True or False

When taking a test,
words like "always" and "never"
should point to the answer, for-
if you are clever-
you should know by now
that it's always the case
that "always" proves false,
and that "never" takes place.
Always is never consistently true-
and never's a word that I learned from you.

The Tilt-a-Whirl

It wouldn't stop,
And though I screamed,
The Tilt-a-Whirl went round and round.

The air was full
And hot and sweet,
With candy vendors up and down,
But I could think of nothing else:
The Tilt-a-Whirl went round and round.

My mother laughed,
The camera flashed,
My father held my hand too tight-
But all my crying was in vain:
The Tilt-a-Whirl went round and round.

My friends had braved this awful ride,
They had returned both safe and sound,
But I was certain my demise
Would come from going round and round.

She's Old Now

She's old now, and crazy,
Although perhaps that didn't come with age.
She smells of soup and couches and Chanel No. 5.
She wears red everyday-
a sweater,
lipstick,
a sagging bra-
She says it is a friendly color,
it cheers her up.
Thousands of TV dinners beg for company.
She'll make you dinner if it will make you love her.
More mashed potatoes, anyone?
She waits for a question, any question.
She wants to unburden herself
on your young, strong shoulders.
Can't you help an old woman carry her things?
Is it too much to ask, she demands
of Bob Barker.
Is it?

Rachel

Rachel talks to fairies when she's scared-
they're always there,
and she's never coming back to the Midwest.

She reads Tolstoy and Carroll all alone
when no one's home,
and she hopes that someday love will save the world.

Rachel loves to laugh and dance to jazz;
she sings outloud
and she tells the perfect strangers what she means.

Rachel drinks champagne toasts in her room
to the new moon
and she swears the stars sing backup in her dreams.

The Rosebud

The rosebud-
tiny
     frail
          delicate
Pink cheeks flush red
in the morning sun
as she opens
slowly
     gently
          to glory.

How We Survived

We always knew to disappear-
retreat into our rooms,
close the door,
finish homework
or our chores-
when he showed his bottom teeth.

When he asked us,
"What were you thinking?"
we knew to hide,
to build a wall
to protect our tender feelings.
We learned when he was mad.
how to survive.

What My Bones Said

To me,
Laying in bed.
They said:

You're getting old-
     You work too hard.
           Drink more milk.

And I replied to my bones:

I'm twenty-two
     And unemployed.
            I eat ice cream,
                  That is enough.

A Mother's Prayer

I pray you know always the right thing to do-
And that you possess courage to do it.
I pray that you hold on tight to your faith,
That each obstacle sees you get through it.
I ask that the Lord grant you patience and love,
More than I ever have known-
I want you to fall so in love with His voice
That you know it as if it's your own.
I hope that you grow, both in stature and grace,
Esteemed and admired by all,
But more than that, darling, I hope that you rise
After every time that you fall.

Watercolors

I am not going to blend in.
I've never been one for mixing well.
I don't know how to watercolor melt into the colors around me.
I always feel like spilled ink:
accidental color on top of
the purposeful paint underneath.

The Roommate

You are the sliver in my finger,
the dust in my eye,
the bug that flew into my too-wide grin.
I want you gone,
but your absence will leave a hole
that I don't know if I can fill.

Unasked Questions Go Unanswered

The answer never comes as a shout,
you know.
It is written on the bottom of your soles,
spelled out in the hair left in the brush,
spit into the sink like a minty crystal ball.
It is in these things,
these small, small things;
they are all the answer you will ever need.

Due South

I'm looking for closure:
A doorway, a gate,
A reason to hold to
The lie we call fate-
I need some answers,
I'd prefer to hear no,
Or be given a map
To the next place I'll go.
I'm waiting here patient,
Well, I'm trying to be,
But I need the compass
To point south for me.

To Mona Lisa With Love

Hey Mona Lisa, I've got a secret-
I'll whisper it, you'll never tell.
I know by your smile you've some of your own,
And are practiced at keeping them well.
Dear Mona Lisa, I know that you've heard
Your share of the barely breathed truths-
I know I can trust you, for your lips are sealed,
Your opinion on these things is moot.
Sweet Mona Lisa, my secret is this:
I do not envy your grin,
My heart is too full to wish for a smirk,
My joy shows in each picture I'm in.

What Remains

I keep the memory of your voice
like some people carry snapshots
in their wallets or
put pictures on the wall or
in frames next to their beds.
It is there,
after a long day of missing you,
ready to make me smile as only you could.
I keep the feel of your hands
like some people hold onto old clothes-
worn with age,
but soft in the places that demand it.
It is there,
on the back of my neck,
squeezing all the love you possess
into me.

Please Leonardo

Please Leonardo, fashion me wings,
Make them of feathers and tar.
I won't play Icarus, I know my place-
I promise I won't go too far.
Please Leonardo, I need to fly:
To glide above treetops and lakes.
I know you can do it, my Renaissance man,
And I'll trust the contraption you make.
Please Leonardo, leave Lisa behind
My smile will put hers to shame-
Just tell me you've made them, my beautiful wings;
The world will soon whisper my name.

The Optimist

In college,
my poetry professor bemoaned the
lack of angst
in my writing.
Years later,
I find myself wondering
if even now
my poems would please her.
Heartache makes great art,
I'm told,
but the sun looks the same
whether it is rising
or setting,
And why shouldn't
four ounces of water
be a half full
cup?

Waterlogged Desert

Sometimes I believe that every drought is false.
I am proof of the water inside of us, never to abate.
There are oceans in my eyes, and
rivers on my cheeks.
I am drowning in the loss of you.

