Hot morning--

hot morning

sudden silence

the cars' muted rush ceases

wind's breath

warm and moist

and a single brown

feather

barely an inch long

spins and swoops

hanging by an invisible thread

from the still green tree

8/21/01

Gladioli--

gladioli

thick

textured

color

7/4/99

(What? I like gladioli. Say it five times fast...)

I see--

I see

fingers pointing

they point at me

I think

I see

them laughing

at me I think

I want to crawl and hide

but then I find

my shell is shattered

I stand outside

a circle

peering in

but when I look

to flee inside myself

I find

I am an outcast

even

within

2-23-1998

(Ooo, genuine teen angst! See, I had a normal childhood!)

I like--

I like the feel of a pencil

smooth

knobby

gliding scratchily

across the page

5/30/98

I am sick of sound--

I am sick of sound

     screaming children

     pounding feet

     foolish quarrels.

I would like

to bury my head in a stone

and drink up a thousand silent years.

2/15/00

(I had an older brother who, like most oldest children didn't get along with my parents. Two younger and very noisy brothers and a sister with a voice like a soprano trying to sing over a fire engine. Srsly Anne, you were a shrieker.)

Garden Plans

I would have redbud
Wisteria
Chinaberry
Flowered and scented
No smooth green lawns
No clipped hedges
Everything wild and growing
Iris and roses
Wildflowers
Vegetables – full and good in the sun

(This was actually a list of ideas and things for a future garden. But then I realized it had a nice ring and poked it a little...)

Closets

There are closets in my mind
I’ve locked a lot of things in them.
Old hurts, past dreams
Quite a few people
I’m opening them one by one
I sweep out the skeletons and brush away the dust
They’re empty now
Only the dry stench of bones still clings

(Yes, bones do smell. At least old animal ones do. Trust me on this.)

Wild Garlic

Wild garlic
Crushed
Beneath my feet and fingers.
Summer is here,
Hot sleepy days
Blue sky blazing
I ache with desire for the summer.

Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty, lying fair
upon your bed, atop your stair
did you really want a kiss?
did you long for wedded bliss?

or did you wish that you could say
“Beat it prince, scram, go away”
and climbing on your marriage bed
sleep for eternity instead.


(This, on the other hand, I definitely remember writing. I was in college, taking a full load of classes, working three jobs, and I was SO TIRED.)

Reader and the Pea

It’s piled up

A thousand mattresses high

If you remove them all and find the pea

It’s hardly worth it

I, personally, would rather bounce

Higher and higher still

Off of the mattress pile

 (it’s only refuse and frosting)

and land rejoicing in a bin of peas

(I have absolutely no recollection of writing this. None at all.)

Enigma

enigma you are

your hair like a blossom

your face like a star

walking in a queer

apologetic

way as if you begged

of other passersby

the right to breathe

5/14/00

Electricity--

Electricity

Energy

Water

box them up.

 Who will sell light?

Low costs!

Low prices!

A moon in a jar

A sun in a basket.

 How can you sell energy?

Box it,

Crate it,

living, pulsing rays.

Open the Store

Show your wares

 Who will buy?

Rainbows! Going cheap.

8/14/01

Rain falls--

rain falls

pouring

drenching

green creeps slowly into the water-starved plants

the pounding water cleanses

dust

and death

from the wilting leaves

sickly

drooping

silently they lift and reach towards the clouded skies

and among the deadened leaves and sodden ground

in ugliness a small plant slowly reaches up and out

and raindrops glisten on a blossom

a spark of beauty in a place of abject filth

a little bud of carmine

perfectly shaped

and hesitantly opening

a glimmer of pearly water drops

on its beauty

a rose

(My dad made me plant my roses at the extreme end of the yard, next to the compost heap. Yep, elephants are nowhere in it when it comes to remembering stuff that made me mad.)

Rabbit

     Rabbit

           Mourning at My Desk

my brother bought you

     (heedlessly, with sudden vague compassion)

because you were too old to be “so cute”.

     And with you

bought the silent sharer of your mute existence.

     And you were

incomprehensibly, brought here

as a compensation

for the still white body in the pen

     And the children fed you

as they chanced upon the thought

then, as heedlessly as you were bought,

the silent twin of your black duo died.

     And there you were.

     And there was I.

i fed you,

gave you drink.

     (we were, in our strange way, the same)

we lived a silent survival.

not from pity! did you find

existence in my hands

but from a shared realization

of helpless dependence.

arbitrarily, I chose.

