now

we are

            tilted

toward winter

The polluted waterways
And failing health system
The way we write off women as crazy
And old people as a problem
It’s got me so sick and sad today
The longest day of the year

Normally I’d sage and bask in the sun
Pray to the four directions 
Fill my heart with recitations of appreciation
Paint or write or sing or dance
But today just feels like the longest day of the year

Please let there be some hope
The light is big enough today
But in our hearts it is a black night
Where are my witchy women
Where are the caretakers
Where is love today

in my altar boy youth
i made up sins for Confession
so at least i could tell the truth
about lying

in college I gave up 
rooting for the St. Louis Cardinals 
and my Catholicism on the same day,
then i stopped shaving 
and getting haircuts

these days when i go to church
for funerals and weddings 
i try to follow the rituals
and take Communion,
my relatives look at me sideways

i don’t know what place
the Cardinals are in this year
but I am hoping that the new pope
will allow women priests

my grandson asks if I’m a hippie
I say:  You might say that. Have you
been studying the 60’s in history class?
It was all about peace and love.
We hoped for less of a police state
and for more of a state of grace.  

now that old age covers my skin
with warts and wrinkles and moles 
I realize my outer self is a reflection
of my inner self, I have yet to make
a good act of contrition

The power of one.
May your words be the magnet
that pulls right from wrong.

A black and white kitty,
on whom no one had pity,
was dropped off
at a nearby state park.

Then,
it met a small skunk
with sprayer defunct,
But, don’t worry…
they’re both happy as larks.

Because…
the kitty climbs trees
to sniff of the breeze
and to pinpoint
their upcoming dinner.

Soon,
the skunk moves in closer
like an illegal poacher,
and the two would-be losers
become winners.

        Cool walk from the garage

        I waited until after  6 PM to
        walk to the garage,
        It was after 9 when
        I started back to the house slowly.
——–
        The heat and humidity after 2
        reminded me of the haze
        on Mikinos, when all the men,
        when everything  stopped for Siesta.  
——–
        The cool, night brought back
        images of those  five,
        maybe six hours I sat alone
        in a dock chair.
——-
        It felt like the same cool track
        I took toward the sound of a live
        band beyond the restaurant I had gone
        to for food–where I was the only one there.

        The waiter took my order, speaking good 
        English  and told me that all the men
        had come out to party,
        but their women had to stay home.

        He said there would be food
        aplenty, and many women
        from the cruise ship to party
        and the women at home

        would ask no questions.

Destined
to remember
the sun will
still set on the
longest day
of the year

it’s basically a

hate crime to refuse to hand

us the microphone

Time/ how the ticking of a clock can only exist right now/ broken clocks/ the stop of such permanence/ the fragility of time/ the fragility of loving him/ the fragility of him loving me/ the tick of the clock between us/ how quickly the sun rises/ how quickly it sets into darkness/ how yesterday slips from my memory/ how quickly my touch becomes his/ how quickly his fingertips vanish/ the silence after a belly-aching laugh/ when I realize how rare that kind of joy is/ and how I always forget to cherish it/ watching the people I love/ realizing how much I’m going to miss them/ forgetting to miss them while they’re still here/ watching the people I love disappear from my life/ watching the people I love die/ hearing a recording of my parents’ voices/ and not recognizing their laughs/ being the last one to say goodbye/ longing/ how I always need more/ how I can touch what I want/ but never hold it the way I need to/ never knowing what I truly want/ never knowing if I’m the one standing in my own way/ freedom/ the weight of having to choose it/ being trapped/ the smothering comfortability of it/ when a word is stuck on the tip of my tongue/ but my mind doesn’t know how to shape it/ how that must be what growing older feels like/ forgetting/ how it comes so easily and stays so long/ being the first to remember/ and the last to forget

On a cold morning
barely-risen sun washed
dense fog into moonstone
blues deep and frost
I met a dormant moth
with wings the pattern
of the branch I sensed
a wind I could not feel
so slightly the wing stirred