poetry

the library, during the pandemic, post-fire

the library, in the pandemic, post-fire

at the library:
free masks in lunch bags
a sign that says
offer a message of hope
(or something like that)
along with cut-out hearts,
markers, paperclips,
and a string strung with
love and good wishes.

all the books we’re looking for are here.
all 3 Cedar wants are in the Teen section.
on our way up I ask
if he’s been in there before.

once, when Owen was registering
for the Summer Reading Program

he says.
this, then, is a rite of passage.

we enter and it turns out
he knows just about all the kids at the computers.
yes, this is his zone now.

it’s not like the old days –
we hustle in and out
the water fountains are padlocked
the librarians are behind sneeze guards
and there are no more golf pencils and slips of paper
to jot down Dewey Decimals.

but it is like the old days, too –
a warm place where we take care of one another
and believe anything is possible.
the first heart on the line reads
thank you for welcoming us in
and giving us somewhere to be

(or something like that).
it’s still a home away from home,
which is especially welcome
when your home is no more.

poetry

introvert curb-appeal

introvert curb-appeal

she wants to see out
but not let them see in
a one-way yard
like aviator glasses
or monitored mirrors

she wants community
and to be left to her own devices
to be missed
and to slip through the scene
unseen

she tells them
cut the shrub blocking the window
then thinks better of it
when the job’s half done

she wants to notice
unnoticed
track
without leaving her own prints

she’s like Janus or Gemini
of two opposing minds
hungry for connection
and sated on her own

poetry

yard plans

yard plans

retreat
sanctuary
haven

room for play
reflection
entertaining

welcoming to people
wildlife
plants

types of space:
eating
playing
reading
soaking

things to accommodate:
children
chickens
birds
extended family

things to maximize:
shade
peace
privacy
beauty
desire to be outdoors

inspiration:
Giverny
Japanese gardens
Lauren Springer Ogden
Nepenthe
Kimmerjae
David Austin
Michal Graber

wish list:
ofuro
chicken coop/run
waterfall/fountain
stream
pond
dining shelter
outdoor shower
nooks
shade

as we grow older
we grow rooted
let us make a place
we desire to stay

poetry

McKinley Park Sit Spot

McKinley Park Sit Spot

beneath a net of emerald leaves
riding a raft of restless wind
back to earth
brow to sky
I’m home

poetry

crisp trim

crisp trim

usually I’m not one
for crisp edges
clear boundaries
things being one-or-the-other

yet I find
painting baseboards
surprisingly satisfying

I decide and dictate
you will be wall
you floor
you trim

now I make sharp lines
strict delineations
keep things separated
for once

poetry

touch-up painting

touch-up painting

it’s so easy
to let the years go by
without registering
the little scuffs and dings
the chinks in the smooth clean surfaces
carelessness’s scars

it doesn’t take long
to bring attention and a clean brush
to see and smooth the rough patches
to touch the scarred bits with
soft gentle strokes
until the wall glows whole again
and we know the joy
of putting things right

poetry

homecoming

homecoming

our house surrendered
we resume possession
of our regular lives
still irregular
as our neighbors friends family
stand at a distance
out on the sidewalk
masked and awkward
but it is still something
to see their bodies
through our open door
still comforting
to breathe our old house’s
singular smell –
antique timber, dust, sunshine, memory
as the day drifts down
the house welcomes us
in its own way
casting rainbows on the wall
from stained glass prisms
granting us a place to be at ease
at home again

poetry

Where I’m From

This poem uses a format George Ella Lyon has invited others to borrow to tell the story of where they are from.

Where I’m From

I am from newsprint
from Deep Woods Off! and Coppertone
three Rust Belt houses
moving up and down the social ladder
(the smell of the neighbor’s
lily-of-the-valley in the spring)
I am from creek shale and grapevine
twined into forts and swings
I’m from homemade applesauce
and too much booze
from Thomas Francis Browns
and William Joseph Schaafs
I’m from the secret-keepers
and the never-satisfieds
from the optimism of Good morning, morning glory!
and the poverty of That’s from hunger
I’m from Lenten incense, shamrock Trinities
I’m from Erie and Éire
from lake perch and cinnakuka
from the shot-up tail
of the Luck of the Irish B-17
that spared by German grandfather
and humid summers at the Shore
when Grandy showed me Saturn’s rings
the long wood shelves above my dad’s childhood desk
held the spiral-bound scrapbooks
with my grandfather’s cases and speeches
yellowed and tearing
charisma my father would never match
I am from immigrant industry
all of us broken
and heartsick for land

poetry

casting about

casting about

how can one endure
house arrest
without knitting gear?

poetry

thank you, Maker Table Makers

thank you, Maker Table Makers

my children make me a picture
of what’s worth protecting
but they miss themselves

moments later there they are
spitting with the effort
required to stay afloat

here I will build
a wall of light around them
a fiery band of love
that they can always call home:

whatever they do is enough
whoever they are, they’re loved