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Francy LandPoetry, and Photos June 02 Morning Caravan“We’re a caravan.” The man said to me on my walk this morning I tuned in from my morning walk reverie to look and sure enough they were A caravan of old people with squat dogs Waddling down the street together The man in the lead, the women following behind As is standard in caravans The only thing missing was the camels You never know what you will encounter On an early morning power walk. May 30 This DayThis day rich With wee wild white roses Covering the overgrown bush Air saturated with golden blue Sunshine and heavy beckoning floral pollen And grass that is growing faster Than it can be mown
This is not a day for missing you For crying over what I can’t have This is not a day for emptying my tear ducts Ending up an emotionally shredded Mass of blonde hair and ruddy cheeks That was for yesterday
Today is for wandering free Camera in hand Laughing at the funny things People do Watching a sunset This is a day for being April 26 GiftsHe gave me Laughter and love Furniture he thought I needed Jewelry he said I deserved He gave me ten minutes of himself On the phone every day And an email to start my day
He gave me his belief in me Memories of canning peaches After we’d picked them on a hot August day He gave me sand candles we made together A walk doused in a downpour of Oregon rain And said he felt love he had forgotten how to feel
He couldn’t give me the one thing I really needed, really wanted He gave that to her. Now all I have is Furniture, jewelry, the last jar of peaches I can’t bring myself to eat All that stuff He gave me. April 11 Tree People
She sees tree people Standing out in the river Talking softly amongst themselves She says they stop talking when we Approach them and they Turn away, these shy tree folk
The only others who can see them Are the grandchildren who speculate about Whether they are greek tree spirits or Japanese tree spirits, 'kodamas' She likes the theories
She tells of how horrified and surprised The tree people were when Dad cut down The butterfly bushes Their eyes wide, their mouths Open in large O’s She says, ‘you should have seen them!’
Silent on the trip home My daughter asks if I’m ok I don’t know how to be ok When my mother sees such things When the doctors tell us it’s dementia And it will be getting worse.
I hide for days, tearfully mourning my mother who is not gone yet Sherrie, my friend, assures me My mother has just advanced to A spiritual plane the rest of us Haven’t reached yet And I thank the universe for her
Ability to see the world this way For my children whose open minds Allow them to see tree spirits for My mother who sees tree people I may never have noticed their Spirits without her Now I will never look at them without seeing her September 06 Because I Can Explosions Attack me I wonder How long my facade will Hold up I can feel it Beginning to crack I wonder when The skin will shatter All that I am No longer contained Will come seeping out and I Will be lost down a Sidewalk crack I walk away Leave you to your Temper Tantrum Tirade Free myself and Breathe Because you don't control That Because I can August 24 CensoredIn that first year I knew Knew I was in that marriage We vowed ourselves into at the little church on the hill, the joining we celebrated in a reception on a shoestring at the nearby State Park Knew I was in it Alone Alone with my censored Feelings The ones I couldn't admit To myself or Anyone else Who thought we loved each other Thought we were happy You would go on The Road Alone in the dark When it was Finally quiet I would furtively wish you Wouldn't return Would meet someone else Would have a fatal accident So I could move on Painlessly leaving the censored part My censored shadow grew to the size of An elephant following me, an anchor Weighing me down, I could No longer rise And live Until I finally looked at it Examined it thoroughly I saw the church on the hill had Sprouted headstones I saw the park where we celebrated Overgrown, neglected until it was yellow Finally showed it to you so We could both finally be uncensored June 01 Another Dead MouseAnother dead mouse on the porch
Left limp and lifeless on the bottom step
Death is so final a step, yet
A dead mouse has possibilities.
I. Solve the Mystery of the Dead Mouse
Draw a chalk outline around it
Gather evidence
Make a list of suspects
Interview potential witnesses
(I saw a cat that wasn't ours skulking away from the porch earlier!)
