Ardade Night
Some parental pundit plays pinball
in my brain at night, shooting balls
into memory pockets looking for a hit.
When balls lodge into slots,
cells fire, bells ring, points rack up,
ding, ding, ding, winning with:
bopped Bonnie in first grade,
took coins from mom’s purse,
hurled hurts at my husband
who sleeps beside me.
The game - You shouldn’t, You could’ve -
crescendoes when flippers
knock the ball back
again and again and again
even after, knotted up, I admit it all.
Truncated
Seventy-
year-old roots
uprooted a
foundation,
so a regal
redwood
got trimmed
into a tall
toothpick,
then logged
to leave it
and onlookers
stumped.
by Jeanie Greensfelder
