The Wind and Mariah

The Wind and Mariah


The screen door is brazenly snatched from her hand
By an impudent gust.
Racing, careening currents chase the old woman,
Across the porch and down the steps.
She clings to the railing in self-defense.
Rambunctious blasts knock tulips to-and-fro,
Riffle the silk rose on her venerable black hat.
She is blown through the garden gate,
Onto the boardwalk.
Her furrowed face crinkles in delight.
No mere zephyr, this callow wind of Spring!

A clitter-clatter, chitter-chatter vestige of leaves,
Is harassed down the street,
At a pace the vintage lady can no longer attain.
She places a protective palm atop her velvet headgear,
As draughts tug and tease,
Attempting to insinuate themselves under the brim.

"Don't get any notions, " she cautions.
"Useless to fancy my hat'" she maintains.

A final jerk, an unseen smirk,
Wind rushes off,
Leaving Mariah, breathless and blown,
To totter on her way.

L

Lake

Lake

Hush, as a breath held…

Sky admires fiery fall finery
In the cerulean blue below.

Turtles bob and submerge,
Bottle-glass green, inquisitive.

Hovering osprey fold wings,
Rocket crashing onto finned prey,
Rising, winging away,
Trout silhouetted torpedo position,
To the nearest pine bough.
Breakfast is served.

The wake of a yard-long otter
Echoes the formation of south-bound geese
Toward a grayed and sodden deadfall.
Pulling gracefully onto the weathered wood
Grooming begins.

The rustle and rush of field mice
Crackles through the year-end grass,
The chill air eliciting urgency
In the hoarding of seed
Insulating of dens.

Rain tiptoes across the lake.
Thirsty earth sighs.
A north sough ruffles and pleats the darkening water.
In earnest the rain gives its all.

L

Bravado

Bravado

Queue of quail
Crossing the road
Right in front of my Subaru
And I’m doin’ fifty.

Male quail
In the lead
Shows no fear
And no sign of turning his
Brood to flee.

My foot hovers
Over the brake pedal
Ready
“Please fly!”

Mama quail
Turns tail
Followed by a flurry
Of fleeing offspring.

Papa quail
Toes the yellow line
Holds his ground
As my car streaks by
With only a slight ruffle 

Of his top knot.

L

Bear with me here…

Bear with me here…


Bearing two X chromosomes
Entitles me to bear children
Married to an XY
With rights to bear arms

Bearing with each other
We barely scrape by
Life is good
But sometimes just barely

XY gets chummy
With XX at work
When confronted with
Bare-faced truth
XY bears the blame
Bares his soul
I bare my teeth
I bear the burden
Contemplate burial
Of self or XX
But life goes on...

L

First Kiss

First Kiss

Where do you go to be alone?
The basement family room of Johnny B.
He with his duff colored hair nipped just beyond the scalp
In the classic crew cut, wearing blue jeans rolled at the cuff
Plain white t-shirt ala James Dean.
My hair confined in a ponytail and wearing denim cutoffs,
Sandra Dee wannabe.

Both thirteen, and thirsty for knowledge.
Television volume cranked up
Parents one flight above
Know we are watching
Days of our Lives.

We sit on the couch side by side.
Shifting, inching
Ever closer to one another,
My mind racing.
"Is he going to kiss me?"

His arm slips around my shoulders.
"Is he going to kiss me?"

My palms are sweating.
"Is he going to kiss me?"

The awkward angling of
Heads, noses, chins and teeth clinking,
Attempting the pose never before attempted.
And then ... the lips come together!

Gross!