Archives for May 2019

WACOAN: ‘Going, Going, Gone’

Published March 2019

The Cardinals

For the second time since we’ve lived in this house, cardinals made a nest in the mountain laurel.

Inspired by Kristine O’Connell George’s book of poems titled Hummingbird Nest, I’ve written a few of my own haiku about our cardinals. I didn’t notice every detail, so it’s an incomplete narrative.

April 22

cardinal in the nest

safe in the mountain laurel—

plans for motherhood

April 24

Mama cardinal sits

on her nest in pouring rain

all day—never blinks

April 28

“Some birds are people

watchers,” says Tony Hoagland.

Mama Cardinal is.

May 1

Male cardinal busy

back and forth—female sits tight

unmoving, umoved

May 4

three baby bird mouths

open, parents flit for food —

We watch from inside

May 5

Papa Cardinal feeds

gaping baby mouths and Mama,

who feeds chicks also

May 7

baby cardinal pokes

out his fuzzy head—does not

see the nesting snail

May 8

quietly, oh so

quietly, pull up the blinds—

Mama Cardinal’s there

Almost Mother’s Day

through thunderstorms, winds

(damaging), hail, tornado—

Mama Cardinal sits

May 10

baby cardinal stands

gray and fluffy in the nest—

“I’m self-sufficient!”

May 12

Cardinal family pecks

the grass and then flies away—

the nets is empty

June 23

When the cardinals left

I threw out their nest. They’re back.

Rebuilt in one day.

June 28

Mama Cardinal eyes

me from her new-built nest: You

can never stop me

Children’s Book Club: ‘Dear Mr. Henshaw’

Published May 10, 2019

Reader, Come Home: ‘Kristin Lavransdatter’

Published May 3, 2019

‘Ode to this Body’

you walk upright

walk right through water

turn upside down

inside out

savor and digest living things, even carrots

tackle hills

ignore wind

stand when assaulted

curl into a ball and chase dreams, like a sleeping puppy chasing birds

oh the weights you’ve shouldered

the fine motor skills mastered

the coordination to drive a stick shift

shift thoughts into words

convert diaphragm’s breath into song

you are older today, still older next week

take your rest

sip your soup

breathe normally as long as normality is possible

remember every place you’ve been

every mile you would take back

Don’t

trace the scars on your skin, not lovely

but oh

every exposed nerve loved

By Heart: ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ by W.B. Yeats

Published April 26, 2019

‘The Slowdown’ podcast with Tracy K. Smith

Published April 19, 2019

The black hole

at the center of the galaxy consumed

my husband’s sock, stole

the name of the book—you know, the one

that changed my life, took the maple

in the backyard, the house on the corner

It appears to be eating our grass. I blame

the black hole for absconding with his memory,

with her brilliant idea when she sneezed.

The pages of my journal creak as I search

for the poem about the daisy

(or was it amaryllis), words drawn

from ordinary dust

star dust left

over from the supernova

that started it all