Migrations

Last weekend, a friend observed she could mark the seasons by the source of the blueberries in the supermarket where she shops. (For foreign readers- Safeway is a supermarket chain in the U.S.)

                                                        Migrations

                        Blueberries move north, just behind the birds.
                        You can track them at the Safeway.
                        In January they come from Chile,
                        transplanted treat the Incas never knew.
                        By March a hybrid that can take the heat
                         ripens among  Florida retirees,
                         a faint foreshadowing of the real thing.
                         Come August they are back where they belong,
                         growing New England wild for birds, bears,
                         and blue-tongued boys to taste how winter chill
                         becomes summer sweetness and how summer’s
                         surfeit makes way for winter’s long, spare rest.

Latecomers

  Just a few thoughts about the people who don't make it to the theatre in time for the start of the show.

               Latecomers

will be seated during a break
in the action, just as they have
fit our play into a break between
whatever made them late and
whatever they have left undone.

Parallel Parking

This one started with the title and some thoughts while driving to work.

   Parallel Parking

No signal does it justice         
since it is more than a stop
and not quite a turn,
depending on other
drivers to divine
we have passed
where we want to be
and are going to back up
until it becomes where we are –
close but not too close
to the curb and the cars,
filled with the comfort
and pride of all things
difficult and dreaded
when once well done.

 

Footloose

After looking at my bedroom floor one night, I wrote this poem the next morning.

                                                 Footloose

                                    In some places, shoes
                                    reside on racks
                                    confined in closets
                                    categorized by color
                                    or by class -
                                    brown, black, beige,
                                    the dress-up separated
                                    from the everyday.

                                    But here, we shed our shoes
                                             wherever we want
                                   so they end up
                                           under the coffee table
                                                or Ikea chairs
                                    beside the bed
                                              at the foot of the stairs,
                                    sneakers and sandals
                                          and slippers
                                    wingtips and work boots
                                                and even the loafers
                                     all huddle in herds
                                         or hide on their own,
                                    all ready to roam
                                                 the wide world round –
                                    or trip us in the dark
                                                                     where we all fall down.