Lessons from the Sky

 Shots were fired in Dallas

three years before I was born
one of the Baby Busters
middle child
misfit
too young for Studio 54
too old for a mosh pit.

Raised on a steady diet of
television and Tang.
Vietnam was a series of
black & white images
while drawing with crayons.
Watergate was background noise
while eating TV dinners.

Lying on our bellies
chins resting in our hands
we waited every Sunday
for Tinkerbell to let us in
to Disney’s wonderful world.

We carried The Force
in our back pockets and
lived the Wonder Years
on a white Huffy with the banana seat-
nobody had a helmet
everybody had a latchkey.

After school
we watched the Brady Bunch
dreamed of Walton's Mountain
and grieved for the perfect family.

We never wore saddle shoes
or poodle skirts
nose rings or bellybutton things.
Individuality was our conformity. 

We were there when Disco
drew its last breath
and gave birth to 
the MTV Generation.

We saw the Berlin Wall
crumble like Jericho
and watched the Gulf War
from a comfortable chair
with a bag of microwave popcorn.

We remember when
OJ Simpson was a hero
Michael Jackson was cool
and Madonna was hot.

We learned that despite superstition
and social panic
one millennium ends seamlessly
where another begins.

We wish we could believe
that love is all you need.

We thought we buried bigotry
in a time capsule
with a can of Aquanet and a
Band-Aid cassette
but someone dug it up
to build another tower.

A graduate degree is
no longer our guarantee.
Over-educated and under-employed
Baby Boomers clog
the arteries of upward mobility.
Busters work two McJobs
and still can’t pay the rent.

The Me Generation vs. the
Why Me? Generation
more likely to see a UFO
than a social security check.

Paralyzed by our inheritance:
racial strife, homelessness
fractured families and federal deficits.
Caught between a thong
and Depends.

____________________________

 Wilted 

He found me
like a wild rose
on the roadside
I was thumbin’ my way to work.

He was a clinging vine;
transplanted himself into my world.  
Soon we were tangled together
around a picket fence dream.

We couldn’t afford to paint that fence white
even with me working two jobs
it stayed that gray shade
of weathered wood.

But who needs fresh paint anyway?
He had his cigarettes,
I had my kaleidoscope,
and we read Xaviera Hollander together.  

After the children were born
he acted like the world was a slot machine
and it was somehow my fault
it wouldn’t come up all cherries.

And I made lots of
lemonade from all those
lemons he brought home
but he would only drink gourmet coffee.  

I think of him often now,
and sharply,
like when I pretend his neck
is the rose stem I am clipping.

There are times I want to shred
the leather jacket he forgot to take  
and turn every photo of him left
into confetti

but my memory softens
with an old song
and soon I need both hands
just to hold my heart together.

Now I know what it means
to give someone your youth.
Twenty-one years of my life
washed away, roots left exposed.

Just tell me please,
how does a flower on the roadside
catch someone’s eye
when it’s already begun to wilt?

-----------------------------------------

Full Circle

When you left

I didn't eat 

or sleep 

for nine days. 
I just curled-up on the floor
and cried to Air Supply.

If it wasn't for our boys
I would have stayed there.

 

When I see you now
it still feels natural 
to reach for you.
I catch myself
just before I rest my hand
on your shoulder
or your thigh...

"You played me like a harp"
or "you read me like braille" 
are both cliché
and we were never trite.

We were a wild horse stampede. 

 

The thought of never holding you again 

puts me in the fetal position
pillow hugged to my chest.

 

My mind spirals 

through old conversations 

looking for answers

but when I reach for moments past

the colors 

they bleed and run.

 

I know, 

I'm repeating myself

again

but, I'm tired

and you're leading me in circles. 

 

Not all circles are round- like

the string of chance 

that brought us together, or 

these sinuous threads

of arteries and veins
pulsing 
to and from the heart 
you gave back to me. 

 

I finally realize

you're looking for happiness in coffee shops 

instead of looking inside yourself 

and you've stopped listening to me. 

How long will it take  
to write you out of my system? 

 

I think I'll drive into the desert tonight

sing to Air Supply on the car stereo 

watch the sky and 

allow the vastness 
to make my sadness
seem small. 

------------------------------------------------

Lessons from the Sky

It's been a taffy pull year and a half
time stretched
resources stretched 
sanity stretched.

I feel like water gathered
in an old tire 
as days trickle downhill. 

It's tough to move on 
when the whole world is in a time out
but I'm getting to a place
where I like myself again. 

Still, time feels like a toy
lost in childhood. 
I've spent so much of it

reading the horizon

watching clouds drift.

I don't care what those 
scientific studies say
chocolate kisses 
don't make me feel loved. 

I'm okay being alone
never needed anybody to
complete me, but

just once

it would be nice 

to have someone 

toss pebbles at my window
someone to share poetry and music with
explore science and Shakespeare with
someone with whom I can 

match wits. 

