath
and she smiles upon us.
Then, and only then shall the first words be written.


Fall Fog

Balk against the tasks that beckon
your back turned oh so slight
the weight
may take
your right to flight
always at stake.

Hide the key that turns the lock
lest no one find it and
your soul rot
sweep the crumbs under the sheet
my sweet
no one will see
'till morn'
that your son was born
and grows
under the setting sun
while you
under clouds



To what depths
must I follow
my heart racing
my gut clenching
my mind drifting off
   imagining the grocery shopping
   the curve of the laundry line
   my hip a different shape than before
click, tick, shock, tock
I whistle while I wait
and meet
and smile
and get busy painting my mask
but still here the gloom resides
and creeps back in
and out
and in again.


Man and you

I shake your frowns out of my head
not from my dad
this time.

a happy person am I.
And you
my scar tissue.

Cutting it out
leaves another mark.
Got to be the turtle
shell on my back
life out of whack
but moving,
still moving.

It is into the water
where fast I go

April 30

Don't need no coffee
or alcohol
no meat
or fish
no gmo's
no fast food
or trash food

beans and greens
water and life
live laugh love
and beautiful days
of streaming rays
out of my heart and into your hand
if this can heal the world
wouldn't it be grand?


April 29

Dew on my toes
the morning
like a hiccup
but it was love
while under the spell
of mists
and drifts
and no longer thirsting
for the promise
of sun.


April 25

Eyes open
looking, seeking
art in all the wrong places
made by faces
or inside
hiding the gift
a secret.

and something shifts
I have to move to find it.

The groove between joints
dries up
add more vibrant
guide it.

Eyes closed
make me blinding
on my own
try it.


April 23

on wings
under the reflections
of delusion
and repulsion
like filaments
to the fabric
of life.


April 22

I tried twice
to write this
came in to my quiet place
but little feet
tip tap stomp
into my heart
and out of my hands
go the words and sound.

green thick grass
the smell and swell of ocean
dense in the air
and my head
under the sun


April 19

In the movie "The Secret Garden"
there is a glorious scene
as the camera pans through the great stone manor
and continues curling down a darkened corridor
a thrilling voice is heard.

The notes swirl about my untethered head as I recall
the beauty found within such a shadowed place.

Displaced by that surrounding gloom
by tones turned magical
around the corner we follow
taking in the sight
of fast moving hands
a flour dusted apron
sleeves rolled up
that robust glow
of almost ecstasy within
seeping out through pores
and pixels
through air,
and into my ears, eyes, mind, heart
and to me here

Greensleeves will never
     could never
be the same.
That cook
eyes closed
resides in the home of my heart
while baking and creating for souls she did not make.
Just a job for her,
     a life, yes,
but a world to me.
and inside my mind
my heart sings
while I cook for those I do and did bear
infusing my actions
with what can not be expressed
in tones


April 18

The mist
how I beckon you
to delve further inside
quiet places
honed spaces
'til the taken in
and pressed out
no longer listen.

Up on crusted rocks
waves crash where I can't see
and through this thunder
I can feel and breathe and be.


April 17

I don't know if you remember
but I do.

The monarchs with stick black legs
on stiff orange-headed flowers in a field so thick of summer
     you couldn't swallow without tasting some hours later
the winding way that the road had
with the bump like an eyelid
winking and blinking as the bike wheels squeaked
the sandy turnout by the mailbox and the rutted two way drive
the woods-
     oh, the trees!
full green so blinding you could see out of your grin
and the sounds
of the grasses

I remember.
I remember it all like no one else can.
No one but you.

You charged out into the world, knowing and claiming
understanding and relating
and I followed
quiet, eyes open, trying to make sense
trying to figure how the dots go together
seeing colors and sounds
as light and tone
floating in and fading away
unable to make them stick down
and pause
so I could formulate a question
     like my big sister could
but you were then gone
up the hill and around the bend
in my clogs
that were dutch blue with a white painted daisy
and I, sad, not able to walk over the jutting stones,
could never catch up


April 16

There is a tiny key
I hold it inside my heart
closed over
so it remains dark

I forget it is there sometimes
but then it starts to rain
and I feel that familiar clinking
pulling me towards its chain

Links forged from another metal
not from my land of love
I shrug my shoulders and wait
one day
when the ledge is close
I won't even need a shove.


April 15

The lines have been drawn
in ink, pencil, pigment
between man and woman
male and female
you and she.

