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On top of wool blankets, scratch
of two sets of pages turning,
the cat’s tongue over her fur
and the backs of our hands
over the hum of the dishwasher,
whirr as the furnace comes on.
Sorry I Haven't Been Posting!
The radio's playing songs I like.
I'm driving. I'm stopping for a cookie
and coffee from a tiny bakery,
walking, cup in one hand,
cookie in the other. Everything is crisp,
but I'm not looking, only
listening to women's voices,
feeling the quick, woolen scratch
of their jackets as we pass.
A Little More Oregon
Our sister feeds extra biscuits
from our bucket of chicken
to ducks but mostly pigeons
at Clackamette Park, her baby
circled by pigeons stepping forward,
stepping back as they perform
formations they’ve practiced all year.
More on Oregon
Dark rocks, crooked edge
of the shore: Willamette River
in thick black pen, filled in
with watercolor—brown,
cloudy tan, then blue
where powerboats race,
making waves which ducks
bear effortlessly, feet
marking their fluid lines,
untraceable under the surface.
From Oregon City
Our room faces the Willamette—
geese and jet skis, a freeway bridge
and public boat launch. Seniors
wait for the Belle of the Falls
to depart at noon, its paddlewheel
gleaming with river water
and red and white paint.
Poem About Meniere's (Which Needs a Better Title)
Someone is calling an animal,
two syllables of a name
I can’t make out. My ears
feel heavy, too slow
to pull anything from the air
which is why I’ll never
be a birder—all calls
are the same calm chirping.
Anti-Apocalyptic
A tractor beam, the rapture—
no one and nothing is coming
for you. You’d better
finish the dishes, get back
to your overdue homework.
Walking Walking Walking
Only for air. It helps—
I don’t feel gloomy. I keep up
with neighbors’ gardens,
smell mock orange before
it rains, catch apples
before they fall to the sidewalk.
Now I Shout It...
Your handsome face and mellow voice
will thrill the airwaves. Why don’t
you take over the world? You’ll run it
properly. We’ll all stop killing
the TV every night when it’s time
for the news. Thinking of your boots
and cowboy hat, I’ll clear up
my back taxes. I’m not the only woman
ready to be rounded up by you.
Solidarity!
I was together, then,
with every woman alive, driving
my daughter and her friends
to school, knowing myself
one with a sisterhood of carpoolers.
After Moving My Lawn Chair to the Front Yard
A large patch of bare trunk
in the middle of a cedar
across the street—I never
noticed it before, too busy
getting out of the car,
aligning my key horizontally
four steps before I reach
our front door. Should I fall
in line behind our neighbor
at the store, will I find
he also is balding?
More "Tell" Than "Show" (Oh Well)
We’re here. It's clear
as the full moon which hangs
over our suburb, except
it's mostly midday when anyone
looks up. That's OK. It takes
a while to receive anything
important. The slowest
check is already in the mail.
A Little Astronomy
Nobody saw photos of the whole
Earth until over a year
after my parents finished
high school. They pictured it
like I saw constellations
above lights from the highway
from diagrams projected
on the ceiling of the science museum.
Another Neighborhood Poem
White as a trout where
the filet knife fits, the underside
of a jet hangs briefly
overhead as Tanya and I assess
a bed of freesia for weeds
and insects and find both. The jet
veers left, toward Irene’s
and the house with dumpsters
in the yard, men on the roof.
Summer Summer Summer
New summer clothes, I know,
would make you feel better
though the weather isn’t hot
though it’s nearly July 4th,
almost time for me to begin
avoiding barbecues, pool parties,
evenings under the stars
in tank tops and Capri pants
because I prefer lunch and dinner
in the dining room, in jeans
and shirts with sleeves.
Clearance! One Day Only!
I never go to the thrift store
Monday mornings when everything
is half-off, despite how I like
the clack clack clack
of a steady downpour—metal
hangers over metal racks.
