and fire & ice was what my mother wore

fire & ice

fire & ice 

the ritual, the sacrament

cutting the tomato 

slicing the steak

buttering the toast

telling the old dream

and...

fire was your hair and your finger tips

ice was the glass, the drink

fire was compassion, irritation, love and sorrow

ice was the locker in your heart 

where your secrets chilled

between fire and ice

between yes and maybe and absolutely not

 where you put down the drink 

placed your 

 hand on a forehead

your cool hand

calm voice

tipping into 

slipping off to

fire - your nails clicking the table beside your chair

flipping over the cards, one by one

ice - the list of recipients on the back of the envelope

under 'when my ship comes in'

the smell of your pressed powder 

your body encased in that fifties armour

a rouge pot

nestled beside the dance card

with the tiniest pencil attached

by a golden cord

fire 

and

ice

what's it going to be?

She's Come to Stay

Grief is this long lost relative that comes to stay.
She arrives unannounced and  you stand helpless
as she carries in bag after bag.
She tells you, her voice thick (does she have bad adenoids
you wonder?)
that she won't be here too long
and she hopes you won't be inconvenienced but
well, she simply had no other choice
and by the way if it isn't too much bother
could she put her kefir somewhere in your fridge?

Days go by and she is still here.
Still sitting in your favourite chair,
rummaging through your bookshelves
and pacing the halls at night.

What is she looking for?
Why does she leave her tissues balled up in the corner
of your sofa?
Why won't she go?

One day you wake up and you can't hear her.
She's not giving your bathroom a good clean
and she doesn't seem to be in the kitchen or even
out on the deck.

You sigh and relax into your body
like it is a home you'd long forgotten.
You hum a bit - something by Gershwin or
Sondheim.
You inhabit your home, your body in an old
familiar way.

You whistle, even though you can't
(let's just say you can
for this poem, OK?)
You whistle down the hall and
go into the guest room to open the window.
You want the smell of vicks and juicy fruit and
orlon sweaters gone gone gone.

But there she is
lying in a comma
on the bed
weeping her weird little heart out.

At first you want to kill the bitch
but you don't.

Instead you slide your shoes off and lie down
on the bed
beside her
beside your grief.
You put your arm around her
and finally welcome her home.

Riley's Birthday, Women's Day, 300th post

My eldest grandson turned ten today. He is a terrific kid - funny, smart, good-looking and with an angel's voice. (Hey - I sound like a Grandma!) Here is a poem for him -

To Riley On His Tenth Birthday
Here you are on the imaginary line
that says double digits
that says trouble and fun right this way
that says so many paths and only two feet.
I see you
Running to be first
To leap and move with grace and agility
cutting through the water
rounding the tree
dunking the ball
I see you.
I hear you
Laughing at silliness
singing pop songs
Yelling in outrage
or whispering
"I love you" through the telephone wire
I hear you.
I feel you
Your arms around me
Giving me a good squeeze, or
Cannoballing into me
when we play 'mother may I'
and grabbing at some treasure in my fingertips
I feel you.
You are there, on the imaginary line
reving your engine of a heart,
looking out to the horizon
at the next thing
ready to give it all.
I'll be cheering you, on every leap of the way.

Women's Day!
In 2001, I was in Cuba for Women's Day. It is a big deal there - a bunch of us were teaching at a hospital and it was our last day before coming home. Everywhere we went, we women were saluted and honoured. The doctors we were teaching brought the four women in the group flowers and told us that we were more than special on this day and on every day. I liked it. I really did. I am a feminist. I was thrilled a woman won for best director last night and appalled that it had been so long in coming. I'm impatient and angry some of the time and some of the time I am philosophical and grateful. My mother was a great role model. Although it would have been impractical to work when married to an RCAF officer, she believed that women deserved equality. She believed in financial independence for women and that gender and sexuality should be no barrier to all that was on offer. She never 'told us' that she thought this way - she 'showed us' and I am immensely glad she did.

This is my 300th post and to celebrate it I would like to give some gifts. If people would make a comment and tell me of any post of mine that made them laugh or cry or write a letter to their editor or go for a walk or pat their dog or smile then I will send you a photo of mine. Either look back and choose or I'll choose depending on what I think you might like.

Hurricaine Bill sidles on by...

today after Bill brushed up against our shore

I went out...

first just walking down the road

to the bay with

Hoagy

the sky was vivid...

the light was divine.

no really.

it was.

everything glistened in that light

every piece of grass was illuminated

every living thing was brighter and more present

it was pretty nice

Hoagy and I sat on the docks and just gazed out

after a long game of monopoly

and a good dinner of chili

Ron and I decided we'd check out Prospect Village

wow

the waves out on the horizon were rising up and over small islands

the light was breaking and changing and leaving and coming back

the sea was black and gold or blue and silver or pink

you can see the wave in this one

people joined us as we watched

it felt like a benediction

it was hard to leave...

I took 67 pictures...

bye bye Bill - you weren't much of a hurricaine but you

were a beaut of a storm

Today is the Day!

this day

on this day the daylilies are extremely excited

they love every day

but this is a very big day in the daylily world.

I can tell by the way they toss their heads

like sexually charged up thirteen year old girls

when the basketball team strolls the halls.

this is the day

that all the plot tangles fell out leaving

a perfectly clear narrative line

instead of the bottom of the fishing tackle box

that I'd been looking at for too long.

this is the day

that my dearest guy says sure

I'll do the shopping and why don't I sweep up before I go

and my step-son goes with him

wanting to be away from

mercurial mood I'm sure.

this is the day

my long-lost friend arrives

and the sheets for her bed are drying on

a most perfect drying day

and towels are plumped up on the dresser

and flowers are put in a wavy green glass

on the bedside table.

this is that day!

moony morning

downstairs in the no-sleeping room

I lay.

I thought of every single failure -

every thing undone -

every slight -

every turn un-stoned.

early on this day

I went outside

and saw her -

the fat one sailing through

the trees to the west

I didn't sleep either -

she

whispered as she flew.

He's back...and knackered

Maybe he's getting old - he is eight this year. For he was home after a mere eleven hours of running through the crusted snow. I was downstairs knitting while Ron read when I thought I heard him. Put down my knitting went to the backdoor and there he was. He came in all chagrinned and went right to his bed.

I slept downstairs for various reasons and awoke at three-thirty to see the moon torching in on me. I could lie with my head on my pillow and see her riding the sky through the trees. I gazed at her feeling the moon-madness, that I might get up and wander outside in her light. I thought how it was thought at some time, and perhaps still somewhere, that to lie in the light of the moon was to invite insanity - luna-cy. Well then let me be mad! I knew there was an eclipse at about five but couldn't stay awake any longer...

To she who rides fatly in the night sky

You had to go and wake me up you greedy thing

Desirous of my gaze

I could fill you up with admiration

But you are already so full of sun that you couldn't take one

More drop of golden love.

I'll offer some when you are thin and hungry.

Deal?

___________________________________________________________________

I want to make a fish

I want to make a fish

all spangly dangly from my line

all pearly and irridescent dreamy

twisty turvy

eye a gleamy

a fish from the ice clinging to Betty

or from Buddha's head

poking through the crusty crisp

not a wishy-washy fishy

but a certain absolutely present

fish

that announces with scales and tales

and fins and grins

Lo behold me - I am Fish!