KR OnlinePoetry

Three Poems

I Wasn’t So Sure; I Never Wanted It to End; I Wished It Were Over

Nothing seems quite right so the helicopter, hovering, is more of the same.
Otherwise, a near-perfect day, weather-wise,
and my birthday a month away, where it belongs.
Spider’s web below the hummingbird feeder, so many lives in the garden.
Stillness, longing, or unrest: I look up from the pretty good book.
Now my mother sleeps by day and wakes at night to wait.
My father is coming from heaven to take her downtown. She hopes and so do I.
Looking back, I can understand a little more. The photo albums organize it.
She’s on a beach, at a picnic table, at an overlook. A young woman.
She made the prettiest bulletin boards when she was a teacher:
We are thankful for books; To My Valentine; Minuend minus subtrahend
equals difference.
Have you ever even heard those words?
Some poems go on too long and say too little. Others stop short.
Sometimes I can’t quite recall how to get from one moment to the next.
I started out thinking about my marriage, etc.
Should I mention the hummingbirds again? The helicopter? What else…
Same difference plays on a loop in my mind. Any of us is alive for now.

 

As Likely as Not

Seems we’re at an impasse.
Is there an emoji for that? Must be.
Meanwhile, I have high hopes for the baby bok choy
in the garden, the leeks and peas, all the little ones.
And I tell them as much. Raise them up right.
Love isn’t carefree for long.
Does the soul have an inner lining also? What color?
I read that somewhere. Feels true
and twirls in my mind, very pretty.
It’s important to learn a little something daily.
Today’s lesson: “sensations”—French for
I’m tired; I’m stressed; go out with me.
I’m drawing on deep knowledge here;
it comes back. I went to all-girls Catholic school:
volunteer or you’ll be chosen against your will.
Are mistakes allowed? I can’t imagine.
There was a moat—no kidding—
between us and the boys. Good preparation.
This is long, long before social media.
When I opened the door this morning,
a rabbit, cute troublemaker, startled, then stopped,
looking back over his shoulder—
Why him?, you ask. Oh, come, please.

 

I Wish I Knew the Secret Ins and Outs

Time, a little vertigo. The chair not tipped back, but maybe?
That feeling, for example. Time personal like that.
Chronology is in the books. Except Faulkner; that’s time, says Welty.
I’m eating Sno-Caps while I think it through. Are they time?
I like them so much they just might be. Time is big like that.
Also, mountains are time you can see; an echo, time you can hear.
Poems are full of time. You can read about it. But heaps of chronology, also.
I still love you is stuck in time; this is nothing new.
Some things sure are drawn out in this life, but not always the end.
Turned out, my mother just went—so long—when her time came.