Some Days

Some Days I Like to Arise


Before the motor of the world
has been turned on to slowly

crank out another day, in what
the French call The Blue Hour.

The hour on the cusp of
and just past the brink of.

An hour whose existence requires
its own name. I like to sit

at my kitchen counter in my good robe
and fuzzy slippers, staring out

at the back yard, letting my coffee
nudge me awake. This morning

is so still the giant fan leaves
of the palm trees dare not move.

The surface of the swimming pool
is an unspoiled mirror, reflecting

but a chink of the universe above,
but a chink of the infinite possibilities

exposed by the optimistic sun.

Apologies to a Fish

To my fish Trente: An apology for accidentally killing you


I am sorry that for my birthday
I wanted to by myself a fish.
I am sorry that I called my friend

Matt, the fish expert, and had him
meet me at the store on 37th. I am sorry
I rushed to the tanks like a child

at Christmas. I am sorry I loved
the electric blues of your body
and the magnificent fanning of your tail.

I am sorry I had the man bag you up
as I fretted over finding the perfect bowl.
I am sorry you had to ride the subway,

loud and unnerving, cooped up
in a brown paper bag. I am sorry I decided
to put you in the kitchen for convenience,

next to the whiny refridgerator. I am sorry
I ate sushi in front of you.
I am sorry for being too anxious

about feeding you, causing your water to cloud.
I am sorry for once putting you
in a shot glass as I changed the water.

I am sorry for changing your water again
too soon, shocking you to death. I am sorry
he had moved out a few months before.

I am sorry the void
was not yet filled. I am sorry
for trying to make you fill it.

New Poem

What I've Lived On The Past Three Days

Three big stalks of broccoli
from the organic food store,
a cup of white rice

from the convenience store.
The rumble of your voice
in my ear. Too much coffee.

Two yogurt cups.
Two classic rock ballads.
Two hours of live jazz.

Some chicken and cereal.
The hidden naughty behind your eyes,
and the smile you reserve

just for me. Not enough sleep.
Four glasses of 2% milk,
three over-ripe bananas,

a dozen store bought cookies.
Our inside joke, the scalding touch
of your hand on my lower back.

One good movie and popcorn.
One chapter of Dostoevsky.
One raging wildfire.

Another New Poem and Writing Challenge

Following in tattered sneakers behind a great poem by Maxine Kumin called "Credo":


Credo

I believe in magic. I believe in the beauty
of tiny rain drops as they land gently

in the pool, shimmering like diamonds.
I believe in the greyness of the clouds

and all it reprents as a manifestation
of evil in the world. I believe more

in the silver lining. I believe animals and plants
have souls. Our dog waited over a week

until we returned from a trip to die.
She looked at us, said goodbye, and was gone.

I believe in the healing power of my mother's
homemade turkey soup she makes once a year

after thankgiving, making enough to freeze
for six months. I believe a good heavy rain

cleans more than the air, cars, and sidewalks.
Between man and woman, I believe in electricity

that blinds. I believe that slugs have a purpose
for thier slow, slimy crawl across the earth.

I believe that whoever invented corsets
should be shot. I believe a mother's spit

can clean caked-on grease off a frying pan.
I believe Beethoven's deaf ears were a gift,

his fingers were not fingers, but magic. I believe
I have been here before. I beleive I never left.


The Challenge: Write your own Credo

New Poem

ok, just a fun little diddy...



To My First Husband

We were only eight, but we knew what sparks were.
You were just being a good neighbor,

coming to welcome us as we moved in.
I remember I liked your thick mop

of curly brown hair. You stayed for hours
helping me move boxes and unpack.

Within two days, we were playing house,
making my brother play the family dog,

and within a week, before all the pictures
were even hung, we were married. How pure

and right and effortless it all was
to our unformed juvinile minds. We had nothing

but instinct, untapped and raw.
But we knew what we wanted.

Since then, there have been few times
when I have been as sure about things

as I was that day, walking toward you
across the floor in shorts and a tee shirt,

pledging forever, accepting your plastic ring.