Between Visits to the Therapist...

Who is this tiny tender baby
that feels so alone in her own company
who is the person inside of this older 
woman's body who makes her cry
and walks from room to room 
looking for something 
or someone to love? 
I yelled at the landlord today
because I was upset about the
air conditioner
and I drove to the store without 
a plan or money
I finally came home
laid my head on a hard pillow
squeezed out a cry
and laughed at the idiocies
on the boob tube
I then saw myself in a Matisse painting
fleshy naked curves
and a wistful smile
as I fingered 
my fretting tossled hair
crying until the sunshine
left the windows
ushering in the boom of 
thunder and rainclouds 
to end a teary-eyed day.

The threat

My serenity is in a bowl of nickels
that got gambled away
one night in Lake Charles Louisiana
I sat like an idiot
at home hours away
probably eating popsicles
and watching old movies on TV
thinking you were at your computer
or talking to a client
instead the only authority call you
made was to the credit card company
to advance money
you didn't have and to take it to
a cheap venue
that had its own plans for sucking
your sense of dignity
completely dry.

My desire to have
a sweet kiss or maybe even
a roll in the hay flipped down
the felt table
along with the bouncing dice
pop! in one second of
unconsciousness
you just forgot
that if I found out how
immature you'd get in the need
to delude yourself one more time
at a casino
or at the click on the charge button
of  a gambling internet site
that I would get so mad
and so scared of your insensitivity
that I might this time
really mean it
pack my bags
and walk out the door.

Casino loss

My love for your didn't suffer
not too much
My hopes for you got
a bit trampled in the rush to deal
with the truth
My own expectations of your ability
to face reality are lying on a bed
in a seedy hospital unlikely
to recover without a lot of help
My desire to see you get better
overwhelms my trust
and patience in you
and that is my problem
I cannot
or have not
surrendered you
and your addiction
to something greater than us
And today I just
want a cigarrette
and I gave up smoking 20 years ago
and I want a beer
which I hate
and I want a bus ticket and a sleeping bag
and a whole different place on this
mental planet to lay
my aching heart
and throbbing head.

August 2005

Healing Series

Sunsets/Stolen Innocence/Jailbird Ghosties

The ocean's breeze

wraps me in moist heat

waves crashing

and memories bouncing

off the beach blanket

as I sit with a now fiftyish body

trying to remember the details

of my first steps 

along a sandy strip

of land in Southern California

a deep ocean blue

another setting sun as big 

as a beach ball

on the horizon

The startling voice of a worried

young mother

Mine

as she picked me up

crying 

because

the beckoning waves

in their constant froth and frolic

took me away 

from the family picnic

and to the edges of 

a sparkling brand new world. 

Corpus Christi, July 2005


Stolen Innocence

How many times did
you do it to her?

How did you get her to go
into the car?
What words did you use to
tell her you needed her
to sit there, still
to look the other way
as you sat in
broad Southern California
daylight
in the driveway of
her own home
together
but separated
by the rage she
dared not express

How many seconds or
minutes did it take
for you to unzip
your pants
and pull out
the thing that you
forced her to hold
in her small left hand
until you had had your way
with the little body
she would come to treat
like you treated it
as a thing that would serve and
do what others pleased
a spiritless unfeeling
part in a mechanical land
until you had soiled it
with your putrid essence
until you had
communicated through
the touching
and the pulling
and the raping
of her soul
that her body was not
hers to control
that her feelings were not
hers to express
that her spirit was not
hers to feel
that her confusion was
to become a dream
that you and others like you
would become the source
of a recurring nightmare
that even the daylight would
from then always frighten her
that she better not disobey
that she might as well do nothing
because there no use to saying
NO, anyway

How many times did you do it?
were there times when you were
almost caught?
how many times did you whisper
her name
and watch her stop like
a frightened little squirrel
pretend you were not there
or that she didn't hear her name
how did you figure out when
she could be caught
when she could no longer say no
and she went along
taking the only thing she had
left to fight with
a determined will never to forget
an inner voice that said
my only fight is pretending
this isn't so
I am in the dream world
the nether-world
and someday I will get away

How many times
did you do it
but even more important
is
Why?

