Dropped

Is this the creative process? Where do words come from?

So often

I can’t figure

Where words come from

I sit

In the blue chair

And there they are

Dropped

From the ceiling

Dropped

From the sky

Dropped

Flown in

From a conversation

From something I read

Yesterday.

I plop it

On the paper.

There it is.

It’s almost like

Someone else

Wrote it

It’s almost like

Poetry.

Bridge paint

Ah hospital visits. I learned so much visiting people in the hospital.

I visit people.

I learn so much.

One told me everything

Anyone would ever want to know

About bridge paint.

So different

From other kinds of paint.

Wall paint

House paint

Ship paint

Car paint.

Bridge paint.

It’s different

Than most other paints.

I visit people

Let them talk.

I learn amazing things.

Bridge paint.

I could give a sermon

On bridge paint

I could write a poem

About bridge paint

Like this one.

Knowledge

I am still learning how to walk. I am also learning how to pick up tissues with my toes, a more difficult feat than I would have imagined. I can make my own hard boiled eggs.

Exactly a year ago

I was learning to walk

Again.

I took meals

With the rest

Of the physical therapy floor.

I was the youngest

By far.

I had a lot to learn

But then again

We all did.

I knew

What cranberry juice

And prune juice

Were good for.

Others knew

It was possible

To order hard boiled eggs.

We all

Knew different things.

Each thing

Made life

A little easier.

We laughed

And cheered

When the woman

With the broken hip

Went home.

It's time

Time to clip the clematis

It’s time

To clip the clematis back

Before the blossoms

Bloom purple,

Before the rain

Pours hard.

It’s time

While sun

Says

Here I am

And night

Waits for moon and stars

It’s time

To clip the clematis back

So it can

Get a fresh start.

We will see it

Begin again

Fresh.

Crabapples

Of course the squirrels. Of course the birds. But even skunks and coyotes and fox eat crab apples. Our backyard is a veritable banquet table.

The crab apple

I know I mentioned

The crab apple yesterday.

It appears this time

Of year

In full bloom.

Pink.

All the animals wait

For the apples

To appear.

Everyone eats

Crab apples,

Carries them

To places no one else

Can find them,

Secret stashes

Of apples

Everywhere.

Grief

Every change brings grief with it, whether the change is major or minor. Sometimes others detect and carry the grief before we do.

I find a place to sit

Maybe grieve for things

Others have shouldered

In my absence

Others have questioned

In my presence

How can you not

Be sad?

They say

Where have you stored it?

I wonder if the next time

Something happens

(And it surely will)

I will find that place

It has taken shelter.                                                                                                              

I will find that place

And it will come

Out of hiding.

Now I sit and watch

The crab apple bloom

Exercise my feet.

I figure

When it does

The grief will catch me

Unawares

The fountain

When we move, as we will, the fountain stays.

We bought this house

Years ago.

On the back patio

Is a fountain

A boy

A girl

They hold

An umbrella.

A cord ran

Through a crack

In the cement,

Ran through the basement

Was plugged in

Over the washing machine.

The cord was the first

To go.

The fountain

Has been a planter

For years.

The boy

The girl

The umbrella

They stand on different

Annuals

Every year.

A garden

For bees and butterflies

Border that planter.

Fingerprints

Certain people do not have fingerprints. Me (for instance) or nurses or anyone who washes his her hands a lot.This was a new thing for me, though it seemed to be known to most nurses I ran into.

In the most recent vocation

I needed to turn in

My fingerprints

Except

My fingerprints

Do not exist.

They had no contingency

For such a thing.

I thought to change my vocation

To bank robber

Except now

I can barely walk

Nor can I drive.

I would not be able

To get away.

Someone else

Would have

To drive

the get-away car.

I would most likely

Get the giggles

Picturing me

In the walker

Carrying a bag of money

Over my shoulder.

No fingerprints

Would be

The least of it.

Launched

One thirty. One twenty. Always a surprise.

We witness the children

Launched.

Actually they launched

When they were born.

We saw it

Gradually

The way

Most parents do.

Of course

We prefer

To be better

Than most parents.

Of course

We are not.

