Day 1
Needed It
I’ve always had it,
last minute luck when I needed it,
the luck that kicks in when dark
times might swamp me.
I’ve always seemed to be right
there where the luck fell
out of the sky, rounded
the next corner, made itself
available for the picking.
No money for shoes
for my kids,
and there was the fifty
blowing across the parking lot
in front of the shoe store.
No job to support myself,
and there was the call
asking me if I’d heard
so and so was hiring
because someone quit.
No food in the cupboard
and there was the bag
of groceries left on the porch,
and a twenty for gas
in an envelope.
I’ve always had luck,
but now I’m thinking
if I needed so much luck,
maybe my life
was one big pile of disasters.
Day 2
Following
back roads without a map, going
on when there is no more
road, paying attention
to no map, walking at night
without a flashlight —
swimming without water wings,
diving off a big rock
into a dark pond at midnight.
All of these fraidy-cat moments
are nothing compared to falling
in love. The the beads of sweat
that trickle between my breasts
at the touch of his hand
when we first danced, the flush
of heat rising on my cheeks
at our first kiss, the little buzz
in my head when he played
me a song he said was us.
There’s no map for love.
Only bravery and foolishness.
Day 3
Profuse and Profane
There, on the side of the road,
orange plastic bags filled with litter,
litter you tossed from your cars
as you whizzed by, heading
to or fro. There they are, bright bundles
growing like weeds along the highways.
Treasures of travel, profuse and profane
evidence of bad manners, there they are.
Gone are the signs,
the warnings of fines and penalties
for dropping onto the byways
what you’re done using. Litterbugging
seems okay now, so much more to worry
us these days like that text message,
the price of gas at the next exit.
Better speed up, keep ahead of the traffic,
find a motel with a swimming pool.
There, on the side of the road, a sign:
highway beautification
next 8 miles by the makers
of orange plastic bags.
Day 4
Made Wrong
for Erin
Her thumb toes face the wrong way
she says at fourteen, wanting pretty
feet and perfect looks. Her nose
is crooked from a pitch into the street
over her handlebars at age nine,
she has cradle cap in her scalp
sometimes, though I tell her shampoo
residue, rinse better please.
She’s too short or too tall,
never just right like the last bed
in Goldilocks’ tale. She’s not pretty
enough, she says, made wrong somehow.
Now, at age forty-two, a little magic:
she’s beautiful, no matter
in what direction her thumb toes go.
Day 5
Rained In
Rain floods the sill, window
left open to birdsong last night.
Tulips open too — wanting a drink,
wanting bees’ legs
to reassure the future
in this garden.
No garden for me today,
today filled with chores and desk.
No window open,
no birdsong,
nothing moving in a breeze
that won’t get felt, no smell
of low tide, no rustle of budding trees
to swish me clear of boredom.
Day 6
Edmund White, Grand Flâneur
It took a dictionary to discover
what White meant, what kind of wanderer
he said was so invisible, a person
of shadow and corners, of doorways
and alleyways. A Flâneur, he said.
Words, little keyholes to strangeness,
to mysterious folks
with bizarre habits, odd clothing,
eyes that see what most do not. Words,
like taxis that take us into holes
in the universe where up is down,
where tiny bottles are labeled
Eat Me, Drink Me, like Alice.
White knew,
as Poe, Tolkien, & Lewis knew,
that the whole world is a map,
a flâneur’s delight. Take a candle,
a pencil, and a notebook. Wander.
Day 7
Her Majesty, Beatrix
of the Netherlands
abdicated to her son, official
ceremony of stepping down, moving
off to the side, taking a break.
Queen Mother we say now,
royal matron of her people, dowager
dearly loved, honored by all.
Benedict XVI, abdicated
to Francis, left by helicopter
to a safe house ( Castel Gandalfo,
which has nothing to do with hobbits,
though there was a ring
destroyed in the bargain).
Abdication is sometimes a holy thing
to do, sometimes cowardice in flight.
So ask: what’s happening
at Buckingham Palace?
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