Uprooted:
An Artist’s Life in 52 Poems
These poems, a memoir of my life, are a story about home and displacement, grief and love, reinvention, and starting again despite the sorrow. Throughout I’ve used the language of color, textiles, and the natural world to understand my memories as art and nature are how I make sense of the world.
Widow Finds Love
I’m kissing a woman.
Lips soft, inviting.
What is this powerful attraction?
One lunchtime kiss.
From improbable to possible.
Have I ever responded this way?
An embrace.
I melt.
An answer to an unspoken search.
What have I been missing?
No memory of a kiss feeling like this.
Senses reawakened.
Awakened?
Her mouth sends powerful message.
Maybe there is someone out there for me.
Her?
After terminal illness caretaking role, five years alone, I am ready for love.
A woman?
Later, I seek to settle nerves
with nighttime teeth brushing and moisturizer.
Paste and cream don’t stand a chance against adrenaline surge
still thrumming in my bones.
A face that kissed a woman.
Hands rise to cheeks.
My body, a map.
Fingertips trace
worry lines,
crow’s feet,
chipmunk cheeks.
Should have meditated.
Should have used sunscreen.
Should have spurned comfort food.
She said I was beautiful.
My face isn’t the only change.
Focus of a woman’s desire?
Hands run down fullness of breasts,
across abdomen’s purpled map.
Two babies carried and delivered.
Menopause around the corner.
Maiden, mother, crone… Sapphic lover?
A fluttering lands low in belly.
Not movement of a baby,
conception of something else.
Goosebumps crawl up arms and down legs
I shiver with aroused hunger.
The missing of shared life.
Is she?
My person?
Divorced.
Widowed.
Versed in man’s body.
Key to lock.
Plow to furrow.
Her curves mirror my own.
One size does not fit all.
This isn’t me,
was never reason enough.
This is me,
the constant process of evolution.
Twin stares back with flushed face in fogged mirror.
Gay?
My mind skitters from labels.
I am attracted to a woman.
To this woman.
I don’t need to know.
Onward, Christian Soldiers
Daily Bible dose drives focus of two-room elementary school.
Sit still, stay-in-your-seat approach to reading, writing, and arithmetic.
Despite limitations of lessons,
master the basics.
Good, better, best. Never let it rest, till the good is better and the better is best.
Academic achievements win awards,
frowns follow bossy behavior.
Too eager.
Too vocal.
Too smart.
Nice girl mold is cracking.
Train up a child in the way he should go.
Church beliefs limit exposure to alternate ideas and non-believers.
Edicts are clear
Success defined in terms of sins (what you avoid),
salvation (what you seek),
and service (what you give).
Your body is the temple of God.
Sacrifice,
denial of flesh and worldly temptations,
(greed/lust/ego)
set high bar of conduct
for soldiers in God’s army.
Prepare for the end of times. Will you be ready?
Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers…
Bible recitation for eighth-grade graduation begins.
Braces gleam silver through recital in full-skirted white dress.
Lilac corsage pinned to bosom-less bodice.
Lavender ribbons hold back long hair.
… Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi.
Mast Year
October sun warms water after storm.
Goldfish flash at pond surface,
fallen limbs litter yard.
Single blossom clings to cabbage rose bush
with wizened rose hips and shriveled leaves.
Last bloom of season shatters to touch.
I slip pale pink petals into pocket.
This garden contains the full circle of life
witness to mine.
I came as a young bride,
birthed two daughters.
Salted earth with tears when I woke to find my husband gone.
Synching with cycles of waxing and waning gave resilience.
Dig hole.
Drop seed.
Tuck soil.
I work with tarp and wood-handled rake following first fall frost.
Leaves tumble into ravine,
humus-building winter blanket for chipmunks,
cover for worms and beetles,
future food for hungry hatchlings.
There’s a bumper crop of acorns for knife-billed woodpeckers and strong-jawed squirrels.
Mast year phenomenon this harvest,
a time when neighboring oak trees produce a synchronized bounty.
Providing more nuts than hungry creatures can eat,
ensuring overflow seed supply for the next generation.
Sharp gusts rattle russet leaves.
They float downward
little flags of farewell.
I rake long grass like combing the hair of a beloved child.
Lone red robin hops behind
hopeful for displaced grubs.
Rising wind grabs end of blue tarp.
It wraps around my body
like a graduation gown.