Garden Poem

Long ago & far away,
a little girl, a bright spring day;
a little yard with flowers fair,
a glint of sun on strawberry hair.

Who

Snow softly falling
Sirens calling across the stars
Go gently sweet prince

Waiting Room

The woman across from me has fabulous sandals.
The kind with those metal discs
- which are supposed to represent antique coins -
and some shiny beads interspersed among them.
Even if I weren't "into" shoes, I'd be staring at them,
because looking any higher in the tiny optometrist's office is entirely too painful
with my eyes as big as a cat's, reacting to every nuance of sunlight.
But it's all right, because I'm fascinated by the shoes.
Her legs are crossed and the foot on the floor is so perfectly fit into the sandal -
I can see why she liked them.
The other sandal dangles carelessly off the foot in the air.
It looks awkward, half-forgotten, and makes me think of other shoes -
probably laying strewn about her closet or bedroom floor -
and I wonder what made her choose the sandals today -
because they're pretty? because it's hot outside? because they were near the door?
What insight would a glimpse at my shoes provide her?

Ode to Standard Time

Darkness falls across the land
Daylight Savings is at end
Sunset comes in early evening
Darn time change is annoying!

Elephant

My cousins are on the sofa --
firsts & removeds alike --
my aunts are in the kitchen,
parents, too, I think,
my uncle is on the porch -- grilling --
there is food everywhere
& booze, too
everyone is laughing
because no one wants to cry
this is grandma's house,
but grandma isn't here.

For days we've sat by her hospital bed --
sometimes talking, sometimes not --
nurses have gone back & forth
on the patio, in the lobby
plans have been made & unmade,
questions asked & things left unsaid
everyone is hugging
because no one wants to cry
we're at grandma's house,
but grandma isn't here.

-- kml 7/30/08

Things I Know

Today the sky is grey
and it reminds me of home.
Even after all these years
I still expect things to be the way I've always known.
Crocuses are supposed to peek their way
through frosty, frozen ground in March
and that ruddy yellow sunlight should slant
across the sky, beautifully, around five.
July is meant to be hot,
but October should be full of that crisp, cool air.
Christmas Eve means a chilly night
with mild snow.
New Year's dawns clear and cold.
A different climate is like an expensive wool sweater --
gorgeous, but uncomfortable.
I know t-shirts and jeans.

-- kml

I wrote this poem yesterday. It's obviously about the differences between living in North Carolina and in the Midwest where I grew up. It's really odd how the climate of my childhood is still so deeply ingrained in me. I've lived here 10 years and it still bugs me that sunset is earlier than I think it should be. We have flowers (daffodils, even!) in February here. I am still not used to that. Sometimes there are days, like yesterday, when the comparison just becomes really striking.