The Lion, The Witch, and The Library (2020 NaPoWriMo #2)

Blog PO Box 249

 

 

 

 

 

 

First thing, first summer morning,
Mom pulled the Impala into the
Main Street, Timberland Library,
Downsloping diagonal parking.

The thick shake-shingle front, long since
Painted bright,
But for 1970s us, a damp doorway
Into vast, uncharted worlds.

A long block up to the District Courthouse
Opposite, down and to the right, past my
Father’s school district office
Then left, Fleet park.

Across Pioneer Avenue the post office
Where our 249 box puzzle fit
With our 249 phone prefix
And I had a key.

Another doorway, opening onto
Any possibility:
Grandparents cards plus checks
Military school boy letters

My home was
Five miles from any of this.
A trip to town,
Another world.

Scooping Poop: A Story of My Life (2020 NaPoWriMo#1)

Gus 3 years old

The ritual: scoop, shake, dump.
Daily there are 5-7 piles of manure
Stirred until the “road apples”
Are scattered

Toss the sawdust up against the walls
Sloping mountain sides dotted with mines
Scoop, shake, dump
Every day, the same.

Every day, more precious than my own
Heartbeat
My love is measured in every
Scoop, shake, dump

Again, this morning.
Again, tonight.
Again, tomorrow.
The beauty, the hope, the perseverance.

Scoop. Shake. Dump.

 

How to Use a Semicolon

The semicolon gives equal weight to the clause before and the one after.
For serial listing comma lovers, it’s a hiccup in between.
I don’t mind using semicolons; however, I’ve been told I do so incorrectly.

That one clause, remember it? A pause for punctuation?
The moment stretched into years.
That time he emptied his closet?

An independent clause of 15 years.
Semicolon.
Another independent clause?

The list of reasons he gave: I don’t want to be married anymore;
I don’t want to be married anymore;
I don’t want to be married anymore.

That’s not a list.
And this isn’t an indepence equal to the one before.
No semicolon necessary.

Except here: the eyes seeing me crease with love smiles;
large hands touch me as if I am holy and precious;
the woodpile will last for many, many winters.

She Wore Armor (#26 Na/GloWriMo)

She Wore Armor

(inspired by Joy Harjo’s “She Had Some Horses,” resurrected for NaPoWriMo prompt)

(Thank you Na/GloPoWriMo for featuring my poem on Day Twenty-Seven of NaPoWriMo 2019)

She wore armor

She wore armor over her beating heart
She wore armor over her pendulous breasts
She wore armor over her curving hips
She wore armor over her mound of flesh.

She wore armor

She wore armor over her good ideas
She wore armor over her strong hands.
She wore armor over her written words
She wore armor over her selfless service

She wore armor.

She wore armor over the cold space in their bed
She wore armor over the spoken wounds
She wore armor over the indifference
She wore armor over the goodbye

She wore armor.

She wore armor when her husband left
She wore armor on the morning metro
She wore armor at her Pentagon desk
She wore armor in her smile.

She wore armor

Her armor shifted under his gaze.
Her armor protested under his hands
Her armor groaned under his kiss
Her armor cracked under his weight

She opened her armor.