Expressive Domain

Cat’s Cradle

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I held your patterned reply,
your acknowledgement,
your voice the same,
but distant.

I held the lingered snatches
of smiles and advice
I selected to save,
but you did not.

‘One-time-best friend’
like other meant-to-be,
formed by manipulation
compliments.

Like ‘you have finally found
your medium’
saying the other attempts
were not salvageable.

Memories in your basement
like a dusty canvas
I thought you would
say, “Outstanding!”

But standing out of the circle
I thought connected us
that childish string game
only tangled us up.

Stained Blue

I held my father’s hand
walking through
barren land
searching for
elusive blueberries
when my father let go
of the expectation
that he should at least
have said good-bye.

But memories fade,
his and mine.

Perhaps my hand
was only reaching in
my half empty bucket
digging for a tiny taste
of sweetness.

Suddenly Buddhism Makes Sense

Yes,
it was a special day.

We were all there,
some by force
of the buffet,
some by force
of mothers.

And suddenly,
my dog
feeling the force
of Mother Nature,
left a piece
at the feet
of my Aunt Kate.

My dog,
now obviously
the reincarnation
of my Uncle Ted,

may he rest in peace,

caused Aunt Kate
loudly to dismay,
“My God!”

(Humor only, not meant to offend.  LUV to my Buddhist friends!)

Co-Pilot

There seems to be no end
of words I spill.
I spit.
I cry.

I write them down
of necessity, my need
to witness,
to speak.

If only someone comes
of gentle heart,
to read,
to breathe.

There will be no end
then of my soul.
Lift it.
Let us soar.

Beyond Diversity

The silence in the room
was the loudest noise,
each so afraid
to say the wrong thing.

They said nothing.

That said everything.

A Better Use for Our Sticks

My home is shut
to the approaching storm,
boarded up tight,
as you peek in.

I am only beginning
to see myself
through the window
you open.

Prop the window open.
I may not have the strength
to keep it up
alone.

If change
is allowed to blow in,
I must feel
the stinging debris
that hits me.

Help me
stand against the storm
with you.

Nobody Heard You Say That

Grandma says
that sun makes me sneeze
as particles rise
in the heat.

My head turns to the sound
that I thought I heard,
that wisp of a word
in the air.

Grandma says
that I should let it go
as words can never
hurt me.

Your eyes look to the dust
that floats in the light
as it settles
on me.

I am dirty
again
as you have brushed me
off.

(The following poems were written earlier,
but have new meaning when applied to the topic of diversity.)

Behind the Hidden Wall

Behind the hidden wall
a face stares back at me.

We strain as if to look
but neither one can see.

We stained the wall with tears
the hearts on both sides wept.

Our past is bound and tied
in memories still kept.

Our memories will help
to keep us close beside.

We cling to our desire
to reach the other side.

We wait the time away
till face to face we see.

Behind the hidden wall
a face stares back at me.

No More Than You

It is true I have suffered
but so have you
and we cry together
our common tears.

My tears with no more pain
than yours
fall onto the page
as I spill them out.

They land in drops
like Braille to be felt
by you who can’t see
past your own agony.

So I force you to look
at the page where I shout
and in your kindness
you reach out to me.

And in that moment
when you reached for me,
you stopped your crying
and began healing yourself.

Immigrants

The family had to move so they gathered their possessions
loaded into labeled boxes and overstuffed laundry baskets
and they stuffed their cars to the tops of the windows.

When the house was empty the yard was cleared
of toys and hoses and the family took one last look
and drove away leaving only their memories.

But limp in the backyard were their forgotten hostas
huddled together in a tight cluster
growing green and striped in beauty.

The cleaner came to wash out the old and paint in the new
and as he was packing his supplies the new owners arrived
taking one look at the yard they complained.

“Get those weeds out of here, too.” Then they went inside.
So the cleaner took his shovel and sliced between the bulbs
gently placing them into plastic bags in the back of his truck.

He brought them home to his wife who exclaimed, “Hostas!”
Soon transplanted and watered in their new beds,
the hostas sighed and drank it in. They were finally home.