written at the Info Desk

row by
row he
reviews
the shel
ves until
he's bow
ing deep
ly



I don't know what language
she's using with her child
except for, "No," and "No."



it ought to be simple --
explaining why it's not
is not easy

written at the Info Desk

in a library full of books
books full of words
I find nothing to say



tree the wind sets all aquiver
you haven't died to make a book



newest newspapers bound to sticks
the man and woman each
shielding their faces behind events



she puts on her glasses
turns to face
the wall of mysteries



he puts on his glasses
to examine the piece
that fell off them



judging by the clock
how much hunger I'll have to fill

written in a cafe

ah, I see who got the last
chocolate chip cookie



dotted streaks
raindrops hitting the dry window



chair tipped so it rests against the table
the rain can't sit there



almost done with that book
true for weeks

written at the Info Desk

my boss walks by
I try to make thinking
look busy



he flips through the first several pages
then puts the book back



people in caps and jackets
umbrellas dripping
so sunny yesterday!



a book by Edward Lear
it belongs to another library
How Pleasant to Know!

written in radiation oncology waiting room

"AUTOMATIC
CAUTION,"
says the
"DOOR"



sit facing the clock
or
sit facing the television



"How are you?"
"All right."
"Good for you," the tired patient says.



on the bulletin board
the smiling faces --
pushpins in their heads



these eyes wouldn't be able to read
that sign
in English either

written on back porch

seeing my thoughts
not the grass



sitting
the cat going under my legs
a tunnel



the floaters in my eyes swirl
turning to look at the cat



cat, tasting something under a porchrail, shakes its head



the mouth of the hose is dry
the ground below still wet



watering can on its side in the grass
gathering spider webs



a white calla lily
its neighbors curling into fists



yup, cat loves my lap when it's his choice

written at the table

I opened the window
because the outside
needed more room



tree, a tiny breeze will make you shiver so



a stack of CDs --
so much sound
sitting silently




feeling slighted by the neighbor
-- this moment's old resentment

written in a cafe

having cleaned my plate
food in my teeth



the handsome dyke
just look at her
the world is better



the farther away the easier to see
the haze on the hills



after naming all the stores
she's shopped at
she & her friend sit quietly

written in the bakery cafe

anxious, tired
not always, I remind myself



Buson on the white board
I squint to see who he's missing this year



snickerdoodle, choclatine, macaroon
this time a muffin



is there more wakefulness
in the bottom third of the coffee cup?



she sticks out her tongue
rushes to add sugar to her cup



last swallow more bitter than sweet
sticky crumbs on the muffin paper

written at the table, listening to music

all of a sudden
a lot of light
but look at those rainclouds!



now the table's shining
we need curtains



this page has a freckle



no more sun
it was too much, really
for this mood



what if the next song makes me feel like dancing?
oh, it doesn't

written in the break room

startled to find
the glass vase waiting
shiny, clean and broken



metal book ends
arches lining up a passage
tongues overlapping for a path



the unopened fortune cookie
who here didn't need to know?



a yellowed old donation
hey, I'm reading that book



the mending supplies
what a messy jumble

written in a cafe

he shaves his whole head every day?



ceramic duck in the window,
peoplewatching?



shaking his mother's keys,
he waits for the intersection to clear
completely



at least one in every crosswalk



sky bending across windshields

written on back porch

my notebook
sun on the page
I filled last night



digging them up
cutting them back
living with plants



crows now and jays
the songbirds taking a break



surprised at having set the bin a-rocking,
the squirrel hops off



upside down, clinging to eaves
by your toes, bird,
great place for a bug?



past the hairs on my ankle
the ant makes good time
across my foot

working at the library

"good morning, baby"
croons a child's voice
"tuh woo! tuh woo! tuh woo!"



tic a tac
closing out the cash register
did we break a hundred?



returning her DVDs
the woman gasps
a case -- empty!

written on the back porch

inside -- Kent's TV
outside -- the neighbor's



the cats are listening
to birds
not the market report



noises: traffic, airplanes, newscast
I came outside to commune
with the visible



the yellow trumpets of oxalis
are tooting toward the underworld



do you want anybody to pity you, cat?
me neither!



quieter, cooler, darker
what next?



my hand likes the feel of you, too,
orange cat

written in a cafe

dead weather constellations
psychedelic horseshit rubbersidedown
-- playing tonight



under a green umbrella
the blond reads the pink pages



guidebooks for Spain and Andalucia
the traveler fetching a latte



another one of my little burps
I take a sip of water
to fill the gap



his yellow t-shirt
likes his body



two little girls --
this one in two colors
this one in six



he carries his skateboard
its black surface sparkling

written in the taqueria

tree shadow aquiver
faded parking cross



the man in reflective orange
rests against a white fire plug



even upside down
pineapple pulp and ice cube
not shaking loose



police officer on a bike
another officer
and they're off!



one big sneeze
my eyes open
world's about the same

written on the bed before dinner

the things piled in this room
are patient



unfolded shirts
rest on a pillow



hearing noises upstairs,
the cat takes his purr away

written in doctor's exam room

I haven't had a physical in 2 or 3 years. I've had it on my to-do list for months. Finally, I scheduled one. As usual it was loads of fun! What I wrote in the exam room:



the nurse having gone
I'm alone with
more waiting



doctor's exam room --
on the white walls
fliers of many colors



a model heart
a model tailbone
imagining myself a model patient



how many ahs
in the jar of
tongue depressors?