I wasted too many years with a man
who never heard my heart
so I am taking lessons from the sky 
on how to rewrite myself 
and pull some beauty
out of the pain. 

----------------------------------------------

Srgnt First Class

Grandpa was born a Corn Husker
nine years before the market crashed.
One of nine, he grew
tall, lanky
a cornstalk topped
with dark tassels,
eyes like rich soil.

From cornfields to battlefields,
he mopped up Omaha Beach
before the ocean could rinse
the blood from the sand.

In combat boots he toured
the arid sands of North Africa
and the stony ridges of Italy.

A grenade tore through
his best friend, like a combine
through a field
and planted kernels of steel
deep beneath Grandpa's flesh.

Saving freedom overseas
he lost a son
on a stateside base
a child playing army.

Back home the war continued when
leukemia tried to lay siege
his strength
but Grandpa charged the battle lines
and forced it to retreat.

To support his family
he drove a CAT in fields owned

by a Fortune 500

and secured smooth landings
for the early space shuttles.

Grandpa has outlived
his children and wife
but he lives in 1945, and
it’s been ten years
since he knew my name.

Today fluid surrounds
Grandpa’s heart
as I wheel him through
the hospital wing.
It stopped beating once
twenty years ago
but Grandpa refused
to surrender in defeat.

He wears his rank insignia
proudly displayed on his cap.
The hospital guard
snaps to attention and 
salutes as we roll past.

Without a moment’s hesitation,
Grandpa salutes him back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Blessed Alzheimer's 

He sits on his bed,
knuckles like concord trunks
fumble with shirt buttons,
“Where are we going?” he asks,
for the fourth or fifth time.

“To the cemetery,”
slips past the swell
in my throat.

“Oh? Who died?”

I have to tell him again,
“It was Jessie, Grandpa.”

His mouth opens
silent grief
eyes dip 
“Is the funeral today?”

This conversation replays
all the way there.

Full moon shows through
the blue and white painted sky.
Lavender and yellow daisies
cover the casket 

of the second wife

he has outlived. 

Faces of family and friends
are all new to him.
Each condolence becomes
a fresh fracture to
blessed Alzheimer’s.

He sits, eyes in the past
as Beloved Wife is eulogized.
Present slips in
when her name is said
and a new mourning period begins.

He’s borne many palls
walked with grief
squared off with death
more than once.  

When he joins the chorus
of Amazing Grace
he moves us all to tears.

-----------------------------------------------

Claustrofornia

Confined
between the Sierra
and the ocean
smog pollutes my head.

Movie star politicians break promises
from quaking platforms.

Armies of leased diesels jam traffic
driven by windshield warriors
phones growing out of their ears.

Living out of Starbucks                            
venti caramel machiato
with soy milk, two pumps
hold the caramel
in a carryout cup labeled “HOT.”

Money throws its voice around
people just move their mouths
and dangle from greedy strings.

Glamour glides down red carpets
and people hug redwoods.

Can you feel the love?

Seas of illegal blondes
in designer thongs
nourish eating disorders.

Shallow dreams and deep debts

keep BMW's humming
down highways.

When the Valley Girls grew up

the Galleria was washed up
fresh fashions forever show up
and not even the Joneses can keep up!

Still
they build, and people pour
into shopping malls
and health clubs-
neon grocery stores.

But lack of affordable housing
forces people to live like trolls.

Nothing trickles down
from the Hollywood sign.

Manicured lawns and nails
and silicone peaks

small dogs and spray tans
phony smiles, cement stars
aspiring gangsters

high rises, low riders
entitlement mentality 

open mouths and closed eyes.

Crystal Cathedral, Golden Gate,

living idols, dying faith.

-------------------------------------------------------

Tomorrow

 I said, "I'll see you tomorrow." 

You nodded weakly and replied, "Tomorrow." 

 

But tomorrow never came. 
"Tomorrow" is the last word 
I ever heard you say.
"Tomorrow," haunts me. 

 

For weeks you said you were ready to go 
because you were in so much pain
but I was afraid to lose you, Mom, 
to lose your wisdom 
all your love
your strength. 

 

The world is colder without you
my poem shivers on the page. 

I try to embrace the echoes
of your voice

that still linger.

 

Your dog stopped eating

no matter what I tried 

he just laid 

with his head on your purse

still full of prescription bottles

and butterscotch candies.  

Graham buried him this morning

under your favorite pine tree. 

When your heart stopped
for a moment 
I thought all the clocks
everywhere, would too.  
How can the world  
continue to spin without you?

 

I pretend you aren't gone

I'm just too busy to call, but

yellow roses make me 
think of you. 

 

You created stories, 
dimensions, whole worlds 
with simple words
places I wanted to go
people I wanted to know.

 

Such a talented storyteller 
but now you have become the story
one that I must pass on. 

 

Being your daughter 
didn't end when you died 
you will always be my mom
and I will always miss you

until tomorrow finally comes.