Patchwork Prose and Verse
folks raise eyebrows at
kids with imaginary friends
holding full conversations
in complete worlds they
never see
but oh,
that kid with the
imaginary friend?
yeah, that one’ll be
a writer, and and that’s
the muse setting the
stage for all the stories
all the poems
all the books
all these memories
this journey that
fuels the pen
it occurred to me
in the shower
this morning that
the work shoes
I just bought
may be the last ones
I’ll need for my career ~
these last-hurrah celebration shoes:
Life Stride flats with
Velocity 2.0 footbeds
in navy and taupe
may get me through my
remaining years
taking me straight into
the retirement years of
my soul spirit
classic hippie Birkenstocks
for all the frayed denim
and fringed shawl
days ahead
just not today,
not yet.
somebody woke up
grumbling, growling
snarling over space
scrapping, snapping,
licked my sleeping face
tussling, pulling, beckoned
me to play
early morning
Schnoodles
greet the day
heightened awareness
sharpened observations of
places not traveled
I notice details ~
patterns on tiled floor lobbies,
artwork on bed walls
like something ignites
the flames of living in me
I don’t have at home
getting a grip on
her future starts with
burning the Christmas tree
boxes one decade now in
her attic
buying enough hummingbird
nectar to last through October
and watering the string of pearls
cascading from the porch table
getting a grip is festooned with
saying goodbyes to too much
long held hostage from living
new lives in better spaces
like all those music boxes
of childhood and sad, stained
table linens frayed with holes ~
gaps in the timelines of
lineage like broken branches
on that cross-stitched tree
of names and thread strands
of who goes where and how
pre-affair, divorce, remarriage,
cousins once-removed now
fully removed and never coming
back because they did the
same thing with their goodbyes ~
they burned the Christmas tree
boxes and all that’s left is
the cooling ash of
what once was
before their birds
left the nest for the skies
sheers in the window
sun streaked shadows
morning slants
ever-changing
golden eggshell glimmers
radiant shimmers
streaming in
to greet the day
in slow-paced
weekend rays
I savor this
tempting taste
I got home with one
size 7 shoe, one size 9
it was all so odd.
four ticks already
from taking down the fenceposts
have me wondering
whether we should be the ones
taking the dogs’ flea/tick pills
What’s Next?
I’ve decided
that when I retire
I should go to
work for Caterpillar
pulling up
fence posts
dragging fences
lifting trash into
dumpsters
raising fig pickers
to the tip tops
of trees
retire from
education to
push the buttons,
turn the wheels,
steer the tires,
raise the levers of
heavy machinery
twenty five years ago
we smiled at family pictures
taken that same day
with all the colorful striped
fish in the Gulf of Mexico
swimming between the lens
and our smiling eyes inside
our masks after our
cruise ship dinner
fish not there to make the
water look like a happy place
teeming with adventure
but to eat of the photographer’s
fish food, tiny dollar signs
not evident in the photos
which is why I told a friend
in Massachussets when we
were in the Uber going whale
watching that the only reason
they could guarantee a
whale sighting was because
they feed them
and her expression said
it made sense to her
but not the Uber driver
who snapped back
that’s absurd!
we do NOT feed our whales,
the ocean does!
but I kept it all
stirred up from the
back seat
asking whether
the tour boat sold photos
and t-shirts and mugs,
nodding with
suspicious raised
eyebrows at his retorts
to these whale feedings
before his bombshell
revelation question~
and you two ladies are whale
watching in those clothes?
(it was true: we were
wearing thin long-sleeved
t-shirts, one layer only,
having forgotten about
the fierce ocean winds
of late October)
where are your jackets?
you’ll freeze
to which I replied
heck, no, sir! we won’t freeze
we plan to buy
the souvenir jackets
when we buy our bag of
whale food
in the adventure shop
my friend could hardly
contain her laughter
and we exploded with
belly-burning snortles
when we stepped
out of the car,
rushing in to buy
thick hoodies and sunglasses
at the ticket pick-up
but we knew he’d won
with a quick phone call to
the tour boat company
when the boat narrator
announced she’d heard
that there are people
who mistakenly believe
that the boats
feed the whales
(glancing in our
direction, everyone
else giggling and
exchanging raised
eyebrow eyerolls)
before explaining
the truth
Common Threads 