Aunt Wilma

when aunt Wilma was
ten years old
she could walk under
the kitchen table
we were told it was because
she had some bone disease
Grandmother Spengler gave birth
twelve times nine survived
all born on their farm
in Northern Ohio
later Wilma moved to the upstairs
of a house in Elmira Ohio
Grandfather Spengler built
when they left the farm
my mother was her sister
my two older sisters Nedra and Janice
and mom and I helped Aunt Wilma clean
her rooms in the house
my mom would carry her full slop jar
down the long stairway
to the outhouse and dump it
us kids would work the pink stuff
like silly putty in our hands to warm it
make a ball of it and rub it over
the wallpaper to clean it
Wilma moved to an old folks home
and is buried at a place called Lauber Hill
near the farm where she was born

ode to darkness

fabled shades of dawn
cover the darkness
so deep when it was
so content to be
not alone but full
of shinny lights
that roam the sky
telling their story
before the sun
pushes up
another dawn

aging with myself

arguing with myself?
should you do that
when you live alone?
die trying has new meaning
life time warranty does as well
still figuring out what is
and what isn't just me
where did I come from
and why did I appear
my wonderful childhood
then the secret change called
growing up maturing
I know now how little I knew
for sure it is best not to know
how things will turn out
first age is good last age better
surprises keep us on our toes
discovering my cogs
not so much what is but what isn't
I don't care for random dislike
when my dog became my constant
and only companion discovery
and learning followed
its what I will never know
that really bothers me

miracles

the stone will be rolled back
the trees are blooming
the iris leaf cracks for the flower
the vultures and crows
come to eat old Wyoming brisket
a baby hummingbird
comes to the feeder
and has not yet learned
how to use it
spring flowers are blooming
profusely in the dry woods
the woods has certain things
it saves for certain weathers
so no matter what there
is something blooming
He has a plan for you to
why can't I be like my dog
living in the present
with no concern for tomorrow
that's good grandma
time for the motorcycle
on the private roads
at the cabin

Beethoven

our in house wood pecker
Beethoven came at first light
tapping his song against the metal
spark arrester on the chimney
crosman copperhead beebees 
are fired to scare when
he pecks at the wooden cabin
repairs have been made
this is his woods first
but if he wakes me again

staying

my husband died in 2005
like other city friends
no need to stay
moved to the country
where I met others
was thinking of moving
back to the city
but now I know
the folks around here
the city is lonely
I will stay here

sabbatical

sabbatical 
sleeping late
watching movies
eating burgers coke
and fries at a drive-in
slithering slowly
like a snake
through the lazy days
lost blog lost words
looking for lines
piles of words
closets drawers full
jumbles of them
some hanging from trees
forming poems
in the wind
as they fall
caught by raindrops
making puddles
of poems