Keepers

It’s a mother-knack I have

to spot what’s plain before my eyes:

your dreams, your schemes,

your stumbles, your tears,

all those small subterfuges.

Remember, I was a teen once, too.

I found those limitless beating-wing years

here in my locked-box heart.

 

 

If they were fishes…

You offer tiny taste

of riches, measured wish

for my success

I find it warm-sweet

as honey but cloying

thick in the throat

 

Allow me the pleasure

of choosing my own dish

I’ll take peace lightly

sunned, bee-blessed

clover on the side

 

Girl and Bat: A Poem for Two Voices*

Half-dreaming
against full moon
                                                               Dusky-nightmare
                                                               mission
Shadow soaring
over skylight
                                                               Mistaken
                                                               exploration!
Wing-swept wind
above my nose
                                                               Heart frantic-beating

                                    It’s from this

skimming smallish                          jerky largish

                                        creature

Get it                                                    Let me
                                            out!

I can’t see!                                          I’m afraid!

                        She’s more afraid of me?

*Performance note: I have adapted the format used by Paul Fleischman in his wonderful Joyful Noise. The poem can be read aloud by two readers at once, one taking the left-hand part, the other taking the right-hand part. The poem is read from top to bottom; lines at the same horizontal level are spoken simultaneously, and lines in the center column are spoken in unison.

James Bond was in it

Because you snapped that photo

on the Istanbul ferry (silver-suitcase

drug drop) and escaped blazing

death in a high-speed bullet-riddled

motorcycle chase (down dizzy mountain

roads); because I survived the night

of sofa-napping movies:

I’m in bed with a martini,

shaken, waiting.

 

August Istanbul

destined to melt

between mosque and market—

cobble-sore feet, sizzling

döner-grill heat

 

we drape treasure shops

breathless, swept tea-tide

of scarf hawkers, sea-glare

 

then from prayer call

to thunder crack, sky blacks—

brief deluge on fountain square

unwilts us, rejoicing like tulips

511 mph, WNW

 

The Bridgekeeper ist eine deutsche Frau;

my trip to London hinges

on the unanswerable question:

Do you work only in Germany?

I don’t work (I say), I dream

and released, fly

to the plane laden

with oceans

and centuries

of vision

escaping

 

Too Often, Fear

Our theory of reason shot
from the sky, assaulted
on the street, flattened,
drowned, mud-slimed

We demand pattern
in the random,
news-desk explanations
of humanity’s implosion

as if

this could keep us safe

We barricade minds
and hearts, lulled
by deafening

static
 

You seek flowers

Here, see: cupped in my hands

the last of them—spice-scented,

thousand-petaled, gold—

believe me

 

Friend, the world has gone

dust-dry, apostate

but I have a spring,

winter-heart hidden

 

These are the bloom

of all our life’s fruit,

watered, deep-rooted:

have them

 

Heidelberg with Children: Q.E.D.

Erste und immer: whining.

Cogs on the tourist trail tracking

up Schlangenweg’s steep cobbles—

90 degrees, sun, blackberried

dry-wall view over the Neckar

to the Schloss, medieval-gated

university town.

Parents these many years; ergo,

we take it with a grain of philosophy.

 

Today we drove to Heidelberg to hike the famous Philosophenweg (Philosopher’s Walk) via the Schlangenweg (Serpentine Walk). erste =first, immer = always, Schloss = castle

Siren Song No. 1

In the wake of Odysseus

tide-washed smooth skin

soft sleek hair unbound

a singer and you’ve known

the words. The horizon

is empty all rocks submerged

nothing for it but to sail

into her arms and never

question (a gift horse, regret).