Austin, TX 1993

Jailbird Ghosties

Less afraid

less angry

awake

and almost

barely

almost

bored

thinking

where are the ghosts

that like to haunt

in between the sheets

when daylight breaks

and my lids flutter

like a frightened bird’s wings

who came to pick a seed

and sensed in her whole being

a presence

and turned to fly away

The ghosts are

sleeping

or drugged by

the happy leaves

we put in yesterday’s meal

or they only

exist

when I want them to

but that also can’t be true

Steel blade

as long as an inchworm

cutting across a small

tender hand

one cut to a child’s

suffocating spirit

left her wondering

would anyone ever

hear her cry?

Today

the scar is but

a reminder of a long gone

past

a longing to find

that small hand

who is today a sweet

and friendly ghost

Dulce espantito

You are vieja

old

and you are young

you are in a purgatory

I jailed you in with

my confused and guilty heart

Forget the past

and the blood and the dirtiness

of his sex on your innocent

hand

Your wound is almost healed

come out and use that hand

to reclaim your life

I shall describe you

and love you

and clothe you

in glitter and stardust fragments

of playful thought

No need for fear

I won’t leave you in there again

Baby ghost of mine

I feel this morning

as a sweet breath of memory

on my cheek

Shriveling Ovaries

My restless head is thick with curl
the pen and I are joined in
a united front of apathy
Lethargic is my main attribute these days
the temperatures rise
but nothing spits forth from the pen
though flashes and beads of sweat do so often
I cluck and chuckle in the corners of my nest
like an infertile hen
I chuck
she ducks
what a pair we are
in our fifties
much too aware
that mean-o-pause sucks.

August, 2007
Austin, TX

Body Scan on the Cape

Enjoy today
No
right now
the contrasting rich brown
of a thickened hand
a right hand
my own hand
that has always resembled
that of a mother and a grandmother
color de café
color de amor
brown like the earth
against the pale green
of a warm shirt
and the faint moss against
this brick step
a place to sit
to reflect
to remember
to avoid the fight
and hold the light
so enjoy today
and let tomorrow be
and yesterday go
and watch the mist settling on the beach cove
and listen to the awakening gulls
looking for breakfast
and enduring the noisy
cars going by at a busy speed
and hear the thruuuummmm
of the church bells
beckoning all to worship
on this morning in the Cape
at the end of the month
of a very lovely May
at the beginning of the 31st day.

Provincetown, MA 2007.

Hot Pink

A hot pink rose
nestled in a pot
looked back at me
as I sat in a spot
perfect for holding
the beat of my heart
and perfect for
shifting my worrisome thought

A bit of grass beyond
the porch
made a blanket
of serenity
and called out for my own
equanimity

If I could
I'd take this picture of a
morning time
and carry it with me all through my mind
I'd pull it out now and then
in a desperate effort to relax
to unwind

A sweet little tune of spring time featherlings
leapt from branch to branch
announcing
the time for love
I noticed all this as my
empty side of the bed
entangled the warm sheets
with the muffled sounds
of my lover's snores.

September 2007
Provincetown

Doing Less

Is sitting
incense burning
candles bright
jammies still on
memories of past
loved ones
pass through my closed eyes
on a Venetian canal of remembrance
yearning
a pen with purple ink
holds open the door

Ah. I have run into my neighbor
with whom I am upset
she is breeding dogs in my home
I swallowed some feelings
others not
they got
vomited on to her '
pretty tight dress
I so wanted to kick her out that
very second
but how cruel
she has no job right now
and so what?
she is going to earn her rent
by breeding another set
of designer dogs?
in my home?
bitch!
Oh yeah,
doing less but
doing lots to myself
to be pissed off
as I sit in the stew of my burning
silence
So go ahead
sit in silence.
Bitch.

