Genie’s Pocket -
2013 and 2012 Columns
December, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
From the bridge I look for ducks
and see a man's likeness on a rock
in the creek. Shaded by wild iris,
this Einstein or Mark Twain smiles.
November, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
At the Watch Store
Time is broken
Three men bend over desks
fitted with wells for screws and discs.
October, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
Cruising Avila Beach Bay
The truth is I want it all —
I want to be my zodiac driver,
follow a narrow cave to its end,
then dive and come up in a cove
discovering Caribbean turquoise.
September, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
Like a searchlight,
the moon
moves over the swamp,
spies a ghost orchid,
lingers, and lets
white on white
mirror one another
in the black of night.
August, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
The Story of the Two Bears
My poodle smells bear, Pat says,
Fifi refuses to go near the creek.
We share yesterday's news: a man
sees a bear asleep in an avocado tree
close by. A crowd gathers and claps
until it wakes and runs away.
July, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
In June
Jacarandas bloom,
leaving nearby trees
green with envy.
June, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
My Mother:
Arrangements in Grey and Black
In the dim basement, my mother
scrubs clothes on a wash board —
how she feels about her life
is written on her face,
but I don't know how to read.
May, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
Slaying Dragons
Waving his battle-
he slays dragons and goblins
preparing me for The Hobbit,
a movie he's seen three times.
April, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
Sipping my café cortado
I notice a silver-
He wears jeans and a Patagonia fleece
and studies his New York Times
March, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
Cruise Stop, Trapani, Sicily
Bicycles ply cobblestone streets —
no helmets here, no stop signs.
A woman beats her rug
on her balcony railing.
Across from her
an old man sits and watches.
At the corner, two men argue,
their hands shaking like maracas.
February, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
She stows away inside me,
watches for shadows to tag,
and says, Don't step on cracks.
She waves at me in the mirror
and makes faces until I laugh.
January, 2013 Genie’s Pocket
In the middle of the night,
I walk down the hall.
Ahead of me, someone
moves silently:
a ghost in a nightgown.
December, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
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.
November, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
On the Museum of Modern Art's terrace
a life-
a black snake, a green St. Michael
slaying Satan, a yellow Madonna,
a black saint, a purple bishop
and a grey, grim caveman.
October, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
By the grocery, a homeless man smokes.
Seeing me, he hides his cigarette,
stands up, nods his head, and says,
Ma'am, may you have a beautiful day.
His greeting follows me into the store
where I gather green beans and bread.
On leaving, I plan to thank the man,
and talk to him, but he's gone.
September, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
Percolating
Alone, sipping espresso,
I see my father light the burner,
and set a percolator on the stove.
A soft booga-
Coffee bubbles into the glass knob,
then the acrid smell that makes him smile.
I watch him sit, sip, and sigh.
August, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
Nipomo Ranch Walk
A bee struggles in a spider's web
and a lizard, who lost his tail, darts by.
Both steer me to the earth,
midwife to life, and its cemetery.
July, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
My first boyfriend was my second choice:
Beth got Terry Bachman so I got Billy Cook
whose jaw hung, his tongue showing.
I looked down on Billy: girls were taller
in seventh grade. I wore his ID bracelet
and a motorcycle cap with his initials.
June, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
The Barn
A tombstone to times past,
the barn behind Home Depot
holds untold stories,
yet tells so much.
May, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
Sanctuary
Gathered like prayers in marsh grass,
snowy egrets congregate, seeking shelter.
Bundled in our fleeces, a stranger and I
share this hallowed moment, and watch
prayers take flight.
April, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
Guilin, China
Slipping into a Chinese scroll,
I'm on the Li River as it ribbons
among misted mountains,
peaks hiding, then re-
Water buffalo bathe in the river
and on the banks, women wash clothes.
March 2012 Genie’s Pocket
California Cloudburst
Under my umbrella, protected,
raindrops ping, and I take note,
knowing at my age,
walks in the rain are numbered.
I spin the stem, making spray,
but then, pings ring steady and strong,
the street becomes a stream,
and my socks are soaked.
February, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
Unveiling the Sun
Paring a garnet yam, I unveil the sun.
Peeling a round onion, I hold the moon.
Both grew below ground,
and journeyed to this sacrificial moment.
Slicing with care, sautéing in olive oil,
adding garlic, spinach and a portabella,
I see earth and sky unite.
January, 2012 Genie’s Pocket
T0 2012
You burst from the starting gate
and though I pull on the reins,
I hang on for the ride,
longing for 1940's snail-
when I wanted to be older, faster, sooner
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