Upright

I used to hear the harmony

in my head back when I sang alto like a natural  

calling out the flat notes 

made me feel savvy and capable. 

I also played these notes on the upright piano my parents had rented for me 

it’s how I fell in love with music, humming melancholic melodies to myself at night 

but I loved the style of this upright as much as I loved the idea my mother went to the expense of having her daughter study music

tutored by nuns, no less

when I practiced, I hoped that despite the din and effervescent undercurrent in our house, the sweet sounds I made reached my father’s ears and heart

with conscientious discipline, 

I perched on the antique stool 

practiced hours for the spring musical performance 

tunes from “The King and I” played

without an ill-spent note

though I could have evoked a little more fourth-grade passion

and not have worried so much about the lofty manner by which I dreamed piano 

taking the stage

in my new nylon stockings

kitten heels 

fancy flowered dress 

applause that made me feel like a rising, singing star

The Egg

 

My mother was an egg

she hatched from a grandmother I never knew

so fragile, her shell cracked open one day as she rested on a city stoop, clutching the chest where her heart beat beneath

not as fragile, my mother beamed easy energy and a strong life force

she knew that about herself 

once, as a child, I caught my mother lying on the sofa dozing 

in the middle of a summer afternoon

I panicked 

and called out her name as if I could prevent the nap or her departure 

which indicated both of our vulnerabilities 

but she knew she needed more rest

more time  

to bestow upon her children 

their birthright, her tutelage

and there was me with my discerning heart, and big ears, and ever-calculating brain. I was just like her  

she lived by a code of unspoken ideals:

everything in life has potential for humor 

make yourself presentable

pray

a cake is only good enough if you bake with the best ingredients 

don’t skimp on life whether it’s butter or love 

and the egg, future sons and daughters,

these are fragile days for mother and child

a shell required, stronger than you could ever imagine 

Metaphor

 

through my cat’s insistence

I telegraph regret

at my inability to save everyone. 

an inadequacy I should have accepted years earlier 

my sweet feline friend

cuddles with me on the living room sofa while I read

at night in bed,  

I sleep on my side 

he sleeps on me

he asks for nothing

vibrates a cure 

of self-forgiveness 

or so I like to imagine. 

here, boy, be the messenger 

take my mistakes

walk through a crowded room 

tail up, flagging the news 

desire and intention

my metaphor for

perfection in a hallway mirror,

What We Thought We Would Be

No one coached me on the proper manner by which to make a bed, a rudimentary life task

but tidy corners have never been my thing. 

I can admit that now 

I really tried making sense of life together

but a woman begins to feel it

sooner or later

feel it or forget it I always say 

the sooner I realized,

the better for everyone involved

there’s a right way, a best path

call it what you want 

most of us have a goal or desire in mind at the start:

beauty and attraction

we’re so alike 

we get along 

we want the same things in life

and these days that’s saying something 

even if secretly we aren’t sure what those things are

still, the day arrives 

a pall is cast

an unmade bed

quiet reckoning

Gone, Not Gone

with all the world and hearts on fire

still, I sit here in my little grief

The Pear Tree

An off-cue moment of freedom                   make use of this space while there is calm

answers to be found

breathe in oxygen of coffee and incense

meditate, back straight, head in clouds 

sunlight presses upon my eyelids

open to bare swaying trees 

pruned for another cycle 

two birds alight on a limb

bound by northern winds

Life in Cat Years

In the overstuffed chair

I remember how you nestled

into a spiral, my favorite geometry those last nights

before you went away

mornings were always wild 

it was how you saw life, 

your job my alarm 

a bell rung on the farm

where coffee and eggs waited on chores, feed bowls, sparkling water

pretending you and your brother 

were not needy

more so, I saw essential meaning

for decades tended others of your kind

who so softly appeared

heartbreakingly departed 

a steady stream of maternal gems