Spring 2010.

Sand Boxed

Sand on which pilgrims walked
ocean in which sailors die
The wind comes over my face
leaving a mark of memory
but no real visible trace of history
thoughts that fill my mind
of how I am from the Southern lands
but the original settlers were near
ancestral homelands
and these New England shores
could as easily have become
New Portugal or New Spain
and all the new borders are
as real as we make them
jumbled in with religion and war
so now sitting
on these white black and red pebbled sands
I feel left out
moments angry
that my history is not on these tourist book pages
not at all except for the history
I make as I walk about the sands
millions of tiny pebbles sifting
through my determined feet
a personal history
a little bitter
a little sweet.

Cape Cod, September 2007

MY early 1950's

My seven year old attitude 
loved the red plaid jumpers
with nice pockets for holding
a nickel, pennies, 
Necco wafers and a Tootsie roll or two
a freshly starched and ironed by me
white sleeveless shirt
and just as bright white oxfords 
for my dancing, running, climbing
skating and always so busy little feet.

Looking back on the 1950's 
I remember putting 
on dramatic plays 
in my own front yard 
a rickety porch for a stage
little brothers and sisters for 
an acting crew
a wide imagination
and stories from the Bible to reenact
for an hour or two
or better yet
a banana tree to turn into a jungle
for Tarzan and his girlfriend Jane 
and the meanest little brother 
becoming the scary gorilla
who climbed out from the broken 
TV screen 
twisting his face so much
as he chased us
and making everyone scream

Looking back on my 1950s
I remember hours and hours 
in the Southern California sunshine
running away from a real predator 
by climbing up the apricot tree
or hiding beneath the house's pier and beam 
being a little teacher for brothers and little sis
showing them how to skate 
or how to balance the handles for a ride 
on our one little bike

Cardboard boxes were make believe
homes and old blankets were for 
the downtown city or camping out tents
water and dirt made a fine masa
for pretend tortillas
mixed in with shredded grass for 
rice and red geranium leaves 
for the chili pepper sauce

Looking back on my 1950s
I miss dandelions on the unmown grass
big sisters taking us for a picnic
under the front yard trees
the best tuna sandwiches ever
and icy Kool Aid to drink that was the color green
the music of Pedro Infante played 
from big albums for the working adults
and Ray Charles or Elvis Presley
for the growing up girls in their teens

Looking back on my 1950's
I hear the voices of my big family
the people who were then my only friends
I find too short a time of being a carefree 
tomboy 
movie director teacher
playmate and sister
remembered by them as 
being loud and bossy
just a kid under 10
and the very best of me. 

Oak Park, Illinois
October 24, 2002. 

The Latina applicant's prayer to an old friend

Virgen querida
the one I prayed to when I was young
"Ruega por nosotros"
"Ruega por nosotros"
I am your Hija de Maria
I am also a Big Baby
Yo soy una niña y en este momento
necesito tu ayuda
Yes I need your help
I don't believe I know you anymore
except that I remember always 
the color sky blue associated
with you so to those 
blue heavens I direct these words 
para allá mando esta oración

Ruega por los académicos
Ruega por los inocentes
Ruega por el pendejo presidente
Ruega por mis jefes y jefas
que les guste el papelejo
que estoy preparando
Y por favor Ruega que me llegue 
suficiente 
inspiración para seguir con este trabajo
I feel too damn cynical and arrogant most of the time
I suspect that it is nothing but my fear
So please hear me
and if you can't get rid of this fear for me
then at least help me know that you are here
putting your arms around me
against the terrible winds of my personal dread. 

