TABULA RASA to ROSETTA STONE
My heart is a water-walker
Knowing fire comes before air or earth
Without knowing how it knows.
All runes writ on inner walls.
I still believe clichés too well.
Worn truths for campfire nights.
So much disappears when ravens must be masked
Rumor has no brakes, careening.
We live history because we are that,
We pass through time in slick shadows
Claiming less & less responsibility.
All those fingers pointing at me…
No way to choose what was mine,
Or clean it up.
I hear they have snow on tap in Hell
But you have to order regret on the side.
We are all still dancing
Long beyond the musicians fallen asleep.
Scattered static, poor reception
Stories of emotional electrical storms
All natural & delivered fresh to your door.
Sometimes I’m sitting in that
1950’s Matrix kitchen,
Linoleum & chrome, aprons on a hook
A bowl of cookies on the counter.
They should make churches of kitchens
Each cabinet a chapel.
I think I incarnated fifty years too early
I may have rushed it a little
But I know me – even on the Other Side
I was twitching the curtains to see…
I just kept showing up
Till they let me in,
A kind of standby thing.
I didn’t get much advance notice
Just the part I’d be a girl.
I hopped on board,
Folding a note to the wing-footed messenger
“Tell them I’ve left, okay?”
All of us breathless from the chase
Set upon like lemmings rounded up & running
For the cliff
Laughing out loud
At the rush of the madding crowd.
My friend declares she’s done her “goathead yoga” for the day
Bending from the hips since knees have to consult on standing.
I found it a grand description!
My flipflops are spiked like golf shoes
Along with rattlers, the reason for all those Tony Lamas.
The kaleidoscopes have clicked, another paisley scene
Passes for reality in one eye only
Central Control never got to center
Tho I passed for rational at the time.
Barriers retreat: Clarity flips on the spotlights
Finding there’s no going back anymore
And probably never was despite the muddy reviews.
There was another opening line I had
But by the time I found paper ‘twas
Fled, like a deer to a bark
While I turn in circles on silvered toes.
It’s the tenth of the month: time to
Start its liquefaction.
Months march in on single digits
Upright & meaningful
But this is where they pick up speed.
Days can drizzle or pour, some
Snapping shut to disappear entirely.
I am busily escaping this meme of Time
Wherein clock hands feel around for my fate
I am busily unfolding DNA,
Making room for the light coming in.
I can pinch that last nerve of yours
Like a new mosquito bite announcing itch
I’m hell-bent on being who I am
Clear enough for transparent to lean in
I grasp that slippery slab of dawn
Two-handed, and a yank
Brings it to my face
Smelling morning up close
Mine is the Last Word
The very last.
I walked the beach at this hour, turning up
Shells & sandcrabs
Hiding my shoes under the pier for later.
The morning bypassed curtains altogether,
Entering my room without knocking
Breathless in its message: Get up! Get up!
Into my suit & out the door I fled
The two of us, giggling at daybreak
Opening doors in the house of silence
Out the door, down the steps
Snagging a towel from the rail en route.
Sweep the kickstand back, mount up
Five blocks from the sea
I hear the shush & boom
Only a dune away.
WHATEVER IT IS, IT’S INTENSE
Dipped in morning
Held by one heel from total immersion
Nonetheless, redolent of early
Standing in my tiny kingdom yard
Playing peekaboo with the risen sun.
I cannot write everything!
Not the curl of air along my cheek
The ant I brush from my arm,
The clouds fitted into the puzzle-blue sky
How good it feels to breathe.
The pacing of the cat by the door.
Things before important
No longer apply
Lives of brown mountains &
An aloha of life.
The fabulous bouquet of memory & mercies
A seven-decade life to recall & restate
Well-written refinements of
Monasteries & memories.
SANDALS & BALL GOWNS
I’ve talked myself off cliffs
Out of foolish love affairs
My own counsel was wise
Saving change for the next time
I pass a gumball machine
Heading to where morning is enough
To satisfy the day.
Embarked upon the most complex of journeys
Making my way through good & evil
Trapped in conundrum, peeling away heartbreak
For more speed
Entranced & endlessly so.
The invisible ongoing a most elusive route
Let alone a destination to be had
I would be a ridge runner
If I could climb mountains.
God’s second chance or ten millionth
Embellished in daylight
Fringed in shadows
The soul skipping along,
A basket over its arm to collect magic.
AGAIN: THE WIZARD’S LIGHT
I watch the plants
Turning east to beginnings
Coming into view
Silhouettes becoming solid
Profligate in green
The trees assume definition.
I have too much terminology
Little enough experience
A liquid comfort zone to float upon.
Once a neighbor, walking our common yard
Looked at me in the lawn chair, still-sitting.
“Are you watching the laundry dry?”
He asked incredulously.
I smile now as then,
All these years later to think
I may have glimpsed my Life’s Purpose in that minute.