The Man Who Waits Outside Our House

There was a man
Who waited
In his car
He waited outside our home
For hours if need be
As his daughter played within.

At first we only saw the cherub child
Little girl belly down on the floor
Yelling "Go Fish" with the volume
known to her kind.
We didn't know he waited.

When discovered he was entreated-
Come in! Come in!
And finally he came.

He waited because he worried
Two people essentially alone.
He waited because he had failed
Two people homeless and scared.
He waited out of experience
Of other children, ruined from lack of attention.

These stories spilled from him
Like a confession to a priest
Lacking absolution, forgiveness and redemption.

Dismissal

Time after time,
I speak to no one.
Sharing my thoughts,
For what?
To whom?
No one hears.
No one cares.

Fuck you.
If you hear not,
If you care not.
I am not an extension of you.
My mind is my own.
I am not owned,
Nor will not be brought down
By the weight of your dismissal.
I have needs.
I have a soul.
I will not betray it
By emptying myself,
Of thoughts, ideas of my own.

What, you may ask,
Of your marriage?
What, you may ask,
Is the value of your family?

If I am empty,
There is no wife.
There is no mother,
Merely an empty nodding puppet,
Where a person once stood.

Ignore me not, dismiss me not,
For I would not do so to you.

Confidence, or Lack Thereof

Doubt weasles in
Borne on the sound waves
Unleashed by careless tounges.

Why must hopes, dreams
Be tested by chance offerings
Of the most mundane fools.

If no, it may be, or yes
Let the verdict be spoken
In reverence,  by the revered.

Not tossed in gossipy tones
Hitting it's target like tossed refuse
Slung by the insignificant.

Talking to Myself In the Wee Hours

Damn it
Go to bed

Now

I mean it.

Shit, you'll hate yourself in the morning.

Zombie Heather will hate you.

Early Spring

Small buds
of green birth
seedlings popping
in window sill earth.

Bird party
in softened air
workable ground
sky blue and fair.

Woke up this morning
and what da ya know...
.
.
.
Snow.

The Bread Winner

How I miss you -
miss you
miss you.

How you were -
before the cares of creation
became your imagined burden.

Change is not always good.
Poverty is not always bad.

The price is not worth a broken product -
Beyond repair
Beyond care.

Preserve yourself before your bank balance. 

For Aunt Lorinda on Her Birthday

I wrote this when a group birthday announcement was posted honoring my late aunt's birthday. She passed away when I was 20 of cancer leaving behind her two teenage children. She was loved very much - not just by me but by everyone. Aunt Lorinda was a bit of a free spirit.

For Aunt Lorinda on her birthday

I'll see you behind the curtian -
across the great divide -
past the last bend in the road -
among the hosts you'll hide -

Where souls take breathless flight
and love envelopes all who travel there.
Where ended is life's hardscrabble fight,
with sorrows you no longer bear.

Freedom from pain and misery,
Cherish the incredible mystery,
God gives new life divine,
across the great divide.

Bird of Paradise

old man
riding on the bus
his wife's coat buttoned
taunt over his paunch

bird of paradise glittering on his lapel
sparkling as a dare to your eye
it's twin sitting in a drawer
a maternal souvenir of my youth

furtively glance his way
skimming the stern face
under the greasy black comb-over
to rest upon the gem below

Spun Crust

As I craze
in my solitary room

remind me of your existance
outside my spun crust.

Tap and chisle me out
so I may see the sun again.

Married to a Homebrewer

He sits by the hour - stirring his pot
the steam rising wildly around him.

The smell of the hops
permeates the shop.
Oh how I wish he'd come inside then!

The batch must be right
a Brewers delight
before his focus will wane.

Who ever thought
my attentions be naught.
At brew time, my husband's my bane!

Death to Chocolate

Die -
sticky sweet brown fingers
that leave prints on the keyboard

Perish -
fructose laden haven.

You have ravaged my self control
evilly enslaving me over the batter bowl
laden with brownie mix or cookie dough.

You're addictive -no doubt -
but what you "add" one can do without!

My taste-buds mourn your absence
so my waistline might celebrate.

Because when the pleasure of cocoa is gone
It's trace lingers ever round me.

ImaginaryGarden

Dreaming of August
in the torrential rains of March
Seeing my harvest
with snow on the ground.

Lack not imagination
for without we're doomed
with nothing ever dreamed of
thought of ... wished for

No joyous bird song
No garden in bloom.

Blood on Butter

Crisp jewel-like days
shimmering and spicy

Deep red and pear yellow
Blood on butter

Richer, clearer, dramatic
is Autumn

Cape Disappointment

In the joyous morning
Bird song and laughter fills the air
Children scamper up and down the path
Ocean sounds bounce off our little camp trailer.

Whomphhh breaks the noisy silence.
I swallow my heart and search relentlessly for water.

Screams - my own echoing my mother's senseless siren tones
"Get her out...get her out" a mantra streaming from my screaming lips
directed at the sharp orange flames that fill my entire vision.

Running the steps to her flaming tomb my father a moment ahead.
Heat ripping the air around my face
for one breathless second before they appear.

Aflame and shocked.
Strike them to the ground.
Instinct takes over in frantic effort
Remove the flames. Roll, roll.

They flee seeking healing and safety.
What next?
Remove the children,
minimize damage, sooth the family,
carry on, carry on, carry on,
then sleep.

Months later when least expected
my mind hears it and I swallow my heart again.
An echo of a defining moment
heard only by myself-

Whomph. My mind flashes orange,
and I search relentlessly for water.

Italian Plum

Small and perfect
Italian Plum
Almost black
Your purple is so deep.

Yellow flesh
Fiberous veins
under dark skin
a center like a brown blind eye.

Cold

Chill white fingers

Frigid joints

Aching feet 

Frozen from the floor to my hips.

Shivering spine

Glacial bones

Icy breath 

Searching for the thaw.

Moment of Clarity

This is the story,
the one about the professor and his wife.

They lived lives

As we all do

Marriage, babies, and work

She was different though

Frenzied

Too alert

Different, but not sure how

She was a good mother

Good wife

The day her youngest bird

Left her feathered nest

Her sanity moved on too

She was unable to be contained

In the home she shared

With the professor

Desperate flight

Starry night

No home to hold her

He missed her

Worried he sought her

Medication failed her

Strangers raped her

He loved her

Still she could not stay

He left also

Following his bride

From town to town

Carrying two burdens for his trouble

Years melt away

There, see the couple in the café

She distant, he holds her hand

They both smell crazy now

A ripe, old, feral scent

Of onions and unwashed clothes

Of places best forgotten

Twin tanned faces

Framed by wild white manes

His face creased with both their concern

Hers remarkably smooth and blank

He tells his story

Of love.

I hear a sad tale

Of love lost

Driving home

From my menial job

As the sun set

I see them

Dancing through a park

She is alert and happy

In the golden light

He knew

To wait
For her fleeting moment of clarity.