Autumn

The air has cooled.

We close the doors

and sleep under an

added cover.

For the first time

since May the

ceiling fans are still.

Cars crunch pecan

shells in the drive.

Acorns hit the roof.

Autumn.

Northside Drive

We had stopped at the light.

I saw the tiny figure

standing on top of the partly

finished new stadium.

Hands on hips, the sky blue,

clouds behind him he

stood right on the edge. If

I’d had a camera, I would

have taken his picture, but I

didn’t.  The light changed and

we drove on.

The Dentist

Dental appointment

over. Teeth cleaned.

We stop for lunch

downstairs. They have

us try the soups for

the day – lentil & hot and

spicey chicken. We get lentil.

Eating outside, I see

a spider web strung between

tree trunks. A tiny

spider, a leaf caught.

Hummingbird

Flying so fast his

wings blur, the humingbird

darts from flower to

flower. By the time

I get my camera, he’s

gone.

 

The hummingbird flew

up close to the ceiling,

near the big vent pipes

against the laundromat

ceiling. She took off her

shoe, climbing on the table

trying to hit him. Her friends

laugh. I leave.

Silent.

 

The Tiger

When I saw your tiger,

I knew it was the same one that

comes around the corner

of my house, walking

softly on his big cat

feet, past my wall of glass.

I am frozen.  Afraid

if I move he will

come through the glass.

Afraid if I don’t, he

will come through the

open door ahead.

Summer Job 1966

Sometimes we skipped lunch,

working right through to leave early.

Other days we sat out on

the fire escape eating

cheese sandwiches

or fried chicken livers from

home, the brown paper bags

greasy or damp from pickles.

Afterwards we sang all the

verses of “La Bamba” and practiced

smoking.

Pottery Mask

It was hot in the old gym.

Three fans kept the temperature

bearable as we walked

slowly down the aisles looking

for differences in the pieces. I

recognized some techniques now,

but so many pieces blended

into each other.  Naked raku

was rare. The cross hatched

shallow garlic olive oil bowl

was different. When we left the heat

had risen. There was nothing so unique

as a tulip helmet.

Stairs

Sometimes I meet myself

coming down the stairs

and wonder if I

found what I was

looking for up there.

Then and Now

July 1950. I was almost four

years old and swirling

around in the backyard. My

life just beginning.

August 2016 I sit at my desk

writing my final postcard

poem for this year. Listening

to Sati, the ceiling fan as it

creaks around, the voice of

my husband talking to a friend

and the sound the cars passing.

The Beach

We were driving to Jekyll

Island when my daughter

asked Siri for directions.

We had been on the freeway,

zipping along. She guided

us to back roads, down

winding roads, past farms

and fields and pine trees.

At a crossroads, Siri left us,

leaving us to decide which

way to the beach.