Dreaming of Roses

I have a bar of soap
given to me three years ago
by my beautiful, no longer
daughter in law. Now she is
my friend. This rose scented
soap which I have never opened
is beautifully wrapped in
dusty red paper, delicately
decorated with cherry blossoms
and banded in gold. It sits
on the dresser near my bed.
Each night, when I lie down,
The powdery rose aroma brings
to mind my grandmother's rosewater.
I see a single magenta
petal, the fairy fine veins
in it, feel the baby skin softness.
The hint of roses I breathe
brings all this to mind as it
touches the very back
of my tongue with the
faint taste of raspberries.

Happy Days

The boy and his dad
Stood in the morning sun.
Squinting, he looked up,
His dad’s beard was
The color of his own hair,
It shined in the light.
He used to be here alone
Until his dad stopped working
Now he waited with him
For the school bus.
His dad was sad
About losing his job,
Sometimes his mom acted
Mad, leaving for work,
But the boy was secretly glad.
He loved the stories his dad
Told him while they waited.
How he used to stand here
When he was young,
Their old stone house
Was the school long ago,
A blue and yellow sign
By the corner says so.
He told him of his granddad
Going to the school and how
All the walls used to be space,
Even his little blue bedroom.
The whole kitchen wall was
Covered by a big blackboard
And the teacher’s desk sat right
Where they ate their dinner.
The bus groaned to a stop,
His dad gently ruffled his hair
As he climbed the steps.
He hoped his dad
Would never find a job.

More Will Be Revealed

The weeds don't know
The ugly ducklings of summer
Are having a fall fashion show.
Chevys and Hummers whiz by,
Owners intent on reaching
Jobs hanging by a string,
Powered by a head puppeteer,
Who's just another puppet.
No time to tarry and appreciate
These lovelies, these surprises.
Strewn among losing lottery tickets,
Fast food bags and water bottles,
Blooming into swans of purple
Wild asters, little shell pink daisies,
Tiny lady slippers, a freckle faced
Orange, like rare orchids
In a far off tropical jungle.
I notice the sweet pea is aptly named
For the pea pod hanging
Near the fuchsia flower,
How could I have missed that
In all my years? I don't know,
I am guessing the old
Gentleman who peered through
His windshield and waved,
Has some memory of lying lazily
Upon such a colorful carpet with
A fondly remembered first love,
Princess in a daisy chain tiara.

Ode to the Uncowboy

He rides the sky
Moon in his pocket
Reaps what feeds
Soul and spirit
Fair maidens fall to
His insouciance
And charming grace
No need for earthy
Shucks and spit
Just classy lines
Quiet strength
Buttoned down
Breadth of wit.

Leaving You

Leaving you
Was never simple.
When I went away
We would do that dance,
I would try to convince
You to go with me,
You would waffle and refuse.
"You know I hate to travel,
You need time alone."
I would be a little relieved
And go, but miss you.

When you began falling,
I wouldn't want to go
To the gym or to the store,
You'd promise to stay in place
I'd come home to find you
On the floor.

When you were in the hospital
I would get ready to leave
And you would say,
"Oh I know how it is
You're glad to get out of here
You'll go home, pet the dog
Put your feet up, have a cup of tea
When you leave
Every thing here
Turns to garbage."
So maybe I'd stay a little longer.
In truth, I was relieved
To finally leave.

And now I must leave you
Again, not a simple thing
For you have left before me
And I must find a way
To leave you again.
A way to carry
The memories, the heartache
Within me,
While remaining whole.

The Grass

While the grandson
Chases his hormones
Or searches for himself
I take on the job
That was yours


Following your
Footsteps I see you
As I push the old
Craftsman along
The Euclidian paths
You cut in the yard.
Triangles, quadrants,
Doglegs and squares,
Outside to inside
Plotting a course
To bring the machine
Close to walls
Avoid throwing
Grass on the drive.


The blade slices
through a pine cone
With a gritty sound,
The varied scent of
Fresh cut grasses
Drift up as I mow
Kentucky Blue, clover,
Tru Value play yard.
Birds rush to
The feast of
New uncovered
Bugs and slugs
And worms.


As I rest on the bench
Beneath the pear trees
I admire how the place
Seems to be head up,
Shoulders back like you,
Trimmed and ready
To go out.

Rain

The rain and I
Have always been friends.
I once feared a thunderstorm,
And my mother said
the angels were bowling,
That set right
I have loved it since.
Curled up with a book
By an open window,
Walking in it
At each opportunity.

One time
My worried husband
Came looking
With the children
In the car.
Another time
I ran naked
With a lover,
The cool soft drops
Upon my skin.

Now a grandmother,
A great grandmother,
I was out before dawn,
Without the lover,
Still sweet, still cool
And soft upon my skin.
The woman,
Ghost of the girl within.