Left Behind

Grief makes us strangers
even to ourselves,
searching for how it fits together:
the loss and the forgiveness-
absolution for our relief-
that we are still alive.

#besties

What makes a best friend-
Is it someone who knows you?
Someone to challenge you,
Someone who grows you?
Someone to hold your hand,
Just let you cry?
Someone who pushes you
up towards the sky?

The number of coffees or
number of laughs or
the number of secrets you share?

The fights that you've fought or
the tears that you've wiped,
Or the times you have braided my hair?

The truth of the matter, no matter the measure,
You win by a long shot- there's nobody better!

I'm All Greek to Me

I am a dead language,
and you-
you pronounce every word
perfectly.

You and I

If you are the church then I'm a believer;
If you are a dream, baby, I am your dreamer.
If you are an ocean, then I am a whale.
You're a sandcastle? Love, I am your pail.
If you are a drumset then I am the sticks,
You are the chorus line, I am the kicks.
You must be paper, for I am a pen,
You're my cocky rooster, I'm your plucky hen.
You are the morning sun, I am the dew,
Whatever you are, I can't be without you.

Midnight

We can proceed
in our lives
just as easily
from love to love
as from loss to loss.
A good thing to remember
in the middle of the night
when you're not sure
how you will get through
the next breath.

I See

Is this it?
All that I have needed?
Just this-
perfect stillness,
needing nothing
for

 just

     one

          minute?

Did I just need
to be seen?
Seen through,
seen completely,
seen without fear?
Is that all
any of us
ever want?

The Dance

Fate loves the fearless
Joy loves the tearless,
The melody loves me with you.

Sun loves the blue sky
Shores love the sea's tide,
If you're dancing, I'm dancing too.

The rock loves the mountain,
The well loves the fountain,
My shoes love to tap out this beat.

The trees love the forest,
Songbirds love their chorus,
My hand can feel your hand's heat.

Generational Secrets

Our children,
our grown children,
might
or might not
know the secrets
of their parents
but they'll surely possess
secrets
of their own.
How strange
to know someone
so entirely
and also
not at all.
If the secrets were spilled-
red paint on white canvas-
would they regard us
with affection or
resentment?
Would we be
amused or
horrified?

Fish Most Fowl

Fishes never walk on land,
And neither do they fly,
So why on earth would someone search
For gills up in the sky?
A bird who flies can walk about,
But rarely ever dives
And never chooses water
Over blue and open skies.
For fish and bird to fall in love
Would truly be bizarre
But never stranger, I suppose
Than things the way they are.

Simple

The rhythms don't matter,
The rhyme scheme is moot,
The meter is pointless,
And off-beat to boot.
There's figurative language,
Allusions and codes
And poetic license
In each of these odes.
The part that means something,
The part that is true,
Are these three simple words, darling:
I, love, and you.

Growing Pains

She told me,
hearts don't break.
The ache you feel
is growing pains:
too much love,
pumping just like blood.
Once we give birth to love
it never dies.
Like a child,
the first is never undone,
only added to.
And I wonder if
she's right-
if those who have
lost the most
have also
loved the most,
until their heart-
so full-
must burst.

Someone Else

Everyone is always
Becoming someone else
And leaving home.

I was a girl-
Now I am a mother.
You were a son-
Now you are a husband.
And our daughters,
Once infants,
Are growing too fast.

Everyone is always
Becoming someone else
And leaving home.

I watch you daily,
Becoming someone else-
And still you stay.

Words Matter?

What do words matter to deserts?
Which song brings the oceans to tears?
Have poems caused the mountains to tremble,
Or lyrics brought pause to the years?
Has literature brought out stars' twinkle?
Or made one of the planets to spin?
When has a song kept the sun from its shine,
Or prevented the clouds rolling in?
Which ditty will stop a bee's buzzing?
Which limerick halts fish in the stream?
When has a melody stopped dogs from barking,
Or brought about one of my dreams?

Grape Crushing

My bachelor uncle
makes his own wine:
Goes down to the docks
in the early morning damp
to pick the right grapes,
Zinfandel, Carignan, Grenache.
My cousins turn the crank
as we sacrifice grapes
to the wine press,
raking our fingers across the grates until they are sticky and
painted black
with the skins of fallen fruit.
Children dance
in a vat of juices
that they will drink
someday-
at their own wedding,
perhaps,
or their first child's baptism,
or on a
Tuesday.

Mama Said

My mother always told me:
Brush your teeth,
Make your bed,
Wear clean socks,
Brush your head,
Eat a breakfast nice and warm
Stand up straight, don't cross your arms.
And I did what mama said.

My mother taught me
Watch the road, and
Save for rain
Beauty always
Comes with pain,
And don't kiss boys whose eyes don't close,
Whose smile leaves you on your toes,
And I did what mama said.

The Truth Is...

There are certainly,
unquestionably,
indisputably
many untruths in this world.
Bread molds before the expiration date,
gadgets are broken before the next infomercial hits the airwaves,
and flattery paints the world in dubious colors.
It is also the case that there are unshakeable truths.
We learn these in school:
2 + 2 = 4,
red and blue make purple,
and every good boy does fine.
Even more astoundingly,
Truth can be found,
in the wings of a butterfly or
the minor chords on a violin.
But,
most magical of all,
you exist,
my darling one.
And you and I
are all the evidence of Truth
I'll ever need.

Supergirl

My daughter slips still sticky arms through blue dress straps.
"I want to fly like Superman," she announces,
"not marry him.
Off to the rescue!"
And out of my room she swooshes, arms outstretched and hair blown back.

And of course I want her to always save the world,
To think of herself as the hero and not the damsel that society will try to paint her as,
But right now, I'd settle for a few more years of sweet stickiness.