A Waltz of Risks

To be in love would be to open doors
that have never opened,
to fall into hands that will hold me
close to forever.

I want to party with my heart
in a waltz of risks.

Big Sur Haiku

The tree stands endless.
Looking ominous.
I smell its age.


Peeking from a crack
In the dirt–
A red poppy.


Without these trees,
this stream, this wind–
My old life.


Redwood trees drop
Their piney scent.
My head swells.


This ocean is new,
Green like glass,
green, like me.


The redwoods reach
as far as me
and stop.


Three paths
lead to tranquility
I took them all.


Lit from within
as flames lick my knees,
my husband at night.

Because You're Still Here

The very second you're gone, I feel your absence.
Our place is still. I'm seeing it for the first time
without motion.

I drink from your favorite mug.
I hold it the way you do, fingers
and palms wrapped around it
for warmth.
I play your music and lean in,
listening closely
for what you hear.

I've come to wrap myself around you because you're here.
Because you're still here,

The Oblivious Moon

I was driving home that very familiar route. I turned automatically onto the freeway ramp leading to the 170 that would take me home to Hollywood. I anticipated the long thoughts that would accompany me on my comfortable ride. I glanced to my right to a carpool sign, defaced with graffiti. I don’t know that language so I didn’t know the sentiment. But something so common was quite suddenly giving me pause.

As I rounded the final turn that bleeds into open highway, I faced another sign, as inspired as the first. I maneuvered my machine onto and into the concrete ocean before me; and letting myself into it, I noticed the oblivious moon, and all its glory.

If I'd Gone To New York

If I'd gone to New York I would have ridden the subway
and felt the soft heat of a stranger's breath
on the back of my neck.

I would have eaten ethnic food every day
and been lost in crowds,
swept job to job
and moved with the tides of traffic.

If I'd gone to New York
I would have sharpened into hard edges
rather than these soft ones
that only start projects,
never completing them
because the process is so freakin' fun.

I would have seen clearly, spoken harshly, and not broken
when loss hit.
I would have seen flowers
in the cracks of the sidewalk
rather than vanity plates
on the freeways.

I would have been cold but strong
and successful and hard.

If I'd gone to New York I would not have heard your voice last night.
It would have taken me longer to get to the
what-ifs.

If I'd gone to New York I wouldn't have gotten out of bed
just now
to write this vision of what might have been.

I wish I'd gone.
I'm glad I'm here.

The Mystery of Grandmothers

Grandmothers have always been mysterious to me,

because I never knew mine.

As I’ve aged I’ve watched grandmothers

and my friends who know theirs.

Relationships that reflect

genetics and gestures.

I miss my grandmother

and how she was described – 

longingly with love, and the endless sense of loss

my mother had for her.

If I am ever blessed with children,

they will know the mystery of grandmothers

too.