Independent Education Luncheon

I'm the one who's not
like the others -- not even
what we share is mine.

three-hundred sixty
five haikus, though no one -- that's
me -- day by day . . .

he's from angola;
edgar is his name. he sits
hunched, with folded hands.

azaleas on
the patio, two shades of
pink, preening, flirting.

"when the mountain goes
back to sleep," he says, and walks
into smokey ash.

a weekend of art,
dance, reminders of what it
is that drives, that fuels.

white ash coats the skies
and grounds flight -- volcanoes will
always win these fights.

spring break

the week stretches, yawns,
slinks. yet tuesday already
slips by, into dark.

running and thinking
of anything but -- working
hard on distraction.

a park, a rock creek,
a path that winds, a walk, a
walk, a walk, sunday.

talked to cille

the word cringes, but
the sentiment marches on:
empowered. i am.

dinner in clarendon

lemongrass seafood
curry, summer rolls: poet-
ry on white china.

trying to be healthy!

three bags of tea a
day -- tulsi, holy basil,
plus fish oil and greens.

wednesday

melancholic min-
utes skate by, long strides,
even ones, all day.

stupid bosses

"maybe you're tired, or
pissed at something else. i don't
know." but you do. well.

bon jovi!

his smile dawns, rises
to -- maybe from, maybe with --
his eyes, his bright eyes.

forearm stand!

pincha mayura-
sana -- a feathered peackock
on mt. pleasant street.

on the way to georgetown

stumbling into the
woods on our way across town;
tripping out, laughing.

friday

friends and white wine on
a friday afternoon, on
the couch, on the mend.

the week slides towards
its own end, slipping into
friday too slowly.

weeding

digging weeds, scooping
them from mossy, damp dirt; soil
that waits for what's next.

caitlin

the folder flies, spins,
lands, smack, right between the eyes --
let the week begin.

white wine on cille's porch
signals spring's homecoming dance.
this year, i'll be queen!

vidhya flies east;
a friend leaving stretches time,
shrinks space, even seas.

comps

four hours writing, wrists
aching, questions melting one
into another.

march slips in trailing
sunny days, open windows,
breezes and deep breaths.

five mini poems
because the week tread by without
stopping to take note.

ron. argh!

the first place i go
is to assume i'm wrong, while
raging at his nerve.

lunch

today's best: chicken,
avocado, and aru-
gula on whole wheat.

8 stages of development

too much ass so i've
got indonesian infer-
iority com

plex, right? intelli-
gence is good, so eat dirt -- it's
erikson in short.

power ballads swoop
in and sweep me up and spin
me into a smile.

zach's stupid ipod!!!!!!

brandon borrows it,
brandon loses it; brandon
doesn't pay for it?

"this pill," she lectures,
"masks feelings." a doctor, but
she doesn't know pain.

the irony in
this: twelve year old boy interr-
upts to call me rude.

three beers on a pat-
io, two babies on a bench,
one sunday in march.

this sadness seeps and
sizzles, boils and bubbles, sighs
and simmers and aches.

it throbs, pulses be-
hind one eye, sneaks down the neck,
knots in one shoulder.

five haikus in one
sitting, and we're off wonder-
ing what will come next.

yoga

breathing, expand, shift
slightly, settle in to musc-
les, bones, breathing still.

little boys screeching,
a mother who signs "take care",
one tuesday's lowlights.

when silence feels good
but means bad things, what,
then, to do with it?

to be the cause of
some of that sadness saddens,
suffocates, stifles.

i am out of place
in my own space, so i move,
shift, and wish to fit.

tonic with n and v

laughing loosens the
fist, the fear. remember that:
laughing shakes it loose.

anxiety

chest of rubber bands
tensely wound round each other;
if they'd snap, i'd breathe.

sigh

a swamp of a fight;
quicksand. kicking, screaming, and
only sinking more.

Mom's here -- Outside In

what makes it so hard
to be myself with the one
who's known me longest?

PSYCHO!

psychodynamic,
psychosexual, psycho-
social, psycho, psych!!!!

vidhya

we watch chris del bos-
co crash, burn, and we scream, laugh.
sad to know she goes.

portugal?!

dreaming out loud, the
three of us, of wine, of beach-
es, a rocky coast.

Mom

to negotiate
her age, illness, self; to know
which is which is which.

when it rains

sometimes it does, in
fact, pour: kids flail, pipes clog, pap-
ers don't write themselves.

Nothing

nicky sleeps, purrs and
it's okay not to do a-
nything else tonight.

After class ...

i don't understand
what it is they don't under-
stand. smarter? dumber?

Aaaaargh!!!! Reply to an email, boss man!

as if these questions
don't measure up, don't matter
enough to answer.

grace

maybe grace is hope
manifest; possible peace,
likely, likely love.

finished "The Lacuna" -- Barbara Kingsolver

a lacuna, a
cenote, a hole that makes
all the difference.

XXI Winter Olympics

snow drifts, pizza, wine,
johann olav koss on the
mind; people ARE fine.

Moonstone -- Done!

more snow, a moonstone,
a walk, some wine, laughs; home, and
meet the moonstone's end.

Atrophy

snow snow snow snow snow
snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
snow snow snow snow snow

(54.9 inches, to be exact)

Flurries

Freshly stirring snow,
shoppers scurry, buses hurry,
emails, plans flurry.

Ice dams

elongated ice,
crystal bolts, frosted lightning;
the city slows, too.