Lizzie, My Lizard
The brain's amygdala,
nicknamed lizard-brain,
stays ever alert and wary.
Honed on fear and survival,
my Lizzie pumps cortisol
and disables my cerebral cortex.
Give her a symptom and
Lizzie stalks it to my demise:
sniffles become pneumonia;
a mole becomes melanoma.
Unsure of my acuity, she
repeats her report,
repeats her report,
repeats her report.
Desperate to silence her
I picture holding Lizzie,
stroking her scaly skin,
then containing her in a
terrarium. Through glass,
we stare at each other.
I study this creature
primed to keep me alive
even if it kills me.
The Mystery Mist
Come find me here
in the morning ocean fog
where my Monet eyes see
silhouettes of boats moored,
and figures walking the beach.
I'd hoped for whales and pelicans
feeding on small fish, but that happens
when the sun shines and the bait rises.
In the mystery mist,
no one feeds on anyone,
edges soften,
questions disappear,
and answers fade.
Time freezes:
Come find me here.
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Traditional and Modern Art
My neighbor's mailbox,
a miniature of their home
with beige shingles and white shutters,
lacks the rocking chairs on the porch,
the red geranium window boxes,
and the grandparents who stepped out
of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Today, the grandfather repairs
damage done by woodpeckers,
and hangs an owl to scare them away.
Singing we all fall in, the grandmother
puts Hank, then Heidi into car seats
to drive them to Kinder Care.
If mailboxes mirror their owners,
mine would be dismantled
with divorce and disorder,
pieces lost, pieces added,
pieces twisted and twirled,
pieces glued together
as in Dali and Kapoor,
not traditional, but
modern art.
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