Everyone presses too close,
straining to see themselves
in blouses, sweaters, coats
pulled over their own thin shirts.
From the Family Circle (April 1970)
You can’t fly more cheaply
than chicken wings, and they’re
so tasty—the universal law
of compensation: greatest flavor
in fewest bites. How many
chicken wings per person
is a good question. At least
three average-sized wings apiece.
Meanwhile, I Continue to Gamble
River rocks, sculptures
of killer whales in the middle
of a fountain. Water means
freedom, re-circulated
in a pool filled with lucky pennies.
Saturday Matinees
Mary was always the boy.
I was sometimes a boy
sometimes a girl. We played
Rhett and Scarlet, Dracula,
the Dead End Kids. Mary taught me
how to kiss, in the back
of the balcony where our parents
wouldn’t see us. When I prayed
no one would turn around,
God listened. And we were smart
at kissing at exciting parts
and stopping when the action did.
Another Story About Getting Old
Another year I’ve subsisted
on small-time jobs, a large garden,
good friends and neighbors
who look out for each other
when pipes burst or engines stall,
when all manner of things
break or wear out.
A Tiny Story of a Forest Fire
I’m fortunate to be able
to work. My house burned
and everything in it. I’m 70,
living in a friend’s cabin
with my cat. Every day
I think of something and realize
I no longer have it.
Somebody's Coming-Out Story
One woman down our street
wore slacks and plaid shirts. Why
did I also scorn dresses? Nobody
told me until late in my 20s
and only peripherally—married women
began flirting with me, insisting
everything that happened
only happened when we were drinking.
Your Marriage I.Q.
There isn’t a sure test. Anyone
has her choice of taking marriage
as it comes or committing herself
to improvement. There are only
suggestions to help her see
her own actions with objectivity,
questions to help her pinpoint
what she wants to do to change.
Sporty
Compact and easy to handle,
a station wagon with 60 cubic feet
of loading space and the kind
of details any husband will
recognize from his sports car,
race-style wheels and rally stripes.
What's Essential?
Hardly enough money to eat,
gas the truck, smoke a little,
I look forward to selling my house,
moving south, spending time
with my sisters, enjoying this summer
before I leave, always having
a couple cold ones then a warm bed
then hot coffee in the morning.
Rural
Our town in the mountains
is almost 40 percent queer. I invite
other lesbians to drop by
for our festival in June or any time
anybody wants to join me
in a game of pool. I’m not a shark.
I’m in my 70s, a wise old lady
and perfect gentleman.
An Ode to Juice
Let’s mix over 75 beverages
with the help of frozen concentrates
of a range of juices—drinks
for picnics, relaxing, weddings,
pool parties, neighbors, church,
lunch, dinner, dessert. Let’s shape up
with juice—morning eye-opener,
afternoon thirst-quencher, evening appetizer,
midnight snack—instead of
eating something fattening.
More on Dreams
If she sees any doors,
open or closed, it’s a dream
of sex. If she dreams of a fence,
it’s control. Gardens show
her personality, and buildings
are her body, especially
if a house resembles her own.
Dream
The voice of someone who died
means the dreamer no longer
feels immortal. She can’t
ignore call waiting, the caller
who stutters like a clock
which ticks like her heart.
Side Effects
Standing too quickly, taking
too deep a breath—these
are punishments. Each hour
is fragile as a wheeze,
a lightheaded head. Heave
your body upon the opposite end
of the couch—we’ll watch TV.
A Little Plan
For starters, drink water
or caffeine-free, sugar-free soda.
Enough beer and booze.
Imagine how relaxing
to no longer want to kick ass
when you feel angry.
Sleepy
How tired I’ve been,
how tired you are—it’s time
for lunch, almost time
for bed. Let’s catch a late movie
and make kettle corn.
Dinner Parties?
A goblet is a planet, distinct
from random stardust
and airplanes. A bowl
is a diamond necklace, never
cubic zirconium. Unmarried,
we buy paper plates
when company comes.