Conduct suveillance
Finger the murderer
II. The Dead Mouse Learning Experience
Observe as the body
decays, decomposes, degrades
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust"
Lessons in biology, ecology, philosophy
The vessel that once housed a mouse life
Eventually flattens
A dead mouse pancake
A mouse fur rug.
III. The Dead Mouse as a Study in Feline Psychology
Decipher the implied
message in the
leaving of a dead mouse
on a porch that is not one's own
A sign of honor and respect,
or some kind of feline insult,
A slap in the face with a mouseskin glove?
Call in the Pet Psychic
Because who really know with cats?
IV. The Dead Mouse Used to Practice Important Cultural Rituals
Wrap the cold furry body carefully
In a handful of tissues and
put it in a small box
Take it out back to bury with the other mice
To practice saying goodbye
Because it's certain you will have
to do that some day
say some kind words over the mini headstone made with
leftover concrete from the shed
Here lies Mouse. He lived a mousy life in every way,
and hopefully he is happy in mouse heaven.
Place some flowers
And hope that there will be no
dead mouse on the porch
tomorrow. A Paper Bag by Margaret AtwoodI make my head, as I used to,
out of a paper bag,
pull it down to the collarbone,
draw eyes around my eyes,
with purple and green
spikes to show surprise,
a thumb-shaped nose,
a mouth around my mouth
penciled by touch, then colored in'
flat red.
With this new head, the body now
stretched like a stocking and exhausted could
dance again; if I made a
tongue I could sing.
An old sheet and it's Halloween;
but why is it worse or more
frightening, this pinface
head of square hair and no chin?
Like an idiot, it has no past
and is always entering the future
through it's slots of eyes, purblind
and groping with it's thck smile,
a tentacle of perpetual joy.
Paper head, I prefer you
because of your emptiness;
from within you any word could still be said.
With you I could have
more than one skin,
a blank interior, a repertoire
of untold stories,
a fresh beginning. May 10 UnbiddenYou
Play acoustic guitar
On a cold spring night
For an audience of only
Me
Songs
sung in a voice of silk sheets I want
To wrap myself in
Your voice reaches in
touching the strings of my soul by
Surprise
You
Don't want me to get all gushy
I close my eyes and listen
Saving my tears
The ones that come unbidden when
Confronted with such
Beauty
I
Let the music
The silky voice
Fill me until I am
Luminescent with it
Like stars in the chill spring night
That suddenly seens
Warmer
April 27 The Card Was Supposed To Make Me LaughThe card was supposed to make me laugh
the card from my mother My mother who is fading and shrinking She sent me the card
With a Sandra Boynton Cat Sitting in a bathtub Telling me When the going gets tough She finds it helpful to take A bath Open the card "I've been here since last Thursday. Love, Mom" The card was supposed to make me laugh
The card from my mother My mother who is fading and shrinking and it did make me laugh The card from my mother who for an instance
Stopped disappearing from this life Came alive the way she always was To make me laugh And that made me cry
Soul wrenching tears I did not know I had in me Tears torn and forcing their way out against my will Knowing I won't be seeing so much of the old mom any more When I do it will be a gift to be protected Taken out and looked at again later One of those gifts will be
This card that was supposed to make me laugh This card from my mother My mother who is fading and shrinking March 05 A Man and His HummerHe takes his burgundy Hummer out Every few days Rain or shine And lovingly washes it using Strokes that look like Slow caresses along Every deep colored surface With the extra-soft chamois washing cloth
Along every chrome artifice From the bottom of the bumpers To the hub caps that could be eaten off of The roll bars clear up on top He misses nothing His world reflects in that perfect shine
His wife isn't home much so I can only assume that he does not Share those love baths With her as well In the privacy of their Master suite.
