The Mossy Stairway

Under thick foliage,
small stone steps
wind their way
down the hill
to the water
their coats of moss
cool and moist
shield the rocks
from my sight
until it’s
much too late.

My foot slides
down I go
with a shriek
that cuts the air
and echoes far
across the valley
rough and tumble
bouncing and jouncing
praying hard that
no one hears
or sees me.

I test my limbs
and listen close
for creaks and cracks
my butt hurts
but not as much
as my pride
I start again
down the hill
but this time
I avoid
the slippery mossy stairway.

Stories

Oh, Bridge,
tell me your stories
of feet that tread your ribs
across peaceful chattering water
that laughs and plays
over rocks and roots and fish.

Tell me of giggling children
walking hand in hand
pointing and pounding,
scaring minnows from your shadow
as they trample
one side to the other.

Tell me of lovers
leaning across your rail
and into each other’s bodies
smiling at the pair of ducks
wading warily near their nest
beneath your sheltering belly.

Tell me of the weary
whose souls bear scars
of love and death and sorrow
who sigh heavily
upon broken dreams
while pondering silvery depths.

Tell me of the aged
with deeply carved planes
and backs bowed
by the burden of living,
as your bowed spine
bears their weary weight.

Oh, Bridge,
tell me your stories.

Silence

A brook bubbles along
swollen from recent rain
tumbling over rocks,
whose mossy tops
comb the water.

The elderly owner
of a shuffling tread
creaks the spanning bridge
and waves grüß Gott
in passing.

The whoosh of town traffic
whispers its sigh
after a sun-dreary day
of clicking mouses
and clacking keyboards.

And floating above it all
high and clear
is a child’s voice
singing.

Rain

Aches radiate from deep within
the marrow of my bones--
phalanges, metatarsals, tibia
phlanages, metacarpals, radius
right big toe
right thumb.
My body speaks with the rain.

Waiting

I feel it in the air,
a thickening near imperceptible
an entity unto its own.

My bloods hums along
quickened by the change,
my skin oh-so-sensitive
prickles invisibly.

The rain thrums through my body
long before it appears
and seizes my consciousness
and throttles it into creativity.

When You Come Home--a haiku

why do I feel I'm
an intruder in your life
unwanted by you?

The Broken Bird

I held a bird
in my hand,
small and injured,
warm and soft.
Its heart beat wildly--
a tickle of feathers
a scratch of feet--
as it struggled
to gain the air.

I caught my breath,
and said a prayer
while I held fast,
hands cupped round
its desperate body,
as if I could keep
its fragile life
from slowly ebbing
away.

Soar

I hear the eagle’s cry
far overhead.
Its beauty pierces
my heart to its depths--
lifting its wings
soaring the skies
riding the currents
into infinity.
So fierce.
So solitary.

Something within me
stirs to life
as I watch its circling
and listen to its song.
I feel a mix
of kinship and longing.
I feel its strength
and its freedom
and its thrum of life
quicken within.

Heaven

There’s nothing as wondrous
as the love of a child
when he wraps his arms around you--
hands like weighty butterflies
resting and fluttering on your back
face soft and smooth at your chin
hair soft and silky at your cheek
breath soft and warm at your ear
voice sweet and true and trusting
as he whispers
I love you.

The Cry

The cry of an eagle
high overhead
a mournful wail
piercing the air
searching for prey
or praying for union
I don’t know which.

But its cry
seizes my heart--
as surely as talons
seize the mouse--
hot and pounding
fighting for life.

Caught

My mind writhes with
words to write. If
only I had the time to
and the freedom to
let it run wild for
hours at a stretch to
get it all out without
frequent demands that
often interrupt.

We sit together,
your head on my arm. You
ask me if I will
always love you.
But my question is, will
you always love me? Am
I mother enough to
balance our needs, all
yours as a child and
mine as an adult?

Guilt has me in
its humid embrace and
halts my growth as
your mother and as
the writer deep within.
How to blend my
love for you and
my creative drive to
satisfy us both?
I can’t help but
feel caught.

Don't You Know

In the morning
you touch me—
a gentle caress
across my cheek
or over my hair—
while I lay
pretending to sleep
waiting for this
soft goodbye.

During the day
you call me—
kind words
and idle chatter—
while I work
in the house
hoping that you
will think of me.

In the evening
you return to me
I gauge your mood
and I wonder
will you share
will you listen
will you be kind
will you let me
reach out to you?

Why is it
you love me
so much from afar—
(often I wake
to find my hand
clutched in yours
as if you need
my protection)
but you show
so little when I’m near?

Don’t you know
I need your love
up close,
where I can see it
where I can smell it
so I know it
to be true
and not such
a bother to you?

Don’t you know
that it hurts?

Heat

A jumble of articulation across steamy air
Sounds with no meaning
I float on a cushion thought
That has nothing to do with here.

A face drifts toward me
Blond hair, icy-blue eyes
Ruddy complexion, slick from the humidity
A body toned and tanned

Is he talking to me?
What does he want?
More jumbled sounds
What does he want from me?

The sounds order themselves
He questions me
I answer in his language, Yes.
He draws closer.

He smiles
His eyes sparkle
He touches my arm
As if we share a secret

I feel the heat of his body
Down the length of my side
Oppressive and humid
Like the air around us

He’s attractive
Knows his effect
Works it to perfection
But I know better

He speaks again
I reply, No
So he asks me of my homeland
His comments sound forced

He presses me
Urges me to a table
Holds a pen and a pad of paper
Poised to write

Again, I say, No
Not today
I don’t want
What you’re selling

His smile slips
Eyes dim
He walks away to find another
I’m nothing to him now

But still, I feel the heat of his body.