After a Physical
One pill for my heart, another
for heartburn. Take with food—
fruits and vegetables. “Fiber”
and “exercise” underlined twice
in the nurse’s cheery handwriting.
Good Morning!
The puppet show in the window?
Our cat’s shadow. It’s 8:34
so she’s seeing the neighbors
off to work. The mainline south
is clogged. Today’s express lanes?
Underutilized and recommended.
A Couple Couplets
Dinners of chicken fingers
zapped in black plastic trays,
half-chapters of Woolf on tape
on the hurried drive home.
Welcome to NaPoWriMo 2007
Streaked white with primer,
shorts of many projects, pockets
torn by the business ends
of nails, screws, keys
to both padlocks on my shed.
Stars
Stars Have Nothing to Say
Their lights have already gone out.
I know it’s hard to figure
when they shine all the same
above our houses, when they shine
in such big constellations
as the Warner Brothers lot in 1942
with Bogart and Bergman in Casablanca.
Not Walking But Reading
Reading the Tao Te Ching
Walking would be better
for my health. Before
the worst happens, I’d best
lose weight, tie a strong knot
at the end of the string
of my kite. A kite’s not
made to fly on its wits alone.
The Orange Bowl Used to Have a Great Halftime Show
New Year
Remind me again what time
to tune in for the Orange Bowl—
before or after gray whales
reach Baja, California? A year
of snow means crops will grow
or so I hear from the Audubon gang
who gather to count bald eagles
who winter near our lake.
Thinking of Flowers
Sundays
Jack-in-the-pulpit always selects
the same text, evidence
of life after death: homes
for families of owls in the holes
of dead trees. Jack sets his watch
by the lilies of the valley
on Mother’s Day. He never runs late.
Holiday Candles?
On Warm Days or in Winter
Clean rooms always look bigger,
more so when the windows
are open and votive candles
are burning like tiny forest fires,
pine-scented and hot to the touch.
My Poor Ears
Bombs or Backfire
Quick shudder when each cylinder
of tree trunk hits the lawn
of the rental house, fir needles
drifting down in sharp clouds.
It hurts to breathe. I’m drinking
ice water, sorry for myself
for having a cold, watching
Irene watch the man in the tree
as she helps her old beagle
into the passenger seat.
A Tip for Busy Families
In Any Season
Easy side dishes make Tuesday
less ordinary. Broccoli with hollandaise,
risotto and mushrooms. Handmade
place cards encourage children
to behave like guests. Vivaldi
on CD while everyone toasts
with sparkling apple juice.
For Your Holiday Shopping Needs
Stocking Stuffers
For the lady who entertains,
a basket of card games
and a proper bottle—think
Kahlua and cream, extra delicious
because she makes it herself.
From House & Garden
Cozy
Life indoors is no metaphor.
We gaze out windows merely
in relief for our protection
from insects and inclement weather.
I remember tea and shortcake
in the tiny sitting room which you
have long since remodeled
for your family. A growing family
needs a large yet private space
to rest and watch TV.
From House Beautiful
Shrimp with White Wine Sauce
Make time for a meal that takes
minimum effort. Guests peel
their own shrimp. Just provide
scented towels. Offer chardonnay
or have Manhattans. The cherries
in Manhattans taste best
when stolen from a neighbor’s glass.
Weather, Neighbor
Warming Trend
Our frozen bird bath melted
this morning. Tomorrow
there’s an eighty percent chance
of rain. I’d better hurry
and plant the starts of heather
from our neighbor. Heartburn
gave him esophageal cancer
so he walks twice a day
as part of his therapy.
Oatmeal!
Late November
I’m buying boots on the internet
over breakfast (enriched oatmeal
for my heart). The neighbor cats
walk by like little Cossacks
in their winter fur. I click
in hopes of a sale on coats
but the sales are for brassieres
and acrylic sweaters. I order both.