Monday, February 20, 2012

Name is a box--


A name is a box
A frame for the inner soul.
All the things in the box
are the inside, the me.

I am changing the box,
renewing the frame
Sorting out the contents
re-painting the picture.

Some things I want to keep
I move them into my new box
this old box is shabby
I'll tape it and put it in storage

There are the same things inside the box
I've only changed the outer shell.

Spring, 2003

Monday, February 13, 2012

Rose perfume

The scent of a rose
like apples
and a far, sweet essence
a picture materializes
From fairy tale and legend
of a jeweled tree
living, blossoming stones
and hanging,
like great globes of honey
golden apples
that send forth soft perfume.

3/29/00

Monday, February 6, 2012

Riding the bus on Saturday afternoon

          Riding the Bus on Saturday Afternoon
         
                                                This an adventure,
                                                August adventure.
                                                Out on my own,
                                                September adventure.
                                                Dreamed of, now coming
                                                this is delicious
                                                wobble-leg sweet
                                                head-pounding
                                                heart-dancing
                                                finger-stiffening
                                                sour taste in my mouth.
                                                I am released
                                                like a single clear note
                                                set loose to shimmer
                                                for this time and remembering
                                                I shall be loosed
                                                mind boggling
                                                tongue drying
                                                shy voice
                                                free.

Cailin Sanders

(I was 15 and I wasn't allowed to ride the city bus downtown by myself, which limited me to our local one-room library and the occasional trips to a branch library. I really, really, really wanted to visit the Central library in Austin. I'd been there a couple times, but I wanted to go whenever I wanted to! The books called me! So, sneakily, (and I was not normally a sneaky teen) I told my dad where I was going (while he wasn't listening) and told my mom I was just taking the bus to the church where I babysat on Saturday. Which I did! But then instead of coming home I continued on the bus downtown and went to the library. Of course, I got in trouble later (as I had planned, my dad totally forgot I'd said anything to him, so nobody knew where I was for about four hours), but I was firm in my justification that I had told someone where I was going and after that I assumed I had permission to go wherever I wanted on the bus, although I told my mom when to expect me home afterwards in the future (-:) It was an utterly liberating feeling to be on my own, going where I wanted to. It was a gorgeous day, I got a ton of wonderful books, and it was one of the perfect moments of my life. 13 years later, I'm still single, I still go on expeditions by myself, and I still love it!

Monday, January 30, 2012

No flowers--

no flowers - by request
no viewers please
allow my soul to bury
its own dead
the corpse of all
my pride shall lie
beneath rock and stump
a private funeral
I wish to grieve in peace

5/18/00

Monday, January 23, 2012

Idiot

I have never read The Idiot
by Dostoevsky
I speculate
what it’s about.

I imagine a heavy Russian novel
filled with psychological innuendoes,
a short story focusing on disillusion.

Am I an idiot
for living?
Are you thus labeled for
the act of death?

Is this book
     (more mysterious by the moment)
written for “the common man”?
the proletariat
the bourgeoisie?
its view
Nihilistic?
Fatalistic?
Atheistic?
Mystic?
someday I will know.

Now that I am old
And know regret
I pause to think...
I have never read The Idiot
By Dostoevsky.

7/18/99

(I was experimenting with forms, ok? I don't remember what I had been reading, except that it wasn't Dostoevsky)

Monday, January 16, 2012

I shall lie hid--

I shall lie hid in my hair
swept in a golden glow
warmed by the breath of my mouth

There is a door in the flame
a cavern within the candle
I will pass through
the door is too far
I close my eyes

There is a door in my mind
a flaming spark behind pale eyelids
I will walk into the light
the light is too far
I weep behind my hair

2/2/01

Monday, January 9, 2012

Gulls flying in--

gulls flying in
over the gray-gold sea
fiery light
burnished copper feathers
create winged hope out of the night

4-11-1999

(There are no gulls where I live in Texas. So I didn't realize they were noisy, greedy, disgusting birds.)