You look at me like I’m crazy
to say I’m going to walk into your scrap yard
and haul off the piece I need.
Should I have put my hair in a ponytail at least?
Are my shoulders too rounded to carry anything home on?
Am I asking too many questions or something?
Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the toddler,
expecting to get this done during her nap.
Let’s face it. I am crazy.
Running Out of Ideas
Running out of ideas?
I’d like some big hairy accomplishments to come
running out of ideas.
I Can Lie in My Bed
I can lie in my bed with my eyes closed
and jump from room to room.
I am lying on my right ear,
so at the apartment I am facing the changing table,
at the old house a chest of drawers,
at my Grandma’s the closet doors,
in Spain, a small space and Alaina,
at Mt. Rainier, the window,
at Sol Duc, the wall.
I open my eyes to come back,
to find myself in my bed,
facing my husband,
at home.
Three Steps Ahead
I will often be three steps ahead of you,
out in the useless future,
making a list of projects, and a plan,
because I’m not sure what to do right now.
Home Where the Buffalo Roamed
This is my home,
where the buffalo roamed
and the deer and the antelope played.
And there’s still some out there,
breathing in the fresh air,
and I have a warm place to stay.
Telling a Story
I am telling a story
like Garrison Keillor.
Each paragraph hanging on by a thread
to the one before it.
Not knowing where this is all going,
I’ll find at the end that the thread
was what the story was about.
I Love Routines
I love routines.
Do you know what I mean?
Do you jump out of bed
when your day’s in your head,
when you don’t have to wonder
if you’ll lead or be lead
by the random assortment
of things that come up?
Or would you rather just drink
what life puts in your cup?
Do you like to predict
just when you’ll be where?
Or do you really not care
just who sees your bad hair?
When the doorbell rings
and you’re not panicking,
because you’ve made use
of your morning routine,
then I’m sure that you
will know what I mean.
I love routines.