winter dreams


Sometimes I like starting over.  Getting a do over! Like when we were kids.  That didn’t count, do OVER!   I mean I start over ever day, don’t I? Isn’t that what life is about? I wake up, open my eyes, look at the light and start over.  I begin again. A new day has dawned and I start.  Even if I’m continuing I’m starting.

It reminds me of a song. Something I can’t quite place, but I hear the melody, the base, in the distant parts of my brain.  It’s back there, deep in the dark corners.  Maybe it’s under a box with yellowed folded love letters and old Polaroid’s.  I know it’s there because I can feel the song, seeping into my body, my limbs, but I can’t remember the song.  You know what I mean? I can feel it, just can’t quite remember it.  It’s like a memory, a flash of light, a sliver of color, a wedge of a dance, or a hint of a kiss.


like the moon that night
hanging low
shining  full
blue silver
the snow turning to ice
reflecting alice blue
under his steel blue gaze
he smiles with his round eyes
that mona lisa smile
i am nine
maybe ten
standing in fresh flurry

it’s new year’s eve
my parents are out
at a party
in the city
with their friends
my father’s arms pulling
my mother into him
celebrating thirteen years
and magic

josie, keeps us warm and happy at home

she lived down a long gravel road
in a red ranch house
my mother would drive
we’d sit in the back
waiting for josie to come out of her red house
so she could come to our house
to cook us rice  pudding
and read tom kitten’s mittens
she stuttered a little
when she said kitten and mitten
we all laughed
and ate our warm pudding

at midnight josie opens the front door
of our house
and we spill into the glimmering
into the night
this is our secret
she says

my footprints are first
my sister’s follow
we make our mark
then run to the neighbors
jumping diving leaving trails
on their pristine winter white lawns
“i’m the first one to step here!”
i sing into the sky
“i’m the first one to jump here!”
my sister laughs
“i’m the first one…”
we are two
glowing snow suited phantoms

our friends parents are strict
guarding their doors
at home
they are not at a party
in the city

we crunch back to our front lawn
fall back
kick our feet out
flap our arms up and down
careful to get up
without marring our perfect
powder blue angels