October 3, 2002

La Mañana Bonita

Looking out my window 
I could see my labrador Ricky's black snout
lifted in the air
nodding and appreciating the Central Texas 
summer air
Impatiens and petunias decorate the ground below
A grackel swoops by the cedar elm
loudly announcing his landing 
to bluejays and mockingbirds
sharing the bird feeder

I relish this moment for daily prayer
mindful sightseeing
inward vision
As I  look at the patio and empty chairs
lonely
No one to see the pecan tree's newly unleashed
green seeds that will harden and brown
releasing tasty morsels as the seasons 
change and leaves drop to the ground

A sunny morn in Austin 
trucks on Enfield with busy workers 
whiz down to the capitol and other state offices 
Ricky and Sonia bark in unison
like good sentries guarding the property

I sit near the cat
with whom I could get chatty
for she is part Siamese
and part Tabby

A morning's reflection to relish 
the day's events yet to come
to be welcomed with gratitude
or appreciation
that I have eyes to take in these simple beauties
and good ears to hear the opening of a new day
to enjoy the natural wonders
thankful for energy to pen these words
when a day ago I couldn't look at food

A snapshot of a summer morn
in Austin's early days of August
I preserve you here 
in this grateful poem.

August 6, 2002

Ahm 50

Overweight by 30 lbs at least
aching arm hands and something in my feet
shades of grey have overwhelmed my temple
each hair announcing itself like 
the palm trees on a California street
wrinkles that will deepen 
with smiles frowns
and furrows of worries 

With every swipe of the cosmetic puff
I stare in the mirror until I've had enough
putting the case down as I'm forced to 
welcome a new mole on my face 
shouting back at me 
"you're getting old 
you are looking like grandma and mom
putting on Constant Worry as an outfit just like the one
and addicted to the outlet stores just like other

The tires around your middle 
are generous amounts 
of cookies coffee ice cream
saved by talent and a sewing kit
for letting out yet another seam

50, greying
lumpy
bumpy
10 years to 60!
No use staying grumpy.
  

June 2002, Austin TX

Remembrance of a not so easy death

Fuck Eternity.
I watched a film about cancer and death
and one scholarly woman's dying breath
and in the beginning and the end 
there was no fear no worry to be seen
she was steely and smart
and in her teaching had a cold heart
but who wants to be remembered for 
being stern? 
Who wants to be dying alone with no one to hold
what's left of me in a final urn?
I want to live goddamit
and I will not if I get the goddamn cancer
and choose to die before my time 
filling my veins with poisoned experiments
that waste my skin, my cells 
my lungs and my heart
nothing but theories for diagnosis
and a celebrated research lab's experiment 
fuck it all from finish to start

That movie that story 
that doctor that nurse
that researcher 
goddamn them
and I say fuck to what is 
offered too often these days
for eliminating a cell that is reproducing
wildly and does not hurt
only grows more and beneath one's heart
may be hiding in the corners 
of a torn shirt

Oh goddammit
I more than hated the message 
of that story 

The treatment for cancer is not only
lunacy in white 
but also ceremoniously gory
research researcch research
and notes
and doctors who pace and ponder
down hallways in starched white coats
and perfectly painted walls
funded by perfectly profitable companies

Cancer
the tale of patients and patience
only to be told
that when it comes to another unknown cancer
there is nothing to contain it
and nowhere for one's spirit to go 
except to unfold into mystery
and chills and fire
and dying breath
and kisses of pain
and shit in the end
and all fluids gone
and poisoned like a dying polluted river
with treatments and false shamans
and rituals and indifference 
to those yearning for love
and in the last moments
for a caring mother's hug
as the patient says goodbye 
to all things on this earth that 
she loved so much
whether the song of a bird
the scent of a flower
the aroma of a well prepared soup
the vastness of an empty blue sky
above a tall man made taller
as he stands over the hospital bed
as she remembers the look in the eyes of one student
she loved so well 
and he in return
and that moment of brilliance 
in a connection of words and god's
grace in the ability to share
not just from mind to mind
but heart to heart
with warmth of hand
as she says
nothing more 
closing her eyes 
and forever parts. 

