Chasing the blues away

Watch the moon roll
down the hill
of sleepy moles
then watch it roll
into the black and silent lake.
Now watch my heart bewitched forget
the countless insults of the day
now watch the moon
lead them all away.

Ode to my thoughts at midnight

 

Stop this swirling!

Don't cook fears so burning hot

if you want them gone by dawn.

And what a waste of calories!

Thinking should have a noble purpose.

Lock out whatever chills your spine, 

whatever kicks you in the heart--

anything too bold for this late hour.

You know tomorrow they all might go

--and gladly and better so!

Poor agitated mind, stay in the mild zone.

End the day with ease.

Let precious waking time feel not so brief.

Cook thoughts of pleasure and strength.

Please.

For long life's sake.

Selfie

If only I could live wide awake, 

every moment clear between these

ears and eyes.

So time would quiet down, 

so it would move slowly on hands and knees. 

If tasks, news, many silly things

did not hold me in a drowsy  trance

where time zip-lines away

so it is always the  past.

 

How to keep this mind tuned 

to the shapes of clouds, 

to the skunks that nibble from the cat’s bowl, 

the struggling camilla, 

chimes I hung above it

and after read a poem out loud 

about why there’s nothing to be sad about 

then write another about the worm

glistening on the deck 

and mention all the things I'm grateful for

and so turn time into my own loving friend 

 rather than this foe

who steals all I love. 

Still going strong

As long as I can remember, I am afraid of the night. 
Most kids outgrow it. My parents predicted I would, too. 
But I enter my teen years more afraid than ever. 
That doesn't stop me from working as a babysitter.  
I arrive at my clients' homes after dinner.
Once I tuck the babies into bed, I turn on the TV 
and poke around the fridge 
for a snack. I stretch out on the sofa. 
Gradually, the room darkens.
I grow uneasy, more aware of being alone, 
of odd sounds. 
Was that the water heater?  
A cat at the back door? 
I become less sure. 
Time to turn on the light in every room. 
Turn off the TV and listen harder. 
I check the locks on the windows and doors.
Open closets, kneel down to see under bedskirts.
Peer into the babies' beds, behind curtains through windows.
Odd shadows flicker. 
I consider which household objects I will use in my defense. 
I wonder if the intruder is a neighbor or a serial killer or even a human. 
I sit beside the telephone visualizing the run for my life.
How I will fling open the front door and run 
across the wide street, the evil thing in pursuit, 
and pound on a door and scream for help. 
With an escape decided, I stare at the clock, 
my body in a knot, until at last they return. 
I greet them with a big smile, even laughter, 
express affection, praise for their babies, their comfortable homes, 
all that gushing brought on by relief in having survived. 
Years later I marry a musician. 
It is impossible to stay in the house by myself after dark 
so on nights he works, I pack a book, flashlight, a pager, 
and a blanket and move to my car, which I keep 
in our driveway just for this purpose. 
I lock the doors, leave the windows open just a crack, push back the seat, 
and read by flashlight until overcome by sleep. 
Now I'm a grandmother. 
When I am alone at home after dark, 
I begin my ritual. 
I check the doors and windows more than once, 
the closets, look under all the beds. 
I listen. Any noise makes my scalp tingle. 
I visualize escapes. Sometimes I keep a baseball bat near 
my chair and glance at the clock over and over 
until my husband returns.  
My parents were wrong. 
I never outgrew this fear of the dark. 
It is still going strong. 
Maybe stronger.

Bad Habit

I must stop watching 48 Hour ID.

A thrilling distraction but all those murders

make me wonder: will my husband club me

in my sleep? Will my son arrange

a drive-by? My daughters?

They want new cars, new stuff.

So they all have motives.

The scary part: it's often those you least expect.

Possibly my niece. A lawyer with a social conscience.

Who would think she'd kill her aunt?

She's the person I least expect.

Hard to know when a good person turns killer.

Greed, vengeance, jealousy degrade our souls.

And yet we are not all killers.

I couldn't kill anyone.

I have wished people dead:

the leader of North Korea,

child abusers.  But I couldn't kill them.

The very thought of murder freaks me out.

I don't believe in ghosts but I imagine

the murdered haunting the earth.

Just to witness life fading from a body naturally

makes for a frightening spectacle.

I sat with horror next to her bed

when my mother in law took her last breath

in the nursing home. Her boney chest rose and fell

all morning and suddenly it did not rise.

I stared at the spot, waiting for her breast to move again,

slowly realizing it would never, never move,

all her being was gone, and then my own breath

refused to rise from my own chest as I grasped

the meaning of never.

And oh how my mind slipped from my body,

like a sword from a sheath, the evening I walked

into that hospital room where my own dead mother lay.

What fear seized my body, paralyzed it.

I had to feel around for the chair like a blind person.

That's how frail I was in the presence of death, turned

into a pile of salt like that woman in the Bible.

Yes I must stop watching 48 Hour ID.

It's a very bad habit. It keeps my mind

on the dreadful question:

Who wants me dead?