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.)