Wednesday, March 15, 2017

40 Days of Poetry

Though I'm not Catholic, for Lent, I'm writing a poem a day with a group of friends, mostly from college. Here are some samples of what I've been doing:


[With thanks to Scott Fitzgerald & Yvonne Keeley - If I Had Words and the ever-so similar Saint-Saƫns - Symphony No. 3: "Organ Symphony"]

Roman goddess of thieves,
may each dark shadow protect your face,
falling cool like water
to cloak your grace.

I don't call for wisdom,
art, or inspiration
but sleight of hand
and imitation.

I could pray to gods below
and muses high
but I come to you
as a writer magpie

who steals scraps of detail
whether new or archaic
reassembling pieces
into mosaic.

Laverna, let me take sunlight,
recreate a day for you.
Guide me to the right fragments
golden and new.


"You will recognize the comforter on grandma's bed," Mom writes.
My old comforter from high school is floral light and dark blue with some green.
"A spare for years," she adds.
She and my father got a call that my grandmother was very cold
and my dad ran it over to her in the home.

She had been sleeping a lot, Mom says.
My uncle calls it "twilight sleep."

I will see her on Thursday though I am already with her, I tell myself.
In every way that matters, she's always been with me.

Grandma II

Grandma is stretched out on the couch,
eyes slightly open as she dozes.
She goes in and out of dreams.

Her legs are so thin, I think.
The aide tells me she still drinks cranberry juice,
eats soup with thick broth,
and goes to the weekly news segments in the home.
She wants to know what's happening in the world.
She continues to insist on getting her hair done.

Grandma tells me about my cousin who will be visiting soon
and bringing her daughter,
my grandma's seventh great-grand-daughter,

Grandma sings Dean Martin:
"Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise
Birds in the trees twitter Louise."

I give her a Valentine's card
and a poem I wrote for her.
She doesn't let either go
even as she slips back asleep.