Demon Spawn

Her's was a caesarian Birth.  I watched them band her
while she was wet and blue.  Later her starfish hands
reached and grabbed and I was caught.  She became
a part of me as constant as the tension I carry in my shoulders.
She has a knowing look.
Her brown eyes blacken and she is off on another bout
bout of minor destruction. A household hurricane.  Her juice glass
hits the floor, my work papers slide off the desk, the cat food
is overturned, beadwork is scattered, liquid soap is pumped
all over the bathroom sink, but the toilet isn't flushed 
then she dashes into the kitchen, catches me by the knees
says, "I love you Grammy",  bends over, grasps
her cheeks with both hands, and wiggles her naked butt.

Wonderland

Black, cold, narrow 
as a grave,
I didn't see the hole--
didn't look before I stepped
down. 
Long, long I fell
 
past shards
empty as plastic
champagne glasses,
past deflated balloons
pink and yellow,
past a magician's
empty black hat
dead rabbit,
	curiouser 
		and curiouser.
Past the touch of your lips
brushing my neck-- 
a silver moth in flames,
onto barren lunar landscape
I stopped.

And Alice,
it's true what they say
	it's not the fall
		that kills you.

Meditation

The only time my heartbeat slows
is on a houseboat in a back channel
floating down the Mississippi.
My thoughts spin out like lines
shoreward to snag waving trees, 
anchoring me firmly to this place and time.
Breaths become deep and strong
mixed with green water scents,
cries of shy-pokes, and plops
of snap turtles dropping off their
sunny perches.  Transformation
is slow but steady--from city girl
to river woman--and  strength flows
through my body in waves.

	published in Harp Strings, RagMag, and Exquisite Corpse

The Amish Roofers

Worked fast
talked funny
needed to use the toilet
frequently, surprised
me by having a set
of 12-year old twins
not one boy with bladder
problems and curious eyes.
Straw hats, black pants
Mountain Dew and a huge
boom-box keeping time
to the pneumatic hammer
wielded by the Elder who drove
them all in an old pick-up.
Wanted to be paid for a days
labor which was fine
but it was hot and I forgot
I was in my underwear
when I came downstairs
with their check.

	Published in Lightning Bell

it's still crap

resenting authority long after the 60's decade
debacle, fire, love and promise whimped out
rolled over and played
dead for global capitalism,
battle scars visible, body softer, mind
crazed with injustice and unfocused anger
expecting an equitable solution, palatable
at least, yet knowing the dark shadow
will win, cold wind moves the blades
of the tilting windmill and the wooden
spear jabs you one more time as you
roll to the right, then the left, thinking is THIS
the battle I pick, is it this one, now, this time?