Perhaps, I consider, if he did she might be home more often OR Conversely because she is not home more He had to get the Hummer So he could slowly, Lovingly wash the finish right off of it Like a child wears the fur off A favorite teddy bear Denying DeathToday's topic on the talk radio show
Is "Death"
Death and Dying Today
In Oregon
I turn it off with a grimace
Instead choosing
some rock-n-roll
something with life in it
It's not that I'm in denial
About dying
It's ordained from the day we are born that we
Will someday die
I am all too aware of that fact with each
passing birthday
Today, though
one of those beautiful spring days
with a plum tree sprouting leaves
in my front yard
and a cocky cat that is not mine
waltzing through bright green grass
that will need to be mown soon
the blades impatiently reaching for
the sun
It's a day brimming with
life and so I will
postpone confronting death to
another time. November 08 Some Days GoldenSome days, volatile earthquakes The world seeming to move from under your feet Leaving you feeling like a Coca Cola can forgotten half full on that pickup bumper The truck drives off and you Wonder as you tip this way and that How long it will be before You become one With the ground Some days, a quiet blanket Of softest down Just lying there Those are the times to stop and Breathe To slow down at last To be thankful for the pause before you have Some days, whirlwinds You arise with The sun And blow through the day Taking up everything in your path Until night slows you down So you can stop breezing along You sleep just long enough to get up and Do it again tomorrow Some days, like today, luscious golden mist Blooming unexpectedly in the window A coral hibiscus flower With a deep colored center For one day only A day to be savored, wallowed in And tucked away for the times when You have those other kinds of days. September 06 The ArmpitI drove through the armpit of Oregon
Twice today
Once with a car alive with chilren
Attention enrapt with the audio book
On the CD player
Once by myself
Trying not to feel forlorn
Trying not to feel the emptiness
Of the car on my way home
Of my home for the coming week
The lack of noise
Of dirty dishes
Of missing dishes
Of waterguns left carelessly
On the floor
We've made this trip before
We would roll up the windows
As we approached the dreaded spot
And try not to taste the B.O.
Of the town
That noxious, foul smelling skunky air
Belched out of the paper mill by the freeway
In a town that looks like
yesterday's deflated leftovers
Without so much as a garnish
Now, our car has
Air conditioning
And we must only bear the eyesore
Without the benefit of smell-o-vision
As we speed toward the lush green farmlands
To meet Grandma and Grandpa
As I speed home alone in an empty car WasabiWasabi
Singes my sinuses
Reminds me I am alive April 28 StarlingsStarlings Fly
In amazingly crafted formations
After ingesting fermented
Juniper berries
It's best to stay out of
Their way
Starling sits
In the tree outside my Window
Imitating a bird of prey
An eagle I think
He freaked me out
The first time
Now I know him
Starlings aren't
Popular with most people.
I think they get tired of seeing
Those brown bodies
And scraping bird droppings
Off of their clean cars
But if you learn to park
Away from their favorite tree
And learn to laugh,
Starlings can be a lot of fun.
Just like any of us.
November 02 No Cell PhoneMother Nature is letting Cool drops splash on my windshield To the music of a piano on the all classical radio station While I wait in the parking lot
I am thankful to have Left my cell phone at home Accidentally, of course, Thankful for the moments of peace
It feels good to breathe And watch the drops land On my windshield Feels good not to hurry For just a few moments July 11 I Have Been Cleaning for Over a WeekThe garbage dump from my daughter's room
The smell of stinky gym socks from my son's room
And short-sheeting his bed, after all, what are mothers for?
The odds and ends both have outgrown,
but cannot bring themselves to part with
Rearranging and kicking up the dust in my room
Then dusting the dust to another place out of here
Sorting out
Clothes not worn in over a year
Unfiled papers from their falling over stacks
My 'stuff' from my 'junk'
My memories
Books that collected dust on the shelf that I have read
but cannot bring myself to part with
As if all this
Sorting
Cleaning
Rearringing
Dusting
Will make me
A new woman
All spiffed up and
Ready to tackle life again
March 03 On HoldOn hold Waiting waiting Listening to the Elevator music Waiting waiting Listening to the music Hey I know that song
On hold I wonder Waiting waiting If it’s a good idea Listening to the music To play “Comfortably Numb” For people who are On hold for Mental Health Services Waiting waiting
On hold Waiting Waiting Listening to the Elevator music February 02 Ten Year-Old OxymoronOne minute my daughter
Is telling me how good her
“Dobbie” (translation blankie)
Smells this morning
She says it smells happy.