Maybe they see us

From the air

As they fly

Like hawks

Circling

Like goldfinches

Dipping and diving.

We witness.

We never quite know

What to expect

Next.

Tax time again

Dreams die hard.

Years ago

I found an ad

For a piece of land

With a creek.

It bordered

The bottom.

Eight acres

Mostly hillside

In Wisconsin.

We bought it.

Paid taxes

Every year.

Dreamed about a cabin

On the hill

Next to the creek.

We have been there

Exactly three times.

Eight acres

On a hill

Down the road

From the maximum security prison

In Boscobel.

We talk about it

When tax time

Comes around

Every year.

Write the check.

Talk about selling.

Then the dream

Comes around again.

Excuses

Dare I say I do not own a Kindle?

I admit

To the purchase

Of hardcover books

With the excuse

That I need them

For my professional life

Whichever life

Has rounded the bend

This morning

Or even

This year.

I admit

To not wanting to wait

For the paperback edition

With the excuse

That the author

Gets more royalties

If I purchase

The hardcover version.

I admit

It is four blocks

To the library

And the library

May never purchase

This book

Anyway.

I admit

I have no more space

On my bookshelves

For one more book

I admit

I have books

Never read

Stacked on the nightstand.

I admit.

Not so obvious

In spring

Life continues

In so obvious ways

The baby giraffe

Being born

The squirrel

Leaping limb

To wind-tossed limb

He keeps his balance

How

I do not know

The kitten acknowledges

The sun

Comes back to me

Gazes

Then back

To the sun

We both

Turn back

To that squirrel

Now he hangs from

The smallest branch

We watch and pray

He doesn’t fall

Do cats pray?

Now back

To the baby giraffe

New to the world

Everything is new

In obvious

Even

Not so obvious

Ways

If we look.

Sisyphus

Ah...my Classics major returns.  It is Holy Week. Easter is upon us. We are waiting for that stone to be rolled away.

Sisyphus

Push up

Catch

When the rock

Threatens

To crush you

No mind

No mind

The stone must roll

Away

Be named

For what it is

So the gardener

May find

What lies behind

Run and tell

The others

Some will believe

Others will not,

They will push up

Catch the rock

A futile gesture

More gardeners

Will come.

Everything in its place

It strikes me that Holy Week should be marked this year, in particular. Why?  I'm not exactly sure. But it feels like a Holy Week sort of week and I'm not exactly sure Easter will arrive. Some years are like that, I guess.

This is how

I keep track

Of the world

Me.

It is Good Friday.

I have missed Holy Week

This year.

Usually I keep track

With the Triduum.

This year

No.

A cold has landed

In my head.

I am stuck

At home.

My feet declined

To be washed.

No creeping

To the cross.

Easter will come

As it does

Every year.

But not quite yet.

First Jesus

Will empty Hell

Then Easter

Then Easter

Then

Easter.

Who won?

Sometimes I wish I had majored in something else.

My parents

Were concerned

That we each got

A bachelor’s degree

From a school

In another state

No matter what

The subject.

It was

Almost

A beginner degree.

My sister majored

In biology,

Went into

Mortgage banking.

My brother majored

In geography

Then law school

Then ran the family business.

I majored

In Greek

Went on to seminary.

I’m not sure

Who won.

By this I mean

Whose degree

Most closely matched

What we ended up

Doing.

There are arguments

For each.

Sudden cardinal

Nothing like opening your eyes first thing in the morning and seeing an immediate cardinal.

I opened my eyes

And there he was

Cardinal on the red bud

Three feet away.

I’ve seen birds there

Before

But none so startling

So immediate

Opened my eyes

The surprise

Of the cardinal

Suddenly there

Of course

I was sudden to him

As well

But I was not dressed

In red

I also

Did not say

Birdie

Birdie

Birdie

And

Fly away.

Donkey island

In Minnesota (and...I understand Wisconsin) people spend summers going Up North to The Cabin on The Lake. Of course these are all different cabins and different lakes. Ours had burros.

My grandfather grew up

Enamored with burros.

When he could afford one

He bought that piece of land

With a Cabin

Up North

On a Lake.

