Reading

if I could find a place that delivers food to my bedroom

I would live there.                                                   and slip my grateful cash beneath the door                                                 

every inch of my bed 

would be designated as accommodation for me and the cats

comfortable chair

potable water,

a soaking tub 

why have I not thought of all this sooner?

novels and memoirs delivered on demand

conversations happen by text or phone 

but not too much phone, please

for there shall be no spoil 

to this peaceable realm

visitors, (little demons) may leave messages on squares of paper 

sent through a scrim 

of winter light below

please and thank you’s accompany

essential communication

overnight stays are 

out of the question

~~~

I have gone away 

you know it won’t be forever 

I’ve left for a land stumbled upon perchance

this hut on the tundra

my Narnia 

August

light arrives, more paced, relaxed 

mourning doves, our timekeepers

evenings falls earlier

within predictable movement of sun and moon 

see there, to the west 

it’s still daylight

summer not quite done with her fancy shimmer 

subtly aware, you breathe in this  pending weight

gauge the cusp, the nuance

of that which is not yet known 

Ghosts

I remember this house in winter 

the stone, shutters, crackled paint

front porch sags, though still willing, 

surprisingly sturdy

no light breaks through 

windows nailed closed for decades

an interior aged with silt and

unrequited spirits 

unable to host a living being 

even as she struggles 

for anyone without a home

until summer comes and makes it right

after the rains again

clear skies reflect a door, opened

hope and welcome from her ghosts

The Age of Twiggy

 

an impossibly-flat chest

stick woman legs 

it’s the London look, baby 

eradicates womanliness

inherited trait

an hourglass figure

no longer in favor. 

these days thin is in

a remembrance: 

the day I ate only a Mars bar and an apple 

proud and not a bit hungry 

withhold food 

so much classier than 

binge and purge 

it was in the genes

this inherent shame of shape

my maternal aunt, Immaculate Heart  nun

cushions of flesh folded beneath the habit she was obliged to wear 

3 bowls of cereal a day would be the Lenten regimen

3 bowls x 40 days in the desert

I thought it genius

and copy-catted the crime

though there existed a fair measure of rumination on my part

a nun covered in robes

swishing from head to toe

barely revealed a little ankle 

on a good day

what was the point? 

did she diet for health purposes 

was she a woman under the influence 

of rock and roll men,

alternate desires, expected perfection 

curves and bulges 

disguised beneath a sorceress’ cloak 

all of us offering up fat sins to our respective gods

As a Child (for Mackenzie)

splayed across a disparate world

of satin and quilts 

I eschew the billowed tent

heaven and stars adhered to a ceiling

life within performance is my discipline

its patchwork brings a show 

of pride

I travel wide

dig my toes deep into distant sands 

grow taller, wiser, hopeful

while child-self hugs books and blankets 

the stuffed and raggedy, well-loved rabbit 

Academy Girls

Northern mornings

when the city bus could barely 

contain us

laughing and screaming,

we ran down the sidewalk

Stop

nuns ruled with stern propensity toward borderline abuse

rare kindness interjected on a whim 

imposed styles and beliefs

plaid skirts and saddle shoes 

toxic scent of white polish

unruly scuff

kick pleat

starched collars

what lay beneath

the possession 

of young girls by nature 

detected by the boys

no permission required