Quill #19 - Comforter (2010)

I saw him balance a chair,
On top of a solid wooden desk,
Using one finger of his right hand,
While explaining potential energy.

At night he would recline.
I would climb into sturdy embrace and,
Entranced by the sun-ghosted hair
On his ticklish forearms,
Gently pull strands,
Not knowing how they tugged at his heart.
Body and mind entwined, he never protested.

Annoyed by the same treatment,
A husband doesn't see the china doll in his wife,
Until another blithe sprite comes along
To cajole threads one by one
From a fabric unfrayed by time.

Quill #18 - Silk Screen (1995)

Stillness in my garden
This black night
Rustles paper souls.
Easy to spy upon brown shadows,
A country of bamboo puppets,
Shuffling through one bright house.
Stillness so profound that cattails do not tremble in the breeze.
Even the waterfowl flow carefully,
Present themselves as angelic geisha,
Sneaking lies below long lashes,
Listening for deep currents.
Tameflowers bend.

Quill #17 - No (1991)

Quill #16 - ...before (1997)

Quill #15 - Distance (1994)

His black, suede hat sits on the table across from me.

.....Brown leather
.....Band, silver concho, matching
Black coat rests upon the dusty rose seat.
...............His son wears the same size shoes.
A stack of silver coins leans like a tower unable to fall
Away from his steaming styrofoam cup;

Ninety cents doesn't buy anything here,
.............................................But I have money.
He drew a red cupid's heart on the cup
.............................................Before leaving it in my care.
..............................His daughter colors
.............................................Beside me in our
..............................Booth, too small to roll
.....Black balls down a
.....Brown groove.
.............................................I add our initials to the heart
While he's gone.
..............................She keeps asking for the money;
..............................Chocolate streaks around her mouth,
Climbing on the coats to see her daddy better, and

...............Clapping tiny hands when her brother waves.
Like thunder, you learn to ignore the noise, the
Rhythmic thump, deep rumble and clap,
Echoing thump, rumble, clap,
Echoing...
..............................A cow charm fades on her denim purse,
In a bowling alley,
In tornado alley.
.............................................There's no place like home.

Quill #14 - "Gay" (1997)

A thinking man,
And a thinking man's man,
Thinking in abstracts;
Reality wearies.

Joining,
In concept,
Brings a rush of blood to their tiny heads.

Joining,
In practice,
Takes time and energy, small in supply these days.

Both know they will die wishing for more,
Unfilled.
Yet,
They practice in private,
Putting off difficult action,
Denying strong wine for the cheaper pop.

Cork scents don't lie.
Honesty would be working too hard;
It's easier to ignore an already made bed,
Especially one that smells like spent happiness.

Quill #13 - Becoming One

There's a certain aura surrounding couples who are supposed to make it through the rough patches of life and into old age with each other. You can almost see the strands of love between them when they share a special look, continue to have passion after the second, seventh and twentieth blush of the romance, even after children come along to seal the deal. It's a kind of emotional bondage and it becomes stronger over time.

When a certain good book mentioned leaving your parents to "cleave to another" and "becoming one," I used to think that was poetic license for moving out and having sex, preferably within a legally sanctioned, morally approved marital contract. I have discovered there is a deeper truth.

Most of my insights in this life have come to me because I made mistakes, big ones. And sometimes I didn't learn the lesson until years later, when I finally understood what my mother was trying to tell me. We seldom agreed but she was no fool.

For couples in love, according to songs the planet over, there's always a sense of "us against the world." My mom was more blunt. She told me I had blinders on. She tried to talk to me about my husband, in the early years of marriage, and I know his parents tried to talk to him about me. Of course, such talks always made us angry with our parents and more ingrained in the "us against them" mentality, clinging to one another as if drowning in a sea of opposition, with only each other to hold us afloat.

Such comparisons are lovely until you find yourself having to deal with what seems like pigheadedness in someone you used to understand. You thought you knew this son or this daughter. They were completely reasonable and intelligent people. Then, one day, but only if their significant other is involved, they put on their dark glasses and howl at the sun. And, it isn't just one or the other, it's a pact between them. Sometimes you wonder why they can't see that they've just turned into werewolves, but they can't. I couldn't. Nobody can, not if they're truly bound.

I love our children, all of them. I love the ones that married into the family, that we adopted, that adopted us, and the ones who were miracles of modern medicine. They're all important to me. But, there's a steep learning curve to an empty nest. Suddenly, half the news reports on TV have no relevance to you. You're never going to deal with schools again, won't need to know the latest toy recalls, or explain the birds and the bees. You've done that and, good or bad, your work is finished. All that's left is cleaning up the house and spoiling the grandkids. And you have to stay on good terms with the parents if you want access to the progeny.

Being the mother-in-law is always a precarious position. One sure way to fail is to point out the daisies that are opening up and turning their heads, or to mention that your neighbors are cutting their grass, or that everyone else is having to squint. When your son or daughter is insisting there's a moon, best to look at the trees and listen for hooting, 'cause you're never gonna change the basic truth that love is a rose with gigantic thorns, and it's far too easy to get stabbed through the heart.

My mom was really good with owls.