(A poem to be read by two people whereby each person reads a column. Spaces denote where one speaker is silent while the other speaks.)

Snap! The light went on. “What type of pet are you looking for?”

Fred grinned at Sam,“Cute.”

Sam squeezed Fred’s hand.“Ferocious enough to scare burglars away.”

“Griffin?,” suggested Sally. 

Sam watched it flutter. “Too many feathers.”

“How about a kraken?”

“Cleaning the tank would be onerous.”

Sally pointed, “This one doesn’t need much care, just a few crumbs. And it’s guaranteed to scare people.”

The brown creature waved its six legs and wiggled two antennae. Sam and Fred’s eyes met.

“Gorgeous,” Sam whispered in awe. 

Fred put his arm around Sam. “A cockroach is perfect.”

pit pit patter pour

rain rain galore 

may it rain some more

petals metals betals

tee tee whoosh

pit pit patter pour

rain slows

sun shows

cloud goes

crystal air tik tik 

sweet scent sniff 

tulips closed

shush at dusk

sea sky 

with a blush

whaa hoo hoo

dove calls

quiet clouds

nnnnnnnnnn

train announces

The backyard

is filled with weeds.

The tree 

which we cut last year

has shooters exploding

into the sky.

“Rat city,” my husband

disgustedly exclaims.

He suggests Round-Up;

I am horrified.

“Okay, I’ll weed on Tuesday,”

No problem. 

Though I do like

that jungle look.

I feel the shaking 

of Shiva’s dancing

through my feet

ini my entire body 

in my ears

his majestic drumming

in my ears

Kali lurks

thirsty for demon blood

and I wake

at 2 in the morning

thrumming with energy

the dance has begun

join the frenzy

spinning wheel 

sheds prism colors

church bells peal

and now

at 2 in the morning

I wake

thirsty for the world

night clouds

suffused with light

stars and moon obscured

but I know 

they are there in the universe

 beyond me

and my own star  

waits patiently

Hecate  is thirsty

and so am I

anger

clench

tight

ready

to

spring

flows

through

my body

a rocky

river swirling

dangerous rapids

i look

for a

calm pool

to rest in

small fish

and

a few

snakes

Darkness falls on the city

A weight of time and cold

Slipping in sadness

Ice frozen and cracked

 

Dulled

I blow my nose

The day is waking

Tree limp shadows 

On the pale gray house 

Across the alley

I roll over

Craving

Sleep

The twist

The hero is a liar

The villain finds god

The dog meows

The moon is silent

The phone doesn’t ring

There are no tracks

There is no crime

That is as great 

As a sad life

Pottery shards scattered in the tell

Mosaic floors suggest desire for beauty

Craftsmanship takes time

But it was the women who did the weaving

Although we have only a scrap

Dirty and torn

Perhaps used as a rag 

Before finding itself in this midden

And the gods were many

It is time to pack

The grid is laid

Washed out colors 

Of job

And commute

And dross of daily life

Uncolored by imagination.

I want 

Dragons and rainbows

Like every girl

It is nearly the winter solstice

Darkness lays upon the land

Seeping between buildings

Curling into cracks

Reaching tentacles that

squeeze the lungs and heart

It is hard to breath

or to feel anything 

but despair

Then we string lights 

across the street

from neighbor to neighbor

We decorate our front stoops

and railings

I wrap my juniper in tiny colors

and my friend puts up a blow up snowman

The street lights up

Warmth returns as we pass the lights

from one hand to another

from one home to another

Peace and joy reign.

• 

• 

• 

• 

Caught between a choice

of cool water

or pine scented air.

When I was six,

A suburban kid

used to neatly cut lawns,

I walked with my older sister

and an adult group

through woods on a 

civilized asphalt path.

Miraculously there was a puddle

and there

my longing for wildlife was fulfilled

by a small brown frog

enjoying his bath.

I squatted by the puddle

and watched 

for so long the group left

but my loyal sister

found our way home.

Years later

with small sons

we’d camp beside a pond.

As we strolled along

there was the plop of leaping frogs

my young sons would hunt

capture one

and then gently release it.

Frog quickly jumped

back into the water

not believing his luck.

At the cusp of getting old

I painted

a self-portrait.

Appropriately

it was Fall. 

Crimson and gold leaves 

swirl around me

in the painting.

My face is lined,

my shoulders tense,

my eyes squint in pain.

I hold a mask 

before me

of a young woman 

with blushing cheeks.