Oak Park, IL 
April 20, 2002

The Poet

She sat on the couch
and stared at the red painted toenails
and imagined her still
there in the body
as if alive and breathing
at the mother's feet
moments after her last breath
a Buddha in disguise

She pondered further
the silliness of wishing
away anything that
should cause a disturbance
in the force of life. 

Lancaster Calif, April 1998

Meditation Mix

Aroma of dried flowers
mixed in with scent 
from vanilla candle
mixed in with 
a jumble of emotion
mixed in with a 
longing
for love
mixed in with the 
notes from an oboe
and a flute
mixed in with streaming
warm tears
down my face 
for a mix with rumbles from stomach
as I sit on this 
transcendentalist's pillow 
propped up for the moment
and mixed in with all the 
strewn objects in this 
not so quiet room
as if tossed about
by a giant god 
playing with my life. 

Oak Park, IL 
April 3, 2002 

Incurable

The death sentence came down
on the same day I lost patience
with my friend's workplace 
political campaign
I cried the tears for my little friend
whose cancerous body
will burn upon her death
and I also cried from tears of frustration
because not enough love
in this world could mend 
my two friends' bitter fights with each other
and I wondered what role I am supposed
to play in this all 
as I turned the pages of the book 
and went back to work
full of sorrow
yet resolved to do my best
in releasing my dying friend
and furry little kitty
and letting go as well 
of the need to fix two people 
caught up in an
incurable political 
and yet quite personal 
conflict.

Chicago, April 10, 2000

White Boxing Gloves

I have watched that couple dancing 
in the ballroom of my mind
since January
It is now April
and I am cold
and feeling old
and tired of battles with no end

I wish I could kiss the cheek of 
each young colleague  
holding on too tight 
in the academic's dance of anger 
and transmit with that brush of lips
to sweet flesh burning with rage
the patience and compassion
I have for each of them
Their souls deep inside
surely must yearn for this

But NO, the fires of betrayal
and flaming towers of deceit
have come crashing upon their
stubborn heads
and no one rests at all when dreams 
of vicious gossip are what we 
take to bed.

The clock chimes 
it's a new part of the day
I want to put these fiery memories
and the hundreds of words in screaming 
e-mails of argumentation
into a cool metal box
stuff it in a drawer and head
for that thousand plus mile journey home

My tired body
and my exhausted soul know quite 
well that the wisdom of the old is built upon 
the crumbling waves of 
youth who run to us 
for succor and support

But here 
discouraged by my 
unwillingness to take sides
they avoid taking the different road
and careen backwards into 
an enduring petty war
on the institutional dance floor 
competing for the prize of 
most stubborn
unprofessional and uncouth. 

Presidential Pancakes

The men in suits 
on this newest rat race
for President
are being covered nonstop 
by corporate media
the same people 
who now want to shut down
the discourse of freedom on
the internet
yes they do
they pay lobbyists 
no wonder I can't stand
the newest social media networks
it's either all about
marketing or being marketed
You begin to get cynical at my age
and focus instead on how
good the pancakes 
with butter were this morning. 

February 2012

In the Pit

Bitterness drenched my pajama clad body
through the night
No, it ran through
my veins and oozed from my pores
as I slept
coursing up and down 
the length of my restless leg syndrome
concocting nightmares for my REM hours of
tortured sleep
where I confronted a witch with a suit
and her starched black hair
a lesbian defrocked nun 
who just might be threatened by me
I'm like the hunted Dorothy
dreamily searching for a pair of 
cinnamon red shoes
the symbol of my youth
and naive enthusiasm and hope
Now I spit out the bile of reality
and taste an acid deception
from them
the hiring committee
from me
the reluctant candidate
pondering the question
where do I go from here? 

