NaPoWriMo 21

Grand Garden

"Let me show you the garden," she urges
for the second time that week
We share the excitement of watching growth 
and retreat
of harvesting
and dividing
West side first, we view
A single vexing Giant Grey sunflower
she's asked me to pull up, but I know she doesn't mean it
alongside the miniature windmill
covered with borrowed birdseed served at the nearby pine tree
heirloom roses like wads of crumpled yellow tissue
she loves these
but I can never remember who they're named for
and she tells me every time
We admire the full blooms of tree peonies, nail polish pink and larger than my head
slowly pass under the apple tree with deceptively beautiful fruit ravaged by maggot flies
and resting in the shade
I poke at an apple with the toe of my sandal
"Take some," she says.
I wrinkle my nose.
"Cut around them," she says with a wave of her hand
like she's saying "Go ahead, eat the last cookie."
coffee filters peek out from the lower leaves of a bright, ancient hosta that needs dividing
one-eyed land swans with geranium loads and fading beaks still manage to look haughty
over sedum and pots of begonias
We walk under clematis trailing up a white arch
as we go back inside to the air-conditioned relief
and coffee, always coffee.

NaPoWriMo 20

Ghosts in Glimpses

the attic is empty
warming walls tap out laments alone
but a familiar expression of incredulity
forming vaguely in a new face
with discerning eyes
the singular tilde twist of tiny mouth
a spastic, specific motion miming the adjustment of a hat, just so
and anticipation of wandering attention
a haunting of the blood

NaPoWriMo 19

Unwelcome
Snowman in April
How I loathe your cold features
Begrudge your whimsy

NaPoWriMo 18

It's a rough NaPoWriMo day. I've started two poems and they were both too unbearably bad to publish, even on my tiny site that gets very few hits. I blame the weather. It's still snowing in Minnesota.


Miserly 

I pocket the minutes to myself
save them up 
spend them slowly
reluctantly
Hand them over with great care
and the skeptical glance
of an old woman with a fistful of coupons in line for the teenage checker
at the grocery store

NaPoWriMo 17

Today's NaPoWriMo challenge is to write a poem of greeting. It sounded like a good idea, so that's what I did.

Greeting the Day

Morning begins with a squeak
not unlike the sound of the loose brakes of the bike I used to have
coming to a not-sudden-enough stop on wet tar
I roll over and pull up the blankets, hoping it will stop
but it rarely does
It escalates
to the sound of a small motorbike my previous neighbor owned
I didn't like him, especially at five a.m.
and I groan a tired but hopeful sort of groan
and wait
and after a moment of surprising silence
there's the tone of my first teakettle,
the one I found in the trash at college
it had a broken stopper
That's the end of the line
I fall out of bed onto my reluctant feet
and eyes not yet cooperating
peer into his bassinet
someone takes the teakettle off the burner
He smiles.
"Good morning, Handsome," I say hoarsely
like a lawn rake going through dry fall grass
"What do you want to do today?"

NaPoWriMo 16

#16 is something silly I wrote on my phone before collapsing into my bed yesterday.

Raisins

I can't be friends with anyone
who doesn't like raisins
You can make out faces sometimes,
in their condensed grape-y goodness;
tiny shrunken heads
One must appreciate
nature's candy--
more macabre than eating gummy bears
and sweeter

NaPoWriMo 15

I made the mistake of watching four hours of horrifying coverage from Boston today, and of course the incident is heavy on my mind. I sat on the couch nursing my son when the story came across my Twitter feed, and I turned on the TV to watch the news. Big mistake. I have no desire to write some sort of tragedy poem tonight. Anything I say at this point would be both angry and (likely) cliche. So, here's something hopeful.


To be kind

His fingernails are razors
but trimming them is his dad's job now
because I fear clipping his finger again.
I let the wild wolverine pup attached to my breast
rake a layer or two of skin off my chest.
Later I read him books 
(he likes my voice right now)
about the adventures
of fairies and bears
and being kind to crocodiles.
The most important lesson,
I think,
to be kind
(but cautious of crocodiles).
But I know books aren't going to do it.
I contemplate the lesson of kindness
and if we are good enough to teach it to him.
And how it goes hand-in-hand with bravery
and I am not brave
but I would like to be.
And when I think of all the things I want my wolverine to be
the word kind emerges every time,
swinging over my head like a colorful plastic link
and I am reaching
hoping to grasp it and hand it to him.