Grandmother's Buttons

My grandmother's buttons were kept in a jar in her spare room full of vintage castaways, tributes to a past once treasured. They held for me a fascination of color, shape, texture. Some were sets; most seemed singles. Sometimes I would dump them onto a surface to explore their forms. One was moss green plastic with bumps and a recessed edge. It had two holes. I liked the way it felt, smooth and cool like the earth. Another had a fabric center and a loop on its back. I found four of these. They reminded me of Elizabethan shoes and high-laced collars. Each button evoked its own sensibility, perhaps held a story. The collection together felt like it transported--maybe to another time or to another way of being.


 
Eventually grandma passed. Mum inherited the button collection. She kept them in the basement, which was packed full of forget-me-nots, could-have-been's, and if-only's. Now mum has passed. I don't know what happened to that collection of buttons, lost in a remote sense of longing.

The Poem I Read Last Night

The poem I read last night left salt stains on my couch. 

It kept breathing on my neck while I tried to sleep.

It's made me the object of its intentions, 

following me through my day,

appearing in the swirling of the cream in my morning coffee,

visiting me in the knowing glance of my coworker across the table at the Thursday afternoon meeting,

and cutting me off on Hwy 55 heading north toward the city.

Growing Wild

I will wear thick yarn in my hair
& bells on my ankles
turning & turning & turning
with abandon until my brain
can't keep up with my body.

I will spend my days outside, drawing,
charcoal adorning my hands like smudged henna patterns
while the sun warms my bones
& the scent of spiderwort & belladonna tickle my nares.

I will let my leg hairs grow wild, 
feel the breeze gently move them 
like the blades of sedge in a Midwest prairie.

I will rip my clothes
& tear my knees,
skip in the rain,
my mascara painting my face
in primitive design.


I will wail to the depths of my marrow in grief
& sing loudly in praise of joy in my off-key garble
holding a note until my chest heaves from its concavity.

I Slept Last Night

I slept last night.

I wish I slept like that baby
draped over her parent's arm--
drooling, sweating,
with absolutely no muscle tone.
Oh, to sleep like that again!

Perhaps I could report on the worlds I visited,
of faeries & elves,
romantic sagas,
steamy interludes or chilling encounters,
fantasies that gleam in their retelling.
If only I dreamed.

Maybe I could sleep
poised across a feinting divan
dressed in silk, wearing house slippers,
hair & make up undisturbed,
no need for a cover,
all sexy like Lauren Bacall.
Ah, we all need a cover, really.

What if in the twistings & turnings
of last night's acrobatics
I had actually worked out
the solution to a weighty problem,
it's outcome affecting scores....no, 100's of people.

Or I could say that I slept like
10,000 dragons were fighting for dominance
in an epic war that would decide fate itself.
It sounds important & dramatic,
however fitful.

Ah well, at least
I slept last night.

If I stay here

  



 If I stay here....

 





How many ribbons will we throw to the sky
to watch their dazzling descent
as they're tossed, current to current,
tracing figure 8's & graceful line drawings
until they gently greet the earth
in willowy nests?

Laundry Clips

There's an ache deep between my shoulders
that gets me through washing the floors,
picking up dog poop,
& negotiating car repairs.


It carries me across the
gulfs of unspoken conversations,
ignored aspirations,
& unacknowledged conflict.

 
Props me up against my own bones
keeping me upright for
early mornings & late nights.

 


My mother & grandmother had this ache
right between their shoulders.
It reaches out across generations,
laundry clips on the line of life,
securing us to its vagaries
until it wears out
releasing us to drift away
in the wind.

Remember

I remember the injustices of caste systems used throughout history to enslave the poor, disenfranchised masses and the revolutions that led to heart-wrenching change--a repeated pattern extolling our nature. 

I remember my ancestors' communal meals and celebrations, dances and music, legends and tales--that which bound them together as they fractured toward emigration. 

I remember my grandmother's curls bouncing as she sang German lullabies and trembled as she hid from the Kaiser under her bed....her first use of a typewriter and her first kiss, her last performance and her last breath.  

I remember thick yarn bows holding my pigtails as I sang Abba songs and trembled as I hid from nukes under my desk....my first use of a smart phone and my first dog, my last poem and my last breath. 

I remember my descendants' poor teeth and brackish drinking water, their labours under a scorching sun, the devices used to connect and disconnect their disenfranchised masses and the revolutions that led to heart-wrenching change--a repeated pattern extolling our nature.