I am a wildflower transplanted inland from the Mendocino coast.  I dream of sea fog and breath to waves that once rocked me to sleep.  Poems have struggled to get out of me for more than thirty years and now and then one pops out.  This makes me very happy. I am thrilled to share my work.  "In A Dress Made Of Butterflies", my first book will be published by Poetic Matrix Press sometime this fall.

 Grandma Is Always Close

She's all there
and real as a thunderstorm, 
flashing eyes,
angry words,
the hitting,
each resounding slap
bringing back the old bruises.

We all said over and over,
"She'll outlive us all."
And dead now for thirty years,
she has!

Even the good memories
are tainted.

She is a box of berries,
the flavors mingled,
the little sweetness we had,
ruined by mildew.

---

    Hormones and Hunger

Diminishing shadows surrender to night,
splashes of muter color gather
below the window's yellow rectangle
when she begins to wail.

A wandering cat
her haunting howl
more demonic than angelic.

I am awake with a hot flash,
and am no stranger to hormones.

Standing barefoot on the porch
at midnight
softly calling, "Here Kitty, kitty"
feeling that worried anguish
for one who is lost.

No answer.
No Kitty.
I wonder if she follows her hormones
or if she's been dumped,
thrown from a passing car
left here to fend for herself
by someone 
who promised to love and care for her,
by someone who failed to spay her.

Oh well,
my hot flash has long passed
and I make my way back to bed.
tomorrow is another day.
Perhaps by then she will hunger
enough to answer.

Back in bed,
ready for sleep,
reaching to turn off the lamp
when there from the yellow patch of light
beneath a sleepy bedroom window
a cat begins to howl.

---

    Five Haiku-like Poems

Salt and silver tears
banks of purple blue black fear,
puddles reflect clouds.

~^~^~^~

The grey cat Cleo,
definitely a Leo,
might prefer Rio!

~^~^~^~^~
On your breath, in your
touch, your loving caring touch,
the soothing river.

~^~^~^~^~

Her breasts polished stone,
the baby sleeping soundly,
hot sticky Summer.

~^~^~^~^~

Awakened mid-dream
by a neighbor's wild laughter.
The loons have returned!

A Secret Kept

Just as Mohammad had his mountain
my neighbor has his welder
and late at night
in spitting blue light
he makes love to a fender.

I have my books,
my pens...my ink.

He dreams in beads,
perfect looping liquid beads
of numbered rod melting into flawless seams
hardening to the tensile strength of steel.

I dream in lines...line breaks.
In poems
I long aloud for the mountain I love
and remember fondly the rumble of the ocean
its salty spray soft on my lips,
its astringent burn on my tongue.

He watches me come and go in dresses,
laden with books,
often spilling folders full of paper
to blow in hasty wind
all over his untidy lawn.

He smiles and asks about me,
my poems
and together we chase down 
and corral every white sheet.

I admire his fenders,
ask about eye protection,
warn against the blue blaze
that burns in permanent ways
without pain
without warning.
I caution him to watch for sparks,
lest he catch himself on fire.

He introduces me to his friends,
tells them I make poems.
I blush.

As I hurry down the thin sidewalk
dividing my lawn and his,
I wonder
what kind of turn
our relationship would take
if he knew I had gone to welding school,
that I know what 2010 rod is for,
can stick metal on metal
and have burned my hair,
clothes and skin
more than once.

I think I like the way
things are,
me the poet,
he, the man who runs perfect beads.

Mohammad had his mountain,
I had one too,
my neighbor has his welder,
and I have a secret
I think I'll keep.

---

Finding Pleiades Again

What became of the mother and daughter
sleeping close under night sky,
knowing by heart
where to find Pleiades,
Aldebaran and the Great Square?

At times
I am afraid to touch you.
Modern wonder drugs have side effects.

Your skin rips apart 
into great gaping wounds
when you bump
into solid objects
hidden in the soft depths
of the long night.

I fear 
when I pull your frail body
from the warm bath
I will tear your arm away
leaving wet glistening bone,
red and white in a blue world.

Let's do it again Mom,
drag our beds outside
on a clear moonless night.
We'll follow our pointing fingers
and find again
that place where time begins
and ends.