Sunday, November 17, 2013

Revisions: poems celebrating (?) our return from our cruise, yard work, and my 65th birthday (upcoming)

Coming Home

First, there is the mail,
a sea serpent of mail 
that slithered through the slot,
oozed across the foyer and
down the stairs
seeking the depths
where dwells the unspeakable
catalog.

The voicemail next:
importunate, insistent
robotic cheer--
politics, prescriptions,
sales, reminders
of missed opportunities
and appointments
preying on the guilty
conscience.

Last, the list
assembled on the plane:
the flotsam and jetsam 
generated by departure,
postponed calls, deferred bills,
the pieces you’d hoped 
would go away if you
closed your eyes
and lulled the inner voice
(your responsible self)
with dinners and music,
plied it with drinks
and seduced it with sun.

You were a world away:
you’re back now, Sisyphus,
and life goes on.


Squirrel and I

We are digging frantically
he and I
burying things in cold, cold dirt:
he, acorns; I, pansies.
He’ll forget, in winter’s blast,
exactly where he stashed them
will rummage and search
the beds in much the same fashion as I
forgetful, rummage for my keys.
I at least know where my pansies are.

And in spring, equally astonished,
we prize our little resurrections:
Pansy faces grin in surprise,
broken free
from frozen burial
and his unintentional seedlings smile 
sunward: incipient trees 
with promise
of autumn fruit.

Acorns and pansies.
The cycle of
life eternal.


Improbabilities

I should not have gone to college
should not have caught 
that glimpse of grad school, should
have been satisfied with
the bachelors and settled 
for less, for the job next door that,
expressing interest, was not interesting
enough 
to capture mine.

I should not have moved
away, away to horizons
new and blazing blue: 
Charlottesville, California,
Virginia, Washington,
should not have been
a scientist, wife, mom, or teacher,
techie, trainer, meeting
maven, director, writer,
poet.

I should not be this me at all,
but I am improbably all
these threads in a strange   
and wildly-woven fabric: 
wooly bumps and silky
slubs and jacquard patterns
warp and weft historically defined,
suspended on the loom,
still a work in progress.
Life.

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