Swimming with Norma.

Cloudless September day and a sky
that runs on like an ellipses...
Existing before a memory,
of the open palm of the hand.
                  We'd been here before,
                        before we were here.

Sharing this water in some
             baptismal rite; a concentric buoyancy
                                                that sustains,
bonding us to our
former life.

And here we are together, again
   finding warmth in pockets,
      even after a cold Vermont night.
Certainly, this means
      we all go home
                                               in the end.

Summer rant

It's Summer. That's for Sure

There is possibility in each day

Not just to rise with purpose or

Intent on checking off items on a list

Mindful of the clock

Ticking moments off my life

As if I am responsible for filling each

and every one of them

I prefer to lay there in the morning until I hear myself breathe

and watch the light change the corners of the room

 The locust branches outside my window are thick with 

supple translucent leaves in front a sky that holds

surprises by the minute once that sun comes over the mountain

The hiss and gurgle of the coffee pot in the kitchen just below

sings to me but I never feel rushed in the summer

Not with knowing that there is a whole day waiting

 just for me.

Where We Are. What we Wear.

Here we are, wearing tattered clothes that we can't bring ourselves to pass on.

My favorite is the faded moss green corduroy shirt with the elbows gone:

Who needs to lean anyhow?

I like the feel of the air passing through and the soft swish of

tattered threads on my skin, 

and knowing that I will wear it in the garden

 until the buttons no longer line up.

These black, leather sandals that stretch with my crooked toes

are meant for wandering.

I bought them in Spain for very little money

They were simple and comfortable

and the guy I bought them from seemed happy to make a sale,

not knowing I had paid just as much for fresh almonds

right around the corner.

I lost one blue sock behind the dryer for months,

disappointed that I hadn't kept better track because they 

were thick and comfy and warm and a darker shade of blue than

anything in the winter sky, even when the clouds hovered just 

above the horizon.

Where We Are

You said, "Let's move to Spain."

buzz words for escape

and aimlessness

Knowing, for sure, that I am a sucker

for change.

Photo Ops

Bins filled with photographs 

of

Swaddled babies nesting and nursing,

pink skinned and sleeping like angels

gentle smiles from dreams of light and love and soft places

Wrapped in homemade blankets

with satin edges I replaced several times

then

Toddling across green grass and front porches

with adults' outstretched arms

reaching to break the fall

Or swinging you round and round

your legs flying behind you

until you or we were both dizzy

Years counted by candles on cakes 

wearing crowns until you found them too silly

Smiling as you unwrapped gifts under trees

 that we found in the woods near our house

wherever we were

and decorated with paper chains and seashells and rose hips strung on fine lines

Bird nests and starfish at the top

Ornaments you made at school and signed on the back so that we would never forget

I will never forget

First days at school, waiting for buses

 and missing teeth

Swinging bats and dance recitals

Full theaters

basketball courts and ice rinks

Field after field 

sometimes slippery from rain or

under sunny skies so bright

that the brim of your hats

or mask from your helmet couldn't keep you from squinting

when you saw me at the edge clicking away

with my heart pounding no matter what the score

There was a rule about me calling out so that you could hear hear me

I couldn't

And it was ok, as long as I was there

and you knew it

Graduations and proms

Homecomings

and 

I wonder if you know how much I agonized

Until I heard you come through the door

You always did

and here you are

Having arrived at your lives.

You have arrived at your lives.
And I could not be prouder.

A Glimpse of My Misspent Youth

Starting and rarely finishing

Everything from books to paintings

to still another year in art school

A pond was dug and when the water didn't come

the salamanders slipped away

Gardens grew over, sometimes with more weeds than

zucchini

which is hard to imagine for any serious gardener

Hearts were broken

not with malice

 Out of fear, perhaps, or carelessness

Clear lines hadn't been drawn

They were reckless times

When we couldn't have understood what harm

might come

Angst was the order of the day

prefaced with Ginsburg and Hesse and when we were feeling really crazy,

Franz Kafka and that wacky beetle thing! 

Forehead tapping in smoke filled rooms

Existential meant surviving  

with little more than

the change in my pockets.

And befriending the cab drivers who liked having the 

"Kid along for the ride"

I loved their stories

and I was killing time

with no place else to go.

Staying up all night at the 

Jersey Shore:

Timothy Leary and Baba Ram Das and "sensitivity sessions"

and I couldn't keep my eyes closed

when everyone said, "Ommm"

Instead, I  kept one eye on that last piece of chicken

in the KFC box.

Sleeping on the beach all day long

with the boardwalk throbbing in the background

to ZZ Topp and Doobie Brothers

An embroidered gauze blouse stuck to my skin

and I woke to the tide coming in

and washing away one of my huaraches.

Me and Mary Kay hitchhiked back to school with just two shoes between us.

dancing without having learned

On days worn dull,

it is in quiet rooms I remember

how I used to dance with second-hand tambourines

on flowery quilts

wearing a girl's slip of satin & lace.

Or was the one seen twirling

across summer lawns of public spaces,

as a brass band played through dusky evenings,

beneath gazebos—that from a distance

were re-imagined as musical carousels

capable of spinning up into the night sky,

to drift as singing satellites among the stars.

In a house where instruments were in need of repair—

the untuned violin, the upright without certain keys,

the stringless folk guitar of a long lost friend—

tucked forgotten in corners and cases,

eventually finding their fates

along with unloved books and toys

and outgrown dresses.

But the music was always there,

and remained,

dancing

without ever having learned.