Posts for June 20, 2017 (page 5)

Isobel Dottle
is the perfect name
for a novel’s protagonist’s 
neighbor across the street
particularly a British novel
set in the Cotswalds
in the 1930s
or any decade really
maybe 1990s is best
particularly if there is a piano involved
because yes okay I admit it I did not 
make the name up
she was my piano teacher
and even in seventh grade I wanted
to compose a novel about her
quirks. She is dead now.
She did not like to hear 
my fingernails tapping while I played
and told me to cut them shorter
she told me I held my novel too close
to my face while I waited
for my brother to finish his lesson
she had cats, oh the cats, with a name
like Dottle and so many cats,
and this, this I remember: she requested
a postcard from our trip abroad but noted
dissatisfiedly the local postmark,
accusing us of bringing it home to mail
here, which we did, of course,
being in junior high.

Time is running out .                                   
                       I am not an hourglass .
I don’t turn over and the sand stays in.
                   I am like a sponge that soaks
until drenched,                                  too sodden
to sop              I drip              excess                         unless                         squeezed.
Watch closely.        See knowledge          drain dribble           flush               out       like           water through a sieve      porous           holy?               holey?
Globules of   largess block openings,    retention of   unnecessary           material                  
clog         my        arteries.
Time                    is                      running                           out.        

She’s writing a long letter
near a skinny window  

paragraphs to a man
she no longer believes  

Her hands shake, she wants
to be direct, but kind  

Sipping sherry stains her lips
her robe a blue puddle  

Earth’s heated spin hums her organs
slow visible fiddle play comes upstairs                            

~ Found poem composed/modified from words in Patricia Fargnoli’s poem “Easter Morning”

Each drop a cool kiss
on the brow of Black-eyed Susans.
Ponding rivulets sink to roots’
waiting mouths.  

Rain reminds of kinder truths:
there’s something more than all of this
and thou art that
too.

You will have it for decades, so add your initials.
Roll members around the lawn.
They are sturdy and can take it.
Belt the town on bikes.
Fill your duffle.
Give a shitkin!
Manage resources.
Be pleased with caps.
Layer in winter.
Deal with your food.
Care for the Land.
Develop into someone
who can replace three generations of farmers.

One morning I awoke to John Prine
singing this song inside my head.
Since he’s never heard it, I imagine
that’s the only place it ever gets played.

(Guitar intro, slow waltz time)

She saw me dancin’
with a cute little blonde,
I told her it was my cousin.
But I knew that she knew
and she knew that I knew
that both of us knew
that it wasn’.

 Getting hair clipped and colored takes precedence   over downtown, live music and livening up ourselves before the summer solstice prevails I’m not deterred to go it alone, although ‘alone’ is not  ‘how I roll’ anymore,  sometimes you gotta take risks to reap rewards and seeing the Big Maracus is the Latin shuffle, booty shakin’ people gazing reward I knew what I was going to do early on in the day and I took adequate actions: got sunglasses fixed so I’d have my eyes,  got a sixer so I could avoid the beer line and got a twnety just in case I roll out from the house at 4:30 over the bellowing  howls from my dog- plenty of time to overcome unforeseen delays along the way. First unscheduled stop on Owsley still within earshot of whining pup, trouble wallet dropped, out popped shade lens , joystick knob lost and foot                                   flying free pinned beneath me, HEY BEAUTIFUL PASSERBY, Delilah to the rescue! Next stop, Wilson’s Grocery Store for a late lunch – a Zero candy bar, my fav Then it’s on to bus stop, without spotting a clock but no matter I’ve got no timeframe, no deadline, all I have is time to be alive.  The bus ride is bumpy but brief, I tell the driver to let me off at Thursday Night Live, a straight shot into downtown.  He knows the spot, lets the ramp down, unbuckles me and bids me farewell, without taking my fare.  THANK YOU! but before he’s rid of me I have trouble getting down the ramp, a patron helps steer me straight.  It’s crowded but I don’t mind, people will   move if you’re patient or if you just give them a little nudge but I only do this when my patience runs out (it rarely does: I have a newfound level of patience, I have to!) i make my way through the crowd and around the stage inch by inch, completely circling the bandstand to my favorite spot.  I crack open one beer then another, I sip and watch the spectators surreptitiously as they bounce and shake, twist and stomp, boogie and sway.  When the music ends my journey just begins.

We all have our moments
when we embarrass ourselves 
with our temper, or irrational arguments.
The little guy went through this 
in a loud and rude way in the park today,
when it was time to leave.
I was on the verge of
showing my worst side as well.

Then tonight–bedtime–the most
stressful time of day for everyone;  
I had just gotten him
out of the shower, and he was
standing naked at the top of the stairs
as the front door opened.
I quickly wrapped him in a towel.

Mom and her dinner friends looked up,
laughed, and said hello.
Mom took the baby downstairs. 
She introduced her friends to us
from the bottom landing,  holding the little girl in PJs.

The little guy lost no time in introducing his little sister. 
“This is my friend G—–.”  They laughed and said Hi.
With all seriousness, he continued.  “And this is
my other friend,  Grandma Mary.”

They all laughed, 
but I was so proud of him!
I immediately looked into his scrubbed face,
wild, wet hair and open brown eyes, and 
told him what a beautiful introduction that was.
It was perfect!

He’s like a changeling with
incomprehensible emotional meltdowns, 
then the most sensitive,  hilarious jokes 
that play off something we teased about last week.
This boy will grow into a well-mannered, thoughtful adult. 
Either that,  or a bad-tempered lout with childish tendencies. 
The jury’s still out.