Silver Cord

While everyone sleeps
I slip out into the night
and deeply breathe
the lilac air

I gaze at the crescent moon
worried at heart
begging
needing more time

Not one of us
escapes her pull
as she labors through phases
to bestow her faithful beauty

The lunar cradle
connects me to every tide and tremor
every person
lost and found

(Photo by Timothy Price used with permission)

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Inconvenient Truth

Somewhere at dusk
light goes out of a baby’s eyes
The mother holds her son
to her dry breast
dropping her head
moaning dry words of comfort
rocking

Somewhere else
a son is dragged in the street
and left on the caked mud
his face contorted
in a silent scream
his still shining eyes
reflect the stars

Partisans reclaim the rope
Lamentations pierce the calm
and sputters of hatred echo
between quiet houses
suddenly lit
but hush toward dawn
when the sun ignites the sky

Wrapped in morning whispers
couples are moored to their hope
but when they separate
to begin their day
he’s recruited for the cause
that ancient failure of vengeance

Phoenix

When the indigo blanket of night
unfolds so softly and deep
over low silky clouds of lavender
apricot and the palest green
faint twinklings of starlight signal
new horizons of hope
I rise and grip my compass

Across this darkening desert
waves of hot sand swirl me
high above those statued saguaro
guardians of that wasteland
Cool breezes now whispering stories
laughter and music and dancing
I hear the ever green beckon

Near a cold glassy lake in a forest
where grasses are dewy and sweet
friends and companions are waiting
eager to share in our crossings
Sparkling eyes around the campfire
anchored beneath a wheeling sky
I sleep by this fire again

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Shakespeare in the Park

Scene One
In spring, well rehearsed
bright yellow flags appear
opening this matinee
At center stage rear
the duck’s behind, up-so-down
gets top billing
He does headstands and frolics
dives and eats God-knows-what
sucking muck
from the bottom of the pond

Scene Two
Robins bicker
They flit and fly
off then on
the broken branches
of this salvaged prop
an ice ravaged
but still pink
blossoming hawthorn
They hop down behind a
curtain of falling petals

Scene Three
As I leave my front row seat
startled bullfrogs plop
into the sun-footed light
shimmering on the lagoon floor
For this surprise encore
I smile applause
Another wonderful performance!
The park’s the thing
wherein I catch
the play

Poiesis: The Words

Always chasing them
On and off the clock
at work
Notebook in my pocket
on the park bench
Or in the kitchen
waiting for water to boil
stirring in the pasta
My daughter says
‘Mom, you’re not listening
You have that faraway look’
They collaborate
behind my eyes
At night whispered
into my husband’s ear
He says
‘I love their sound
Lull me to sleep
Keep talking’
But they ambush me
I’m wide awake