Catching a Wave
I wish I'd hurled myself into life
like the teen tossing his board
off the pier and then leaping—
his back-flip suspending him mid-air
before he slips into the sea.
Patient, he eyes the waves,
makes a mistake,
gets dumped to the depths,
his board attached at his ankle.
He paddles back, primed to go.
Watching, my body syncs with his—
cold seeps through my wet suit.
Choosing a swell, my arms stroke.
Surging forward, I stand,
balanced on the wave of youth.
Death
With a poker-face,
he holds the cards,
leaving me guessing
how long we'll play.
Dealt a good hand,
I bet as a kid,
thought sure I'd win.
But now I pass,
check out the scene,
admire the players, and
smile at the dealer,
not with my wiles,
but in gratitude
for the game.
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Psychologist, poet, Women's Press writer,
Hospice of SLO volunteer . . .
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Oscar Nominee
The film scans San Luis Obispo,
then zooms across town into a kitchen
where a woman warms her oatmeal.
She charms the audience with an
authentic rendition of a normal morning.
The woman in her seventies
always wanted to be a star,
thought she had no acting ability,
but she's a natural.
Following her outside on a walk,
the film slows, but critics tune to nuances--
her expressions conveying her thoughts.
She's a poet and her eyes brighten
as lines emerge and click into place.
She chats with a neighbor
who walks her rescued greyhound—
their lives a poem in process.
This film highlights bedtime—
the realistic flossing scene,
having her husband sleep elsewhere
to avoid her cold. Those sneezes.
She couldn't fake them, and the way
she snuggles with her down pillows.
Awesome.
First Moments
I never baby-sat, and now,
a baby sits on my lap.
Fluids flow,
bond our bodies,
letting me see her beauty,
letting her lick her lips,
hungry for me, hungry for life,
sparking my devoted desire
to give her both.
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