Reinata Caridorada
hot sunset steals the gay light
among once-wildflowers dead from drought
where oak and cedar meet — small birds
glean. We grab
phones, snap males sporting black eyeliner
females flashing off-the-shoulder wingbars.
A dozen endangered yellow faces
black throats white bellies
Warblers of charity
Crepe Myrtles
The technology of these perennials astounds me,
accustomed to trees that never turn and grass that turns
too soon. My blooms lag behind
these sentinels of sidewalk.
If I could resist my mountain nature
I’d stand tall in the summer sun
croon hot pink.
No Sale
I cannot find the correct vendor
the one that sells the right thing to say
I looked in the restless crowd
looked early in the cave at the edge of the sky
expanded my search through summer
since the desired saying does not seem to be for sale
not today
I take the first train I see
exercise my right to be wrong
say the first word that stands up
says Hi
core.
Basic planks
like, Do you need
a sandwich? a nap?
Breathing
Paying attention
Gratitude and grit
Routine and serendipity
Holding yourself in an upright push-up
for a solid minute
then pushing back into a child’s pose
for the next
I believe, help my unbelief
This morning is 9 degrees cooler
than yesterday and the redbud
sprouts leaves
The inspiration for this poem is Lianne Mercer, who described with great delight her new red raincoat from Lands’ End.
I’m Afraid My Raincoat Was Out Dancing All Night
(the moon was full).
If it had been a sensible brown or black or gray or even navy, no one
would have noticed. But it was red,
the fire engine red of a children’s storybook.
My red raincoat danced
against the creeping drought,
flapped like flopping raindrops, twirled like swirling thunderstorms.
This has happened before.
I’ve had to retrieve my raincoat from many the scene of a dancing
crime. Our relationship is fraught. I want
it to wait quietly in the closet. It wants
to scare up some precipitation.
Neither approach increases atmospheric moisture.
But today
when I went outside before dawn to get the paper, it was wet
with dew. I left the news dripping in the driveway
put on my red raincoat
and together we danced out the door.
It’s been a while since I’ve shared a poem. I have been writing them, usually when I go to the Thursday morning poetry group, but I don’t always go. This one has been kicking around for over a year. I started it when I taught The Joyful Partnership of Poetry & Memoir workshop for Tweetspeak. I recently shared it with another poetry class, and they seemed to think it was done. So it’s all yours, world.
Morning Swim
thank you, Maxine Kumin, for the title
Drove to the pool in the dark
like usual
started laps like usual but
the swim team that splashes beside me
makes waves into my miniscule laps
wasn’t in the lane wasn’t
even in the pool hadn’t jumped yet
was still on deck still in Speedos
hugging, crying
even the boys
The coach said
We don’t know why things happen.
We think we know a person but we never do.
So let’s get in the pool. Swim our 300.
Nineteen teenagers jumped
splashed forward
made waves
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