Memorial Thoughts

Lucy
things I remember about you
your love of small things
miniatures
and little toys
flowers, in your garden
on your clothes
the color pink
everywhere
bright red lipstick
lace and frilly stuff
on pillows, children’s clothes
tablecloths
the frillier and the fancier
the better for Lucy
gold spray paint
yes, you had it on
everything I pulled out
of the christmas ornaments
I inherited from you

your singing voice
your cutting wit
the click click click
as you prayed the rosary
your love of cats
painted ones, porcelain
wodden, on cards and
of course the paws of your real
pets on your belly
your sketches
and your cooking tips and recipes
your love of reading
and your ability to remember
every detail of long books like
Dr. Zhivago
your prudishness about sex
especially in contemporary movies
your quick tone of judgment for what
and whom you didn’t like
and yet your incredible ability
open your heart to difference
and to forgive
your passion for life
your love for all of your children
and your hopes for us too to be safe
your hard hard work
and sacrifice and generosity
your commitment to sharing
whatever wealth you had or could get
with others in need
our joy of travelling and adventure
your sloppy threads and needles from
sewing and crafts in every
inch of your home
the stains and the aromas from your cooking

it’s only the surface Lucy
of the things I remember
and the moments I miss
whether waiting for your
arroz to cook
or for you to browse and shop
at Wal-Mart or Pic-N-Save
or watching you write in your journal
or cry over a long ago hurt never healed

Just when I think I’ve forgotten you
I find something that reminds me of how
you tread your path on this earth
looking so elegant and so fine
how you played and prayed
and hoped and gave

Just when I think I’ve lost you forever
I look in the mirror
or examine what I’ve just done
or connected with a brother
or a sister and
I stop and think
“there she is - a little bit of
Lucy in me
and in those
she loved in her
own stubborn, simple
and stylish ways

The Lucy Blues

Soft music
embraces me
with a sad violin

Lucy loved the classics
she paid to educate us
so we could be like
a little orchestra of voices
and instruments

Time is passing

On Monday
Her own mother's birthday
and this October
six months
since Lucy
shot for the stars
and looked down
from the heavens
at her children
weeping at the funeral
and shuddering
silently at the
labored effort
it would take
to be close to each
other again
after this

I remember Lucy’s
voice to be more
melodious
than this music now
and sweet yet
very blue
sad
and longing


Soft music
and softer memories
tender
missing
of one who used
music to make tears
where the heart
could not be
so bold

Thoughts in Flight

That plane
in the distance
over the short hills
bordering Phoenix
for a second
looked like a tiny dragonfly
so small
fast
nervously in flight

Landing?
Taking off?

We are
and so is
my willingness

Taking off
the veil of boredom
and arrogance
shedding a few pounds
of neglect
resentment
against those
nasty old men
in their fretful beards

it’s time to fly

on winged prayer?

No
So much more than that
on the love
of friends
and queer sisters
painted brothers
and the hope of
and the magic of
brilliant ideas
as intricate and beautiful
on a white page
spread out
like a peacock
strutting its gorgeous
stuff

Create the space now
Jump into the void now

No more time to waste
Open that drawer of
secret letters
and windows shut
against the winds of change

Tell all
and dance for all
who will clap their hands
and cheer
and even for the ones
holding the tomatoes

Relax
it’s time to do it

Yes, “it”
your show
Your river of emotion
and words of wizened lessons
on the knees of a pilgrimage
of promise
for a life and
a self
you can call
your own.

Scraping the Bones of Shame

History and the Pope have
a teaching
one that makes me feel ashamed
about my sexuality
it is about women
and awareness
and power
it shapes
the identity of many people
turning their desire
into a reason for going to hell
I feel
lost and angry
when I think that
the messages about my gender
and my lesbian love
the messages I learned from
father, mother and nuns
are filled with judgment
and hurt
This book I want to finish
is a rage against the tall Canonical trees
under which these stupid people preach
The truth is
my sexuality
is tender
my body a sweet morsel
I love to chew on tall and short women
I am who I am
the past cannot hurt me now
the teaching may be in my bones
but with yoga
and God
and letting myself
feel the cat in my body
I am true to myself
and the culture of my own
special
different sex.

Up

Crick in my neck
from worrying
ragged sheets
as I nervously
await this dawn
wet inside
and out
floods taking away
innocent lives
and here I sit
in my privilege
thankful it’s not me
not this time

soothing tones
like a wand over
the clouds
I see the hands
of
an harmonious
music director
notes on a page
of my life

3 a.m.
something
about a class today
 4 a.m.
get up it’s too late
to just worry
get up and
brush off the dustballs of
boredom
and procrastination
those wonerful
dresses for my fears

Wake up girl
it’s another glorious day
to learn
to listen
to care
Sit up
hold your chin high
even as you cry
as you remember
a love lost
a buried friend
a life you miss

Appreciate the call
and the opportunity to
respond
life is so very precious
and so very small
a speck
a moment
stretched out
on a canvas of
experience
but not much more
than that

What we put into it
like
this moment
to sit
and take in the breeze
of a chilly morn
music
even the silence of birds
a pup’s whimper
a cat’s sleepy meow
a cozy corner
of a safe bed

How lucky you are
today
no waters knew high
in YOUR kitchen
no treasures
floating off
into rivers of yearning
no one to bury today
a respite from the mourn
and a beautiful
gentle reflection
on life’s treasures
from just
getting up
early
and out of
a restless bed

Blank

B L A N K 

Spaces
like the emptiness
between the thoughts
during meditation

Blank

Spaces
the whir of the blades
in the ceiling fan
fast paces
spaces
between the cars
speeding down Enfield

For now
let's go
10 miles per hour
not
Speed
like the white pills I took
to stay up late studying
during college
or the rapid pace of my working life
in New York City
Speeding with tightness of the schedule
of a young lawyer
who gave herself
no blank spaces

Speeding
that robbed me of my inheritance
Yes, a gene pool filled with longevity
people living over one hundred
people who enjoyed blank spaces
they filled with delicious
slow, mellow experiences
at less than 10 miles per hour

I once met a psychic who
said that in her meditation
two numbers kept coming up
6 and 7
I panicked
vowed never to see a psychic again

Everytime I saw the number I panicked
again
a plane flight 677
a short life 67?
my childhood at 6 or 7?
parts of it were sad

and some very bad

But it could also mean the lottery
67 million dollars

Hmmm.
Blank spaces
lots of zeros after 67
what the hell
it's my anxiety and
superstition
at the end of this
string of words
covering up the blank spaces.

Austin, TX 2014/2023

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.