Poetry 2014
All in the Family Estate Sale
The leftovers are strewn about the house
The children have taken everything of interest
An elegant life-size portrait of the lady of the house
Hangs in the unfinished basement
The price $158
Someone paid a handsome sum for that portrait once
Now it comes down to a hundred dollars
None of the children want a reminder
Of their beautiful mother in her prime
The children have taken everything of interest
An elegant life-size portrait of the lady of the house
Hangs in the unfinished basement
The price $158
Someone paid a handsome sum for that portrait once
Now it comes down to a hundred dollars
None of the children want a reminder
Of their beautiful mother in her prime
Exit
The mammogram said further studies needed
The timing all off right before the holidays
Didn’t want to alarm my loved ones and husband with that
shadow right before Christmas
Didn’t want to alarm
myself
They were persistent at the Women’s Center
They kept sending me letters
They weren’t going to leave me alone
Let me forget
They even sent me certified mail that I had to sign for
I tore up the letters or put them in the trash bin at the
Maverick
I put it off
Denial works for a while
Still it does strange things to your head contemplating
death
Even cancer
My mind drifted to different scenarios
Chemo
Radiation
Hair falling out
Body mutilated
So sick you almost die trying to save your life
How would it effect the kids?
How would it effect my husband?
I am not a gremlin for punishment
When I go I want it to be quick like a shot
Not slow and and agonizingly drawn out like a drought
leeching the last ounce of water from the parched earth
If the worse case scenario is true
I hope they will
forgive me if I decide to end it quick
We all have to go sometime and I choose my exit to be quick
Lethal injection please
Birth
of a Poet
He drew me in sitting there alone
Staring ahead in deep
contemplation at the Barnes and Noble
Faint scars dot his face
A reminder of the fragility of youth
His afro hair burnished with white curls,A reminder of the fragility of youth
tight as sausages
helmet his head
Three books sit on the table next to him
Langston Hughes
Emily Dickinson
Robert Frost
His own notebook with his writing and more blank pages in
front of him
He writes a passage in his book
Reads some Dickinson
Thinks
Writes again
Oblivious to those around him
He chooses to write in a public place
He wants to connect with humanity
Even if those others are strangers
We share the same world at the book store
My Drum
My drum was so different from other’s drums
Drum circles drew me but my drum had a different tone
It had a different timbre and sound
Even my family did not understand
I often felt like an orphan child
My drum was so different from other’s drums
I felt things others didn’t feel, saw things other’s didn’t
see
The voices that echoed through my mind
Had a different timbre and sound
Too Crazy- different and out in left field
Isolation felt like a lone leaf at sea
My drums were so different from other’s drums
Was I born with a call
Is that why my psychic gifts defy reason
My drum was so different from other’s drums
It had a different timbre and sound