     And you had life.

i was your physical breath

     And asked nothing:

no silent stillness

to touch your sleek fur

     (you asked, like me, no soft caress to live)

carelessly,

they gave you death

leaving you gasping

in the burn-dead heat of the sun.

you twisted

convulsed

on the brown rug

     And slowly stiffened

until you became

an unnatural hard lump of flesh

brushed with satin fur

animal

     (dead-dumb your eyes)

why should I care?

i who never owned you,

i but gave sustenance

     And suddenly became

your last touch.

i dug a hollow

in the rocky dirt

my eyes misted grey

     (i gave no tear)

my tears were the drops

of hot sweat on my back

as I broke through roots

     And crushed rocks.

i lifted your body

i had never touched a thing so dead before

i heaped the dirt upon you

     (your face was not covered, the earth touched it)

     And breathed a mourning chant

in rhythm to the shovel swing

for I am still alive

animal, I never called you mine.

why then, do I see

your glazed eyes transposed

over the piano keys

     (ever and ever there)

as I play the Pathetique?

(This was the only poem I ever spent much time revising. Obviously, not enough time. However, I will say that once you've seen a rabbit convulsing to death from heat stroke, it kinda sticks in your head. Especially the screaming.)

Tornado

                Tornado

whirling

     hissing

           windstorm

                coming

                     sky

                          so crazy

                                green

                                     blue

                                           gray

                                                white

                                                     wind is

                                                screaming

                                           tearing

                                     leaves off

                                trees and

                           ripping up

                     the grass

                then whistling

           coming    

     high

hot 

hissing

           train whistle

                harsh sound

                     ripping

                           black cloud

                                surging

                                     picking

                                           pieces

                                                of earth

                                                     up and

                                                throwing

                                           them down

                                     then it

                                passes away

                           rain pours

                     making    

                shaking

           frightened

     trees

close tight

driving

           beating

                it lulls

                     then rushes

                           again

                                struggles

                                     to outdo

                                           and pile

                                                wreckage

                                                     higher

                                                admits                                                     defeat

                                     and ceases

                                quietly

                           the sun

                     walks out

                and shines

           upon a

ruined

scoured

     world.

2/-/99

(It's supposed to go back and forth, but I couldn't get the formatting to copy quite right. Oh well.)

Winter

a white sheepdog silently beckoning

calling his flock to follow

covering the blue sky and the summer sun

with the dingy gray of their wool

a gardener

blustering through clothed in gray and black

angry he still deals gently with his plants

giving each an icy coating

then forgets them

and brusquely

noisily

bitterly

leaves not returning forsaking them to their fate

a silent woman draped in chilling white

heavily burdened with her baskets of crushed ice

wielding her willow-bough broom

she brushes her burden across the streets and yards

smiling to see the children laugh and slide

she passes on

then comes the wind

from lonely icy planes she sweeps down

not understanding her own cruelty

even the sheep in the sky shiver at her

but I know she is waiting for me

to slip silently out of my prison

and come to her

to receive willing

the message of pain

she has brought:

for me,

there is no spring

(In defense of my teenaged self, please bear in mind that in Texas the first frost releases all the mountain cedar pollen, which made me sick. Constantly. It's hard to be cheerful when you spend most of the winter (and spring, and summer, and fall - I'm allergic to everything that grows in Texas) not being able to breathe)

Water Chant I

Frost sparkles on grass

earth is turned to steel.

The trees tremble, imprisoned in crystal.

Weeds slowly bend, hiding their faces for shame

that people strolling by should see

their yellowed stems against the white dirt.

Water stares at the sky which deals it death,

hurling bitter winds and chilling frost until the pool

lies

motionless

frozen in horror, gazing with leafy eyes

at the grey sun.

11/16/97

(I vaguely remember there being more Water Chants. I have no idea what happened to them...possibly retitled something else?)

Young believers passing by--

young believers passing by

the bloody emblem of our foes

strongly we led

bravely we die

the anxious dead

will not deny

us

they; the cause

they come behind

a silent mist of voices

the bodies lie where they are found

their spirits rise above the ground

to whisper forth: our liberty!

is worth all deaths and tears

is worth the ash-scarred sky

beyond the blackened trees

(I believe this is the result of reading John McCrae's poetry, a variety of nonfiction about world war II, and a bunch of dystopian science fiction concurrently. I don't recommend the mixture)

Isolation

raindrops click

from trees

onto the sodden ground

meowing quietly

a grey kitten passes

misty grey

rain-sky grey

upon the blueless lake

shimmers

the rain suddenly rushes

then returns

to its

dripping

refrain

9/12/98

Rustling--

Rustling

like rain on grass

the cottonwood dances

bows

in the wind.

laughing with the stormy sky

the horizon

darkening

softening

the whisper

of wind on the leaves remains.

Two Birds

Two birds

black shadows in the evening

swoop across the golden sky.

They alight on the telephone wires

and lightly touch

wings

beaks

bodies

then swirl away into the blazing sun.

Darker than dark--

Darker than dark

the incandescent rays lie humped and cold.

I crush them with my feet

and they pour out

                             (freely, unasked)

sticky globules of shining light.

2-18-2000

(no, I didn't write this after I stepped on a slug barefoot. Which, by the way, is an experience never to be forgotten)