Saturday, August 27, 2011


I am---
The recycled rusty bit mounted on a post as art
An eagle soaring with sunlight framing each feather in my wings
An owl calling "who?" in the night. Who will listen?
Twenty years old in the skin of an elephant
The whoa Nellie that my mom rode
A world globe, sepia with age, calling out places that no longer exist
Advisor, hand holder, séance maven in a paisley turban
The dots in a paragraph precisely aligned
Curly spiced French fries
The woman in the box cut in half
A toddler using my security blanket as a cape to fly

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Desert Rain


Please, sleep, not tonight.
Music of desert rain thrills my soul.
Can't miss a beat of it.
Deep humming waterfall pounds
The roof drum over my bed and
Counterpoint staccato needles of raindrops
Rise and fall with the rhythm of rain.

No lying in bed.
Wonder pulls me to spattered windows.
Glimpses of impatient waterfall on patio steps.
Mountains hidden behind a curtain of rain
Tame craggy desert into Kansas flatland.
Valley lights twinkle through thick clouds of mist.
Puddles call for wet dashes and dips of bare toes.

Abed, drifting to sleep.
Desert earth opens wide to the rain,
"Yes, I've waited for you so long."
Red plum tree, drooping in October chill, moans,
"Too late, baby. But I'll take your wetness to live."
Cacti, drought slack, plump up, proud of their spikes.
A wet dream, relief comes to dry stony ground.