Tag Archives: poem

March Haiku

As I was driving back from an appointment yesterday, I saw something which made me write this haiku:

Small clumps of late snow
fall from outstretched tree branches
like drifting petals.

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Runoff (a poem)

Today’s weather makes it possible for me to post this poem from a few years past because it looks forward to spring.

 

Runoff

Last snowcover

outside my window,

once mounded smooth

as new-spun meringue

and clean as a carton

of unscooped ice cream,

now grainy and brittle

and friable beneath my feet.

It’s melting, melting.

The water flows across

still-hard ground,

and escapes into city sewers,

but in my mind,

I hear the rush of rivers

splashing, foaming,

racing me toward springdom.

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The Long Shadow

Once, in a barren strip of land
between highway and train tracks,
a groundhog’s head
popped up from his hole
to survey his rodent kingdom.
He caught my eye as I waited there
for the stoplight to turn green.
Twenty years on, I rarely pass
that still-empty patch of dusty ground
without recalling his grizzled face,
wondering how long he survived
in such a desolate place,
and wishing I could have told him
he left tracks upon my soul.

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Tuesday (a poem)

I was looking through a poetry file for something else this morning when I came across this: a poem I wrote during the early days of dating the man I would eventually marry. I’d forgotten about this one. Now, after having been married to Michael for nearly 24 years, I can barely remember ever feeling so insecure about our relationship. For some reason, this sweet relic of our past really cheered me up.

Tuesday

When I come back from lunch
(where I’ve smiled and talked of you)
I rest my hand upon the telephone
wondering, as I do each week,
if librarians ever take flirtatious phone calls.
Or would it make you blush before an ancient
white-haired woman who needs your help deciding
between Jane Eyre and Ben Hur?
By Tuesday I no longer feel
your warming arms around me—
four more days to crawl through
before you hold me once again.
I’d only have to call you,
hear your voice across the wire,
for the memory of your kisses to return,
but I will not dial
for fear of a white-hair woman.

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Time Shift

Wrote my first poem of 2014 this morning:

Time Shift

Since the moment I learned that
an enemy agent had infiltrated my breast
and would need to be dislodged
with an assassin’s knife,
my life has been filled with
strategy sessions and
commando campaigns
controlled by specialized generals,
rather than myself.
Accustomed as I am
to storing my hours in a measuring cup
and doling them out meticulously
according to the red lines on the side,
I now see my days run away from me
like carelessly spilled water
escaping through the nearest crack.

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