Sitting alongside,
one forms the differences
but the interior walls
made of cells and sums
at a frequency more different than two boxes to check
(or more if you have evolved farther yet),
and off we go without thinking of what matter matters.

And I
somewhere between the two
able to see me and you
and he and she
and we
as the multitude of divisons
sway this way and that
curving around our understanding
like the bends in a ruler
and the tubes shrinking past
and the rusty bolt, the steam rising, the goggles and
     the glass.

Don't think on the future
think of the now
the moment
this moment
and see with all sides
I am not the she you think
and you not the he I would be
but yet together we sit
and mingle
before sprouting off in another direction
to retangle
if the soil is left
by the side of a darkening tree.


April 13

Does no one else glide the tips of their fingers over sturdy bound books
with empty waiting pages
no lines please
but grain
to hold the ink from bits of escaping thought
     like a net catching one fly off the flock.

I have sounds and words
but am deaf and blind to them
most times
I see that paper and itch for my pen
to sit and breathe
and let the words roll out


April 11

If I am half here
and half there
and half inside
and half out
does that mean
I am twice the size I think I am
or half the size of you
or are both these scales that measure
a bit or more askew?


April 10

My shell
that which you see
does not hold all of me.
I roam
to places far and wide
but wandering.

As life passes by
and I think to a future chair in the corner of a room
by a window
and a lady in mauve
with her hair pulled back in a bunny headband
giving me my meals and regrouping my upended deck of spades and hearts
and clubs and diamonds
I wonder what will cause me to stop drooling
and remember
that I live
amongst the frail forgotten
and that
when I was thirty eight
I wanted to go running every day
but didn't
and sat eating dark chocolate covered pretzels
and beet juice flavored chips

The view from my perch is lovely
the clouds
like cotton over a wound
dressing up the gray
and I


April 7

Cool wind
must be the door
the dog comes forth
wet nosed and seeking.

Warm toes
in socks
I yearn for.
The floor
the dog
at my feet


April 6

On land
waves still rumble
     and jumble
my thoughts

Sunny days
soaking up rays
and laughter

The horizon grasps
what I might lose
when the light shifts out
of sight.


April 5

Hot air blowing
round and round
it goes

Boy's clothes glowing
folded with the halo
then done.


April 3


An ache
sometimes deep
swims to hide

and I
atop my pile
find a way
fizzing, fuzzy, floating
sand between my toes
orange blossoms in my nose
my hand,
my heart,
my love,
my life-
I glide and slide
like melting ice.

Sky and stars
moonlight glow
air rushing past
then slow,
s l o w.

From underneath a presence breathes
punching out from in,
A cloud
a fog
a shadow seethes
watching, waiting


April 2

dinner cookin' atop the stove
and the grass keeps on growing.
Dogs wait by the door to rove
and the dust bunnies keep on flowing.
Is this what I waited my life to be?
A mama to boys & dogs and
Hang up the coats,
shake out those boots
the rain has dried
go rouse the troops!
onward and outward
show them some love
the outdoors is calling
and they need a shove.


April 1

and so, we continue
in that drab fab way
You there and me here
     counting the specks on the wall
     wondering if it matters at all

Water washes down the drain
pulling bits of this and that
those hardened specks
they stick on
and I can't help but throw a glance
knowing what is still there
knowing, too, that I can come up afterwards
and shake the sponge at the mess
cleaning slop
frothing up



what have I been waiting for?
a window
a hand to hold
an answer
a door?

I think about the green grasses
the warm breeze
the trees
the things
that make me who I am
when I don't think about what came later-
the unanswered unuttered questions
the complexity
the garbage filled up and crumpled useless information just piling up
and I wonder and I wander
but now am sedated
or sedentary
but here,
or there
to window shop
or buy the repair...

My green grass
My watermelon patch
the carrots fresh and true
the lettuce and zucchini too
I wonder about what happened to the little girl
who saw all that was
and all that could be
wrapped up and floating inside of me

Am I here?
Does the I in me still exist?
Have I been replaced
or even just

My sons, grown and growing
never saw the girl I was.
But what kernel
what nugget
shall I think true
to pass on
to them and then
to whoever is after them...
and them...
and then them too?

Is the beauty that one sees
all that is left of me?
My hopes my dreams
mean nothing.
It is what was and what still lingers
from others.
and mothers.

Plant your garden
love the hens
eat meat if you must
but only from gorgeous farms and not pens
you are what you eat
no boxes
less toxins
smile and laugh and live and be
you are what you eat and you is me.