He bought two burros,

Built a corral

Gave them shelter

In a wood shed.

One burro

Was pregnant.

One burro

Was male.

Soon there were too many burros

For a woodshed

So he built a barn.

In the woods

Did I mention

The woods?

The burros roamed

Hee-hawed

On the shores

Of the Lake

Up North

I went to camp

We canoed on that Lake

Did you know

They said

Did you know

About Donkey Island?

Who would believe it?

They’re burros

I said

They’re my grandfather’s burros.

First to Oslo

First to Oslo

Then to Edinburgh

With perhaps a side trip

To Iceland.

It’s been awhile.

She has been planting trees

On Mull.

We will not

Be planting trees

Anywhere.

A friend’s daughter

Is in Madagascar

Counting snakes and lemurs.

We count ducks and squirrels

An occasional redwing.

But first

To Oslo

What swims

In fjords?

Medicine ball

Carrying the weights of others

The medicine ball

Has stayed with me

Since you threw me

The image

On Thursday

No

It is not my

Medicine ball

Yes

We walk around

And carry the weights

Of others

Forget

This is what we

Do

Then remember

This medicine ball

Is not mine

Still

It is hard

To throw it back

It is so heavy

You may not be able

To catch it

And there I will be

And there you will be

And the medicine ball

May make a hole

In the floor.

So many voices at once

Poetry workshop

I went once

To a poetry workshop

So many voices at once

I know why I went

I know why I will not

Go back

So many voices

At once

Mine was drowned

Except for that particular

Smell when I walked outside

My door

In the morning

By myself

An almost sweet

Unidentifiable smell

Sage

Maybe

That particular smell

Before I met anyone else

And began hearing

All those voices

At once.

Podiatrist

This is the Minnesota part of me. 

I would love

To give away

The new references

I have

To someone

Who perhaps

Needs them more.

Everyone tells me

Keep them

Keep them

Keep them

There are many enough

To go around

I wonder

Who else

Needs a referral

To a podiatrist.

Circuit breaker number five

There are three circuit breaker boxes outside my office.

The electricity in my office

Is circuit breaker

Number five

I have to learn it again

Whenever I enter

And it has

Disappeared

To the place

Electricity goes.

I seek it out

So my client

Will not meet

With me

In the dark.

The last time

Electricity

Flew the coop

We had three men

At the circuit breaker box.

Our administrator said

She could smell

Testosterone

In the air.

This time

I knew

It was

Circuit breaker

Number five.

Eleemosynary

I had forgotten the meaning of eleemosynary. I am also glad I did not get it in the eighth grade spelling bee. Affidavit was difficult enough.

I have always been

A good speller

Though I came in

Tied for third

In eighth grade.

I sat with

All the other sort of winners

Who misspelled

Affidavit.

My father

Was an attorney.

This misspelling

Was particularly

Problematic.

This morning I heard

Eleemosynary

On the radio

Had to look it up

Charitable

It said

Charitable

Oh

My eighth grade self

Charity wins

The day.

New credence

Most of us have had our doctors feel they know best (and often they do). My trip to NIH and the recommendations from that visit have had an amazing weight. Amazing.

I have gained

New credence

With my doctors.

Any recommendation

From that special place

Bears the weight

Of the angels

Maybe even

Of God.

Of course the angels

Are light as the feathers

On their shoulders

And God

Well

Of course

God

Is unknowably heavy.

They must know

What they talk about.

They must know.

It’s a given.

I would bestow

This new credence

On everyone I love

And even all

I don’t.

250 gifts

I forgot, until I remembered.

Before the hospital

I ordered a book

250 poems.

I forgot.

Found it on the dresser.

Now I have gifts

250 gifts

For daily consumption

I forgot

I ordered it.

Now I remember

Yes

Now I remember.

Gifts

250 gifts

Now I remember.

Snit fits

What does a happy tortoise look like?

The tortoise is home,

Not happy,

But home.

We await

The snit fits

Which only he

Can throw.

The plate in his jaws

Against the glass,

The head sucked into

His shell

So no medicine

Can be applied.

Yes

The tortoise

Is home

Not happy

But home.