The next minute she
Is telling me
All fashion conscious
How she feels like
She is growing up
I tell her “No rush.” and She laughs because
I always tell her to stop growing
But she was born fashionable
Can’t stop herself
From looking for matching earrings
My daughter makes her bed
Tucks all of her stuffed animals in
A good Mother
Hugs and kisses for me
A good daughter
And I am left awestruck
Where my daughter is
Concerned time has been
A tiny town you mightMiss if you blinked. November 01 Getting Grandpa to BedGrandpa spent the day On the beach with the Kids and now He’s a tired youngster Himself Who does not believe He is dog-tired Though his cheeks are flushed and His eyes grow small and watery. At last We tuck him in. He is snoring Before we reach the stairs. Street of DreamsWhose dreams ARE these exactly?
Dreams of pretentious homes
And all the money and resources it takes
To build such a cold monolith
Not to mention, keep it up.
Those aren’t MY dreams.
My street of dreams
Contains a much warmer older, smaller
Bright yellow house with crisp white trim
And yes, the proverbial white picket fence
With roses trailing carelessly along it
And over the arbored gate
A walkway lined with lavender
Invites neighbors inside
For a heavenly piece of berry pie
And a fresh cup of coffee
To the sound of Benny Goodman’s Big Band
Or perhaps some Vivaldi.
The furniture would be comfortable
And the artwork eclectic
The window seat would
Inspire writing or daydreaming
While the cat softens your feet
With his fur.
And there would be a homemade quilt
For cool days.
That huge echoing expensive cavern
They are calling “dreams”
Seems more like a nightmare
It does not belong
On MY street of dreams
I wonder whose it does?
August 20 Marge
July 06 My LieMy Lie By Francy Just me at home today Me and the warm autumn air Sneaking in open windows and doors
A strange voice I don’t know A strange body using the phone She sees me, hangs up.
“Do you need something?” Pale-skinned Imbalance mutters her way to the kitchen sink A help wanted sign flashed from her soul-vacant eyes, “I need this knife.” “That one? Are you sure you wouldn’t like a clean one?” “I’m going to kill myself.” “Well, you don’t want that knife then, it’s not very sharp. It won’t cut it for you, -did I really just SAY that- and will probably just give you an infection.” Just give me the knife
Imbalance slipped past me and out the door. On the phone with the police I could see her Across the street with the neighbors Yelling at her as if that would stop her pain, stop her behavior Stop her from spilling blood all over their weedy driveway
Police whisked her and our knife away Short work of a scary situation For the neighbors and Me. I wondered about her, picturing her In a place with white rubber walls and a straightjacket Maybe succeeding at her desire for peace As I lived through the next year and a half
Walking into a college classroom one day To find her Alive, well, and quite chatty Her soul back from it’s hiatus “I know you from somewhere.” I breathed once for an eternity And lied “Yes, I know what you mean. I wonder where we know each other from?” Grandma Told MeGrandma Told Me By Francy Bozarth
She never smiled Her beautiful smile In photos It would make her look all wrinkly She’d insist
Those stern expressions didn’t stop her skin’s eventual folding on itself Didn’t stop her from aging and dying She’s right about smiles causing those wrinkles, though
Sunrays radiate from my eyes Permanent parentheses frame My beautiful smile
I don’t need to be forever young I don my wrinkles proudly A symbol of all the smiles I was gifted with Even when I wanted to cry.
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