i know better

knowing myself unworthy

i find it hard to accept gifts

even the gifts of love and caring

friends and family bestow

but they are hurt when i protest

that i am aware of my shortcomings

my pettiness, my mistakes and

the pain my errors of arrogance

have caused them

but i must smile and accept

though my tears sometimes

betray me and i can only say

what i truly mean

in hugs

cirque de soleil, my daughters’ gift

Cirque de soleil and my daughters

Cirque de soleil and my daughters laughing on either side of me

at the antics of athletic clowns and of Andy, the gentleman behind us

chosen from the audience, a good sport

Our awe at the skill of a sleek lady who could twirl hoops with feet, arms

neck, torso while in positions most of us have never been in in our lives

At the daring of men dancing, skipping rope or riding a bike

with another standing on his shoulders on the high wire

And breath-held fear for the safety of the man performing atop the rotating

wheel, or the one posing balanced atop the ever-taller tower of stacked chairs

And for those catapulted, spinning in the air to land on the shoulders

of a tower of men or, bound into stilts or a lengthy pogo stick, doing

somersaults before landing upright on thick mat

the story of old-time circus thrilling its chuckling, gasping

screaming audience

new friend

a new friend

from a part of the country

i know little about

raised in undertones

my childhood never felt

yet sharing a sense of self-worth

and dignity we both

must have known

since we could first print

our own names

palette of elation

simply to sharpen my awareness

of the beauty around me, i look

in order for a natural representation

of each of the colors of the rainbow

red, today, is apple (noting with joy

the golden-yellow, wiggly lines

descending from the shoulders)

orange – sunrise struggling between

purple clouds

yellow – leaves, as Alli Weiss put it,

learning ‘the sweet song of dying’

green – remarking trees in prolific hues

from chartreuse, pea green, avocado olive, khaki, bottle, sea, cedar, emerald

blues in luscious abundance from sky

to spruce needles to rare autumn

fallen lacy leaves

purple, magenta, hyacinth

and tiny, pink, shy, bell-like florets

even remembering this gorgeous pallet

of my world bring me warm peace

and hope for a happy tomorrow

producing make-believe

eyes blurring, it is time to stop

editing between a somewhat final

version by the publisher

the sensitivity reader’s suggestions

and my earlier proofing

but it is dawning on me

that we may be on the last lap

producing Exhalation

plagued again and again by illness

editor after editor experiencing

delays due to sickness in this real world

far more important than the production

date of my world of make-believe

dark night of fall

 dark night

as the huge, full, near

harvest moon

submits to cowering

in earth’s growing shadow

and stars and constellations

flicker and dim beyond

our accumulating fog

and autumn rain clouds

warning in the early pages of Exhalation

Is this helpful as a warning in the early pages of my newest novel,  EXHALATION?

The NANDRIA Series has been my attempt to capture characters from the 1940s and early 1950s that created my world and my assumptions about what was valuable and who was not. As a child, i heard, and maybe repeated, words like colored, pickaninny, jigaboo, darky, coon, spade and spook if not niglet, bootlip, burrhead and monkey. I did not know they were slurs, but the Black people around me heard and knew the humiliation that these words and others were meant to deliver. I held so many assumptions i now know were invalid, but which i understood as the way the world was. Being family, i love both sides. It is my hope that these stories may give insight into the foibles and fears of each of us. Perhaps we may see each other as humanly vulnerable rather than evil.

waning harvest moon

even as she begins to wane from full

harvest moon sheds glow brighter

than cool over the lawn

as though first winter snow had spread

a patchwork quilt of and dark

reflected moonlight and shadow

as she filters her gift through naked

and still-leafed branches

elder humor

deep, wrinkled crevasses

beside her mouth

spell out her age

in decipherable hieroglyphs

but her sense of humor

stays young, biting and fun

challenging those who can see her

as a person rather than merely

an old woman

magnificent illusion

enormous orange round

the harvest moon seems to rise

and shed it dark color

to vivid, pearly white

nearer to us, it is itself

its enlargement and color changes caused by our looking

through more layers of particles

in our atmosphere

at the curvature of our earth

but, ah, the magnificence

of the illusion

hearing my characters

my characters alive

using my words

interacting

with emotions of their own

exploring depths

i had never considered

for them

in the voice of my friend

broder soder

a huge troll of wooden slats

with clawed hands and personality

large brown eyes and the curiosity

to be lifting the roof off a tiny house

to peer at the occupants—

my daughters and me  

Exhalation sensitivity

our insightful sensitivity reader

sent her report on the 4th novel

in my NANDRIA series

her words of encouragement include

acknowledgement of portraying

white and Black characters

“authentically” as rounded individuals

rather than stereotypes

which was, of course, what i was trying

to do as a bridge to our seeing

each other as persons

magno conatu

there is a phrase in Latin

quoted by Sir Francis Bacon

magno conatu nugas

“with great effort, trifles”

which sums up why i am often angry

with poets and story tellers and persons

when i’ve taken time and effort to read

their words, expressions, actions

for their underlying meaning

only to uncover something i knew

as a child

it is difficult then to ask myself

who i think i am and am i sure

i do not overlook the obvious

Friday the 13th

 Friday the 13th

with sauntering, young Kevin Bacon

and Betsy Palmer’s smile

of rectangular white teeth

the first time i’ve seen the film

for horror is not my genre

yet my Writer in the Grove friend

had so much inside information

of how it was made and problems

that occurred during and after

production, including a critic calling

for hate mail for a female star

i could analyze the script’s construction

and effects and give begrudging credit

for the horror, i’ve seen enough

as a physician – i don’t need to add

such repugnance in make-believe

placebo physician

 ‘placebo’ is Latin for ‘I will please’

as a physician i have wondered why

my simply listening to some patients

has brought them more relief than

prescriptions or treatments

until finally i began to realize

that  i was not curing anyone

that the best i could for anyone

was to set as many factors as i could

in their favor so that something greater

than either of us could heal them

when persons experience being heard they listen to themselves as well

and often hear their own priorities

and see where they are caught

in traps of delusion or fear

how often i was placebo, listening

but it was not me who pleased

but acted merely as conduit

to that individual’s recognition

of strengths within

tender rain

tender rain, not so much falling

as gliding downward to caress

desiccated leaf and blade

in comforting slaking of thirst

engorgement and, eventually,

grateful, green satiety

even though i am older

so many took time to wish me well

yesterday that the warmth glowed

and i felt seen and loved

this morning i am remembering

what a treasure it si to reach out

with a word of friendship

toddler scooting

haiku

a toddler scooting

away, laughing, from her mom

all life is a game

words of the wise

one of the hateful parts

of lingering COVID

is the feeling of incompetence

of not thinking quickly or clearly

and the depression that spreads

into all that we had been able to do

and thus, the loss of joy

in the little things that delighted us

so, it will take determination to continue

in motion, a step at a time

a willingness to walk when we’d rather

stay curled up in our misery

a willingness to lie down to sleep

when we know only babies take naps

the grit to listen to and honor the needs

of our bodies as we put everything

into allowing ourselves to heal