the crossing

it was a blue key
that fit in a
secret lock
kept hidden away
known only
to a very few
she slid it in
and gently turned
there was a muffled
click, the door
swung open
a subtle breath of air
brushed past
her cheek it smelled
like roses with a
trace of mint
a voice in the distance
called "come in, come in,
we've been waiting for
you all these years"
as she stepped inside
her fear melted away
sadness evaporated
as if a puff of smoke
there was only joy
and peace,
perfect harmony
as she crossed over

sunrise headed south

the price

she would have been born
in Virginia
if her great-great grandfather
hadn't been
shot at Appomattox
she would have grown up
in the 50s
if her grandfather's
blood hadn't spilled out
in a muddy trench
in the Verdun
she would have been a
hippie in the 60s
if her father's ship
hadn't gone down
in the South Pacific
she would have been a
wife and soccer mom
if her husband hadn't
been killed in a
southeast asia jungle
she would be a grandmother
if her son hadn't
been hit by an IED
along a dusty road
in Iraq
this is the price
of war

the very different gardens of Eve and Adam*

the woman plants her garden
all in one pot
ivy, grape vines and roses
intertwined on the trellis
withhold water from one
and all will wilt and wither
but a man's garden is planted
in neatly marked out rows
peas in one, tomatoes in another
and beans lined up in a third
should the peas fail to flourish
the beans will still grow
the man will not long for peas
nor forsake tomatoes
for the lack of them
and so it is the same
with men and women
when it comes to
love, intimacy, and sex

*with apologies to both genders for gross generalization

the beach

tap dancing barefoot
across the shimmering sand,
ribbons of heat
wavering in the distance,
we rush toward the water,
cool and inviting,
fringed with foam
as the breakers
take turns
crashing against the shore.
after the first splashing strides
we plunge head-first
into the waves,
bobbing up for air,
laughing and shouting.
though not aware of it
in the moment,
that memory will live
with us forever,
ready to call up, replay,
and take the swelter
out of a brutally
hot summer day,
stuck in city traffic,
far from the beach.

caught in the rain

black billowing mountains of clouds
erupt across the horizon
the air smells dangerous
the distance grumbles
wind stirs from sleep
in restless fits
followed by foreboding calm
the first pizzicato drops
fall to earth
one, three, twenty
a thousand of them
pelt against your skin
quenching
like steel grown red hot
in the furnace
then plunged into water
hissing and sputtering
quenching the swelter
from a passionate afternoon
in late summer
the two of you lying
by the shore
too deeply lost is bliss
to get up and run
from the rain

one-legged sparrow

a tiny sparrow
with just one leg
lit on my windowsill
and sat looking through
the glass at me.
i whispered to it,
"poor little sparrow
with only one leg,
how sad and unfair
life can be."
at the sound of my voice
it cocked its head
and chirped to me,
"don't feel sorry
for this bird, sister.
can't you see
how strong and clever
i must be to do
even the simple things
that my fellow sparrows
take for granted?
don't you understand
how very much better
i am than they?"