Mom

Sometimes I feel
as if my mother’s story
got lost

She was
an only child
and that singularity
is a two-sided beast

Of course it allowed her
the freedom
to tell her story
any way she liked
without contradiction
or interruption

But it also left her
with the burden
of carrying that story alone

 

This is for Hedgie, keeper of Galen’s Friday 55, at Verse Escape.

9

I
I’m the eighth and newest member
of the Yarborough bridge club
Learning to play is slow going
we only meet once a month
Ann keeps talking about
her trips and her kids and her grandkids
while I try to remember
if the queen played yet
and if I’m on the board or in my hand

II
There is this lame saying
bridge and sex are alike because
if you don’t have a good partner
you’d better have a good hand
I see eight hands
with swollen, knobby knuckles and liver spots
Two of them are mine
and I lose count and I wonder
how I ever became so very middle-aged

III
Last night Ann forgot what time we were meeting
when we got there
she was still making dessert
(because you always serve a dessert when you host bridge)
she was flustered
and sent Cindy to the grocery
to buy nuts and candies for the tables
When I was dummy I set the bowls out
because she forgot
Sometimes we worry about Ann
but she’s still a better bridge player than I am

April, National Poetry Month

“Heaven deliver us, what’s a poet? Something that can’t go to bed without making a song about it.” ― Dorothy L. Sayers

Today begins National Poetry Month, no fooling!  It was started by the Academy of American Poets to help increase awareness of poetry in our very prosaic existence.  Here is a link to thirty ways to celebrate poetry.

Another way to celebrate (if you like celebrations with lots of agony (no, not 50 shades of agony)) is to try writing a poem a day for the month of April.  If you’re interested have a peek here: http://www.napowrimo.net/

And if you write a poem a day anyway, just because you are that creative and disciplined, you probably aren’t wasting time reading something like this; and by the way, I sort of hate you.  Well, not really, not hate – I guess it’s more like envy.  And that’s still not good, I know, but I”m working on it.

I’m going to do the NaPoWriMo poem a day challenge on another blog I have that’s not on WordPress.  I’m feeling a bit panicked, because I haven’t been writing ahead with a week or two worth of poems on in reserve.  In fact I haven’t even written today’s #1 poem yet. *gulp*  But I will in a few minutes.  If you’re interested you can have a peek here: http://writinginthebachs.blogspot.com/

And just because I can’t really talk about National Poetry Month without having a poem in the post I’ll include one that I wrote awhile back and still sort of like:

Treasure

Fingers reach
to pick
coral, shells, stones and bones
littered across memory’s beach.
Sands collects
water disburses
air feeds fire.
We stir the cauldron and reflect.
Bury your treasure deep –
golden moments silvery seconds
no matter the lock
they will not keep.