picking at a thread
not ready to come free



I have higher blood pressure than I ought to. It's short of a diagnosis of disease, but when I said my dad had bypass surgery doctor looked concerned and gave me the spiel about eating right. At the pharmacy I bought a bottle of vitamin D - "It's the latest miracle supplement," the doctor said, with a twinkle.

written on couch, listening to music

"You need somebody to reach behind your neck,"
says Kent, giving the cat in his arms a vigorous scratch.



how can I write with all these distractions?
the distractions are more important
so neglect them and write badly



this music is really rock & roll!
Kent cleans the litter pan
this music is really rock & roll!



am I hungry
or just tense
-- belly things!



adjusting my body
to be more comfortable

the next tiny itch - where will it be?

written at the dining table

a proud vermilion cock
construction cranes against a manila sky
-- two poetry anthologies



salt cellar
peppercorns with grinder top
-- two towers



asking for something
nervous because I think he doesn't want to do it



the heater has come on
yes, it does look cold outside

new books in the Claremont collection

Life in Rewind
Back to Life
How Not to Die



7-day Energy Surge
So Stressed
Rest



Secrets of Happy Families
Happy at Work, Happy at Home
At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream



The Wild Marsh
The Pecan Orchard
The Wolf in the Parlor

written at the library information desk

the reflected 8
a little top-heavy



my heart is working –
too hard?



under the chair
nothing
but some dark



do I have to like
what I write?



embarrassed by something I said
… uh … sorry, interrupted, what?

written in radiation oncology waiting room

"I will recognize you next time,"
the patient apologizing to the nurse



I start to count waiting room chairs,
lose interest

number of people: 2



taking a breath -
I've been holding it
listening to strangers' voices



They should have treadmills in waiting rooms.



----
This is the 1,001st post at LoveSettlement.

written at the bakery cafe

pressing warm coffee cup
to my forehead



his long curly blond hair held with a barrette
hers straight and loose



the bakers are talking business
my coffee break's almost over



having loaded folded laundry
in his car, the baker
comes to work



eye on the pastries,
Rosemary passes right by my "Hi!"

written in the attic

in the attic, hearing
how hard the rain
wants down



roar of airplane above rainclouds
thrumming of construction tools next door



third pen this morning balking
like my thoughts

written at dining table

I can see rain
but only when it passes
shadows



the wind whistles
going about its business



I won't see you in sequins
when the sun's out,
neighbor house



mouth still sweet from the cookie
drinking glass still white from the milk

written at the Albany Bulb

On April 1st I started a haiku project. My husband has been diagnosed with colon cancer and he's trying to live in the now, pausing to meditate and appreciate, so I'm following his example. While at the hospital last week I wrote some haiku (or haiku-like poems, depending on how pernsnickety you are about definitions). And I thought they were pretty good. So I set myself the goal of stopping somewhere each day and writing at least 3 haiku, preferably at one sitting or in a short space of time.

Today K & I went to the Albany Bulb, a former dump for construction materials that nature has reclaimed. It's a park now. It extends into the SF Bay in the shape of a bulb. Lots of people take their dogs. Shortly after we arrived I saw one dog that, for a split second, I thought had only three legs. As we were leaving a real three-legged dog bopped by - one forelimb, two back.

As we rounded the bend to the flattest, most exposed part of the park, where it's just slightly above the water, we saw a young woman in white, baring her shoulders to sunlight just beginning to warm as the high fog burned away. She had two companions - young men in faded green or blue jackets. They were all quiet, and at first I thought the boys must be photographers and the girl a model. But when we came upon them, the woman returned my smile and I said, "Here on a photo shoot?" She said, "Just enjoying it."

As K & I left we looked back to see the woman had walked out in her long white dress and white fur to the point, while the young men shared one chunk of concrete some distance away. One of the men was smoking.

People paint or sculpt the old rubble so there's often something new to see.

As we neared the paved drive a tall young black man in baggy clothes passed us telling his cell phone, "Chemotherapy will fuck you up."



faces of bright yellow
painted on the rubble



four diving birds on the water
no diving birds on the water



surf so sleepy
it doesn't even turn over



time to go?
just a little more breeze
for our backs



the sound of
stepping stones
rocking



on a tree
naked but for hanging shoes
Kent hangs the shoe



ahead Kent
fords the puddle



the puddles are blue now too



grand plume of tail
on that dog
I'd be proud of it

while on the new couch upstairs

I watch myself on the turned-off TV:
he looks tired



through old glass
a tree's a little warped
but the white sky -
perfectly smooth



a plastic bag
stored between spokes of the bike
that doesn't go anywhere

written at cafe

dark glasses on the table
bicycle seat in the backpack
he sits down again


leaving the Laundry
red jeans spread to dry
over the wheeled basket


she holds her reading glasses against her nose
when she lets go, they don't fall


a borrowed pencil
the back of a receipt
otherwise: thoughts only