Non Electric

Am I unplugged

or do these flashing

red breaker switches 

need flipped off 

to reboot my flagging

energy?

Hot current --

please flash lightning 

bolts through my flaccid 

lack of desire and make me

electric once again.  

Tree's Knees

I read somewhere

that in order to grow

to my birthright height

I must plant myself

in a grove of tall trees.

I chose a lush patch

of Giant Sequoias. I

might have made

a mistake - aimed too

high and mighty.

The warning said

never plant myself

in short bushes
or patches of small
trees because

I might

outgrow them

and become a target for

the elements which

will cripple me

and keep me
shriveled

and bent.
Staying short
makes me safe

but doesn't provide
sufficient blackmail
 to eradicate my
claustraphobic
bonzai phobias.
Adapting to survive
unrelenting erosion and
constant battering
by staying small

stifled my future grim --
 so I didn't go there. 

But this lush patch

of Giant Sequoias
 I chose keeps me

 under a shade canopy.

No matter how hard

I stretch to reach the sun

and catch a breath

of the clean air

they inhale

while they talk

and see the vistas

they see  -

I remain nose to nose --

with their knees.

They don't see me

down
            here.
            

Homemade Daughter

Her wedding dress

lays folded

finally finished

the last stitch knotted 

buttons on 

hem pressed 

waiting to hang

till it graces her 

lovely shoulders. 

It wasn't made in China

in a factory assembled 

by strange hands or

checked by quality control

before being shipped to 

the mall store. 

There were times 

my insecurity wanted 

it to be tagged and 

stickered and priced

sophisticated like that,

but I couldn't talk her

out of homemade. 

She picked the lace 

and floating silk chiffon

that layers over a weighty

silk satin skirt. 

"Mama, could you 

make it have a small

train and leave the back

open like this?" 

She doesn't know 

I couldn't make myself

use the hem stitch foot 

to roll the bottom 

easy and quick. I needed 

to thread the needle - 

slip stitching love 

five per inch. 

She doesn't know I 

pricked my finger, 

hoping no blood stains

remained.

. 

She doesn't know I

found the cat laying on 

it like the Queen of Sheba

nestled in a silk stole.  

After the wedding

guests leave he'll

unbutton the waist

that I button up 

before their vows. 

They prepare promises

to forsake all others 

and cleave to one 

another in sickness 

and in health, for 

better or worse, until

death parts them. 

I hate being left so they 

may do the needed

forsaking part. 

She doesn't know

she's taking 

my sunshine 

away. 

He doesn't know 

what it feels like 

yet, to be the moon.