Genie’s Pocket - by Jeanie Greensfelder

 

2014 Columns

 

 

December, 2014       Genie’s Pocket    

 

December in California

Oranges hang on trees like Christmas

ornaments. One falls and bounces

behind me as I walk down a hill.

I think back to my mother saying,

 

October, 2014          Genie’s Pocket    

 

The Date, 1973

 

We sip from long straws,

share a Trader-Vic’s Kava Bowl,

and let rum and curacao send us places

we’re too shy to go. I take a maraschino

cherry and place it between his lips.

He bites. I pull the stem.

 

September, 2014     Genie’s Pocket    

 

I go to a meditation group to learn

what lures them here. Some sit

on mats, others on chairs. A bell rings

 

August, 2014           Genie’s Pocket    

 

Carry Me

 

I'm five, asleep in the back seat, or I was,

until the car pulled into our driveway.

Mother wants to wake me,

 

July, 2014                Genie’s Pocket    

 

Some Things Require Suffering

I turn into a mad woman,

panicked, certain of doom,

when my husband phones for help

to clean our espresso machine.

The chemical can ruin kitchen counters.

I want information and a plan.

 

June, 2014               Genie’s Pocket    

 

In June

 

Jacarandas bloom,

leaving nearby trees

green with envy.

 

May, 2014                Genie’s Pocket    

 

One night in June, I’m lonely

in an A-frame in the woods.

You flap on my glass door

and I let you in. As big

as my hand, you flutter near

and pause by a jade vase.

 

April, 2014                Genie’s Pocket    

 

What’s the Matter with You?

 

I’m in the ocean town Cambria,

excited to walk and see sights

when a man I’ve never seen

appears with a leashed Chihuahua.

He chooses to stomp on my life:

 

March, 2014             Genie’s Pocket    

 

When I found a nickel on the sidewalk

I ran to the corner store. Mr. Jones

tapped his fingers on the glass counter,

waiting—I chose a Milky Way.

February, 2014         Genie’s Pocket    

 

Hiking to Point Buchon

the ground is dry and brown.

A coyote watches me—

he blends into the brush;

bronze legs highlight tawny fur.

 

January, 2014           Genie’s Pocket    

 

You burst from the starting gate

and though I pull on the reins,

I hang on for the ride,

longing for 1940's snail-pace years

when I wanted to be older, faster, sooner.

 

 

    

                                                                                     Go to Genie’s Pocket 2013 and 2012