I trek a wilderness of constantly dashed hopes
seeking protection from the law's ugliest creation
its teachers and interpreter puppets and 
power hungry souls
I cannot escape the shining light of 
awareness that my past will continue to haunt me
and set traps of delusion
in the earthen floor

Oh Madre Tierra 
swallow me up 
and the feelings of this 
job hunting despair. 

Chicago, March 2000 (I didn't get the job). 

That First Love

I remember when you sat
at the desk at 5am or so
and I half asleep looked over
at the furiousness of your pace
with pen in hand
writing down every feeling thought image
desire and dream that came
rushing gushing out from the
deep waters of your soul
up to your brain heart and then
through your poet's hands
and I was awakened by that spirit
that could not be contained
that I did not appreciate
and looked upon with disdain
and now thirty years later or so
I reach out to your memory
and wonder where you are
and what happened to that brilliant
star in the sky that I knew your mind to be
and I wonder if you are even still alive
and if you even remember me
and if you ever forgave me
for joining hands with you on a path
we were destined not to complete
and for loving you ever so deeply
so richly and then so
cruelly harshly
letting you go.

February 2000
Chicago

Breakfast at the Courtyard

The timer beeped loudly
as she ran out the serving kitchen
light brown ponytail
the color of the waffles I ordered
as a dishtowel on her arm
moves
swinging and swishing
against her narrow hips
a motion of legs and arms
for a marathon runner
but here at work
only in motion alongside
thick well tread shoes
marking her even path
the wearing down of another morning
for this waitress whose smile
is just part of the task
to ensure a bit of a tip
for the thinly dimed labor
of the Missouri working class.

June 2007 on the way to Austin

Born in California

A cluster of cacti rest on
this dew laden porch
atop Oakland hills
toppling the ocean's edge

San Francisco and stories
of Grandpa's youthful
adventure to these waters
first vistas on my mind
wondering about the moment
he decided to marry
to always talk about and remember
California

words passed on to a wife
and then to a son
who one day left a Mexican village
as a young man
as other
migrants do
and in time brought the widow
and the sister who another day
met and married my father
and had me in California.

Empty Head

Empty head got out of bed
so grumpy she 
could not see
She grumbled  reaching
for support 
bumping into the cat
on the way for a pee

The anticipated interview  
canopied the bed
words tossed about
and missing the empty head
rolling about like unpolished rocks
gathered for grinding 
in a gem artist's shed

What is the purpose of my life?
said empty head
Nothing 
replied the emptiest corner
of her addled brain
Nothing is right
and Nothing is wrong 
Only nightmares
make this night so long 

Cover the dread
and snuggle in the sheets
awaken later with a normal
bedhead 
refreshed m'dear 
even if a bit unsteady 
for suiting up and hitting the streets.  

The Nuts In My Life

For I am the product of the food I eat

First peanut butter on toast
with a bit of berry jam
is yummy no one can question
when I eat you I have excellent 
digestion

Almond butter was often
a wonderful treat
until I took an allergy test
and was seriously advised 
these nuts-- do not overeat!

Brazil nuts from South America
hard and substantial
and for the feeling of a whole meal
just gobble a handful

Tan brown bumpy walnuts 

native to the Southern parts

of western California

bring back memories
of cracking them
together with holiday chestnuts
great for the omelette
a natural antihistamine
to cure a stuffy nose
Why walnuts you are so resourceful
I do say I love you so...

Ahhh the little round hazelnut
when you are mixed 
with a bit of chocolate
you turn the red strawberry
into sheer magic and merry...

And then Southern pecan
Dearest pecans 
pop pop popping as you hit the ground
and shooting roots up 
for a tree here there and everywhere
because in Austin this 
gracious tree does abound
so lovely for a pecan pie
or even for a kale garlic summer stir fry

Feeling nutty? 
feeling crazy?
if not allergic to them
gather all the nuts you can find
and just chop sprinkle crunch 
or even bake them.