you may have thought

maybe you considered that your little girl would grow up

drive a car and talk on her own phone, eat her own food

you would be right.  and she still falls asleep in the back

seat on the way to Humboldt County.  she can't help it.

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anything! write something! now!

where are we going

comparing his to mine, them to us

orange to blue, yellow to purple

always opposite, up or down, yes

no, where does bipolar make sense

if the arctic ice melts into vast sea

nightstand trivia, or is it

the last thing to see as the light

goes off, and darkness settles

into all corners, unsure until she

lies still, breathing into soft sighs 

watchful, still wondering if all the babies

are in their rightful places, the animals

secure, the birds brought in from the porch

floor swept, leftovers wrapped

was there time to contemplate and gaze

oranges are still on the tree in full bloom

filling an acre with sweet scent below blue

sky filled with swallows and hummingbirds

not sure how the nightstand works here

except that it is the place that holds

space for eyeglasses and beloved books

red bone mala and prayers whispered

comparisons litter mind and landscape

if only this were different and I could whip

out a poem a day and paint a picture

or at least a layer, and there we go

off and running in circles of critisism

self inflicted agony.  stop right there

come back to the nightstand 

small square under the light

place for Madonna and child

my favorite pen and two tall

teetering stacks of books

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piece by piece

things fall apart if they are not checked

daily, or even moment to moment

a shingle can fly off the roof, an insulator

fall from a post, a fly buzz into the kitchen

geraniums are hardy, too stiff to wilt

when dried out the pots fall over, spilling

the dirt onto the shelf and floor, damn cats

a rock in each to help gravity

childhood stories wind around the pear tree

plastic bag tied in knots holds  a huge apple

in place on its branch, defying birds and moon

even the pull of the earth and tides

taking apart the household, piece by piece

ceramic frogs, chicken mugs, silver dollars

Indian head nickles, Roosevelt dimes

dust, boxes of shoes and pictures of us

it's taken a long while to find the courage

to open the corners, drawers and envelopes

"I hate to throw away things people cared about,"

our eldest brother says in the woodshed

each Christmas ornament, weary from holding shape

shedding its color, gathered into plastic bags

stashed out of context and found

brings us closer to an empty house

a silent kitchen without a fire

a greenhouse with no geraniums

an empty house brings us closer

to letting her go

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oriole tango

humming now and then 

knowing that my prayers are heard and answered

the oriole sounds like the percussion instrument

I was given for Chirstmas one year,  it disappeared

too noisy, too ratchety, rr-rrr, rr-rrr, rr-rrrr

looking out my poets' window, over suds and dishes

I see a dance unfold on the branch above the bluebird box 

black tail fanned wide, two steps forward 

two back, he is the color of flames 

she does the same, turns her back

fans her beautiful less than black tail, watching

over her shoulder, two steps forward

they dart away, chasing their dance to heights

far up in the budding maple, the warm colors

blending orange, yellow and sparking white 

maple and birds wildly moving below blue blue

sky, I want to sing their song

dance that aerial dance, wear slick

hot colors and skip the dishes

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Luna wagging her tail

putting up with the camera in a good natured sort of way. 

not all poets can control their photo programs?

Can you see the osprey nest?  This nest has been here in the top of that matriarch Redwood for as long as I can remember.  I sure wish I could turn the image right side up.  Dang.

Here is about my favorite picture ever, of my big brother Bob on one of his favorite toys, in my rear-view mirror 'cause we just passed him.  I missed catching him on film when he tipped over in the petunia bed with Cleo and a 12 pack on the back seat.