The Poetry Marathon

Joined at the Hip

I have a new hip and her name is Nellie

She can hear the phone ring before it rings

Titanium with lovely long screws

We are never apart

October is our anniversary, our first

We travel to Dartmouth to visit

The tall dark handsome Italian surgeon

Originally from Long Island, he’s married

Nellie is silent during our exam

I hold her when they take x-rays

She is brave and leans just the right way

I whisper to him of her sister’s impending arrival

On the way home we stop at that homemade ice cream shop

Nellie declines worrying about the extra weight

I poo poo her and enjoy a large maple walnut cone

She does not make me feel guilty, I love her

The Party

There’s a party

In her heart

Can you hear it?

Did it start?

Mother told her

Wear your best

Men will notice

Pass the test

Catch a good one

Hold him fast

He’ll keep you safe

And make you last

She has no children

There are no pets

She smiles slyly

With few regrets

She never married

She found no one

It is her life

There is some fun

She has good work

Her days and nights

The party lasted

Just out of sight

No one gets it

She must drink

She can’t be happy

Is what they think

To win in life

You must be two

To prove you’re worthy

That love is due

She hears the chatter

Without a tear

Her heart is full

And love is near

It’s not a secret

Not in a book

But for the taking

Though you must look

Love’s not a payment

There is no price

You always have it

Good, bad or nice

Your brought the love

When you got here

There’s plenty of it

To share with cheer

It’s all inside

Not out in space

Not with some man

Who likes your face

This life will dim

You cannot stay

Toss off the fear

Seek joy each day

There’s a party

In your heart

Can you hear it?

Did it start?

Putting mom by

Fresh ripe bossy

Tomatoes boiled into

Clear wide jars

Without consent

Waiting their destiny

Packing mom away

Moving her into

Clean narrow rooms

Her things divided

Beyond her touch

Sweet bumpy corn

Shaved off the cob

Pickled to last

Revived for

Dinner with ham

Mom fades with

Little grace

No longer queen

Her blue lips quiver

Never to taster

Sweet corn and ham

Planting the Flag

I have no flag but yours to claim

Our fathers and lovers fallen

We weep and bury our sons

Yet you hand us this flag

Brother, what do you know of us

We are different, not like you

I see no flag that speaks of love

And earth and peace

Molasses skinned women

Have no flag to keep them safe

Stolen daughters, murdered children

Where is their flag

With your flag you claim the moon

The mountains, the oceans

The plains, the forest

Winter, a flower, a breeze has no flag

There is no flag to help me read

To sow the seeds and dream the songs

I am weary of your flag that

Tells our sisters what to wear, when to marry

It is a ruse, a con, more crazed pride

Defending glory with eternal battles

Your flag does not remember us

But bullies and boasts its’ warning

Prayers for the Jogger

Rest in peace and watch over me,

Angel with a low sexy voice.

I can hear it now, you saying my name.

Thomas O’Brien was found on a gravel path,

Saxon Woods, June 16th, just twelve noon.

A jogger came upon him dead, immediately.

I call your wife on your birthday.

She says she looks forward to it.

We laugh easily as if you are in the next room.

There was a closed casket, sitting atop

The eight-by-ten color glossy photo,

The boys on their Triumphs, summer of ’69.

I hope you are with Charlie and maybe

Our child who needed to be born another time.

Love to your Father, tell him the Mets look good.

Thomas leaves behind his wife, mother,

Brother, sister-in-law, nieces, nephews, and

Friends that will talk of him until the day they die.

dusk

the dark spaces

between the green

cave in to magic

the day recedes

as darkness widens

magic approaches

evening spreads to night

tapping at the window

magic challenges

starless sky beckons fear

tossing her hair

magic laughs

the best

marrying the garden gnome

at his widest he weighed almost

twenty two stones with long hair

knitted into his fluffy white beard

is this the best you can do?

her plucky old mother cried

what’s to become of you with

this round sort of fellow?

the bride smiled her toothless grin

twirling in her planetary way

I love him Mum and he loves me

that’s the best anyone can do!

Sister

beneath Nana’s afghans

telling scary stories

we gave our childhood a home

blue and purple stretched over pillows

we wandered through imagined places

enclosing sister secrets and pleasures

it lasted as long as it could

replaced by others with their false caring

I left her for them hoping for more

she went to find out for herself

what was offered to keep

rarely passing in different stories

we touched each other little

it lasted as long as it could

captured in my own heavy battles

my sister always too true

drowned outside the blue and purple afghans

seeking what was forgotten

much of it was very beautiful

she wrote when saying good-bye

it lasted as long as it could

RIP

they buried Frances in her purse

brown leather with a strap

there were some cracks as it was old

though covered by the flap

Henry he’s been dead a year

now in the tackle box

cremated in his Sunday suit

blue tie and argyle socks

Charles and Mable two nice folks

died sadly in their car

now side by side for all of time

in the kitchen cookie jar

but it’s Billy Jones who won the day

for the Olympic race he led

now at rest and all stretched out

beneath his gold bobsled

Letting Go

In May I started turning green

Sitting on the maple limb

A large pointed leaf

Knowing I was a fraud

June brought the bees

Birds and summer rain

My size unchanged but

I was passing unnoticed

July and August and heat

The tree house nearby

With children’s laughter

As they plotted and played

By September I worried

Wiggling in the breeze

Trying my best to belong

Unable to turn gold

It would be October with

Vibrant colors surrounding

When I quietly let myself go

A green youth my undoing