Minding you

I’m trying to remember how
everything fell into place
so easily, like a puzzle for children
as obvious as squares and circles
or green frogs and blue monsters.

Now in my mind your face is scumbled,
edges blurred into the background,
a photograph shot in front of floral curtains
the lamp from IKEA, a door standing open,
your heart shut tight even then.

This can’t be the way only I recall it,
there were too many passing moments
like clarity, jolts of harmony, yes, love,
magnetic and electric whirling sand
around our feet, into our eyes and ears.

I’m looking through the wrong end,
binoculars perverted or perverse,
nothing makes sense and I ache
all over again, not knowing where
to put my hands, not knowing why.

monday is really over and still no poem- a few lame ideas.

Had to send out an update on the calendar, seems the 7pm reading has been moved to 8pm.

It's going to be a nightmare to park. So many cars, so many kids. But that's college these days, the place you go to avoid getting a real job.

I used to have a real job- I taught music, vocal and general, for around twenty-eight years. It was exhausting. I still have half my stuff around "just in case" I need it.

I won't need any of it but I'm so reluctant to throw things away.

I have some very cool stuff.

Materials, not instruments. I was very good at what I did.

I think I was- maybe I wasn't.

Poetry and me.

Sometimes it's so boring. I skipped the reading today, couldn't bear to schlep downtown, didn't have the three bucks for the garage and not enough gas to search for a parking spot close enough.

Turned out to be a good choice, since there was a meeting being held for sponsors of confirmands at my old church. I'm sponsoring the son of my friend, Sue.

Sharing faith- yeah- there's a daunting prospect. I don't know what to tell the kid.

Life amazes me sometimes, blue skies, babies, really good food. But then there's ugliness, mean people, nuts, and all those people who want me to be like them instead of like I am.

Where's God in that? What is God anyway? My 90 year old aunt says I shouldn't write poetry because it's "not from God....and takes me away from my family."

She's one of the true believers who wants everything you do to be to the "glory of God" but who says this isn't?

Maybe if religion weren't so patriarchal...

Well, I bought some things, all on sale-

of course.

Then I took my friend to dinner at (Chili's) and had, oh yes, the baby back ribs.

They were tasty but gave me a headache- do you think they use MSG???

poetry... must write tonight.

shann

October 11, 2003

Poetry is getting better...and worse. Internet poetry is a gift, things are beginning to shake out. I just hope the good poets stay.

I haven't written much lately, but the new calendar is up at
http://groups.msn.com/FlashPaperPoetry.

I'm going shopping with a friend. I have nothing I need to buy, mostly I'm going for company and consult. Maybe a frappachino.

shann