Sisters

We were and are separated
By long years and miles
Yet memories linger, like how
You used to CLAIM that I was
A Sarah Bernhardt, a sly accusation
That did label me
An ACTOR, a faker
All my emotions as melodrama
Or how you pointed out my clothes as
TACKY (One of your favorite words)
Casually crushing adolescent feelings
Our relationship was shaped by
Your hard polished side
That shines out to me
Like the FACET of a diamond
I struggle to turn it
And find the softer ties that loop
This gem around my neck

Georg’ann

“GUARD her”, you ask SAINT
Your love is an altar made
This FACET shines bright

Heather

The SHARP edge of the knife cuts before he realizes what has happened. Finger to lips, MOUTH fills with the salty metal taste. The ETHIC of the brotherhood requires much, and he has had to be LITHE and swift as the tests have increased. It is as if he has had to TITHE in flesh, and he suspects that the more dangerous the test, the more certain they will be of his loyalty.

Georg’ann

This HOUSE a temple
delicate CHIME guides prayer
Service is my TITHE

Heather

Let’s acknowledge that DREAD is in the air. It just seems to be part of life these days, and at times, it is for a specific reason. But I do believe that together we can stave off PANIC. No, really, I am certain of this. What’s that you say? You haven’t a clue what to do next? Drawing a BLANK in the moment is normal. I have learned not to attach too much meaning to it, and rather say THANK you – that the empty moment is just another way of processing and is actually quite necessary. Hold my hand, will you? And together, we can walk into the SHANK of the night a little less afraid.

Georg’ann

Moving now into the DEPTH.
Reality of an isolated fact,
a single clue that takes us
no closer to solving the puzzle.
The escape room keeps us
staring at indecipherable bits,
with confused panic.
Release me to an easy CHAIR,
wrap a SHAWL around my torso
like spiritual arms.
I’d SHANK the guard to be free.

Heather

The paradox of being a good GUEST
Bring a PLUME, a precious item
To uniquely EQUIP the hostess
That all may know your worth
Above all others invited to the table

Georg’ann

Like carved and painted animals
ROUND and round we spin.
You SQUAT down, my foot
in your hands. Carefully
you ease me to the saddle.
Roles reversed,
We EQUIP ourselves for the ride ahead.

Heather

A LAUGH that wavers like a sob- uh oh!
All pause – which way will it go?
Ah, with the BLINK of an eye,
Emotional scales tip into BLISS
As a BLIMP floats by
Relief as little toddler hands clap in joy

Georg’ann

Sitting at the dam end of the lake, high above the field, I watched a small woman stoop to PLUCK a violet along the sunny SLOPE. Out of nowhere a BLIMP shaped dog waddled into her, sending her rolling down the grassy hill sideways. I expected some unpleasant utterances but instead out poured peels of laughter as she was thrust back into a quintessential childhood delight. In my own body I also felt the dizzying sensation of careening downhill. A broad smile crossed my face as I laid down and set myself in motion.

Heather

Looking for the best PRICE, I wandered the gardening EVENT, distracted by the presence of so many STEEL rain barrels. Who on earth would buy that? And why hadn’t I bought one? Suddenly, my plastic one seemed ugly and passé.

Georg’ann

Worn, dry, crusty. Feeling STALE
as the bread I put in the toaster
last week and then forgot.
Lever never pushed, no
comforting toast retrieved.
Today you sit at the table.
Sipping chai, your STEEL blue
eyes find mine. Coating me
in cream, egg, sugar, and spice.
I become pudding in your gaze.

Heather

They say
That out in the CORAL
A SPIKE grows
Belonging to a THING unknown.
They say
That when families visit
The sharp beastie knows
Who the naughty children are
Who the WHINY children are
They say
That those children best beware
For the thing that grows
Within the reef
Will pierce their tender feet

Georg’ann

DEATH images haunting.
Even the CHOIR is silent.
WHINY voices hush.

Heather

On the desk, in the STACK of PRESS cuttings, under the GUISE of talking about a MOUSE and a HOUSE, you can find a fascinating tale of the role of the LOUSE in shaping human history.

Georg’ann

It wasn’t worth the PRICE,
Showed an appalling lack of TASTE.
Definitely not going to SOLVE your problems.
Oh how you played LOOSE with it all.
Never pegged you as a LOUSE
yet here we are.
My skin is crawling,
treatment after treatment
and still I can’t get rid of you

Heather

Cooking up some clarity
Will I find the CREAM
Of TRUTH in the BROTH?

Georg’ann

No repair for BREAK,
Still try to nourish the heart
BRING warm BROTH, kindness.

Heather

The spring woods create a soft border around the lake. Seduced by the colors and the contrast, I walk out onto a pier. A FLECK of something floats by on the breeze. At first, I think it is a petal from one of the flowering trees above me. But no, if is a different bit of fluff, a feather. It feels like magic, something out of time that could EXIST only in fantasy. Overhead a HERON flies, long neck and great wings coordinating in a marvel of grace. I find myself stretching up, elongating my own spine: as if on the VERGE of flight or as if about to MERGE with the glorious creature above me.

Georg’ann

REACH through thorns for fruit.
Hard won, this sweet BERRY. Taste.
MERGE strife with delight.

Heather

It was hard to hear – a story of corruption and death, the consistent oppression of a country, a people. It was told in a clear and RAPID fashion. Direct and devastating, I understood it not as the development of a new TREND, but as the historically consistent GREED of big corporations and the BREED of men who run them.

Georg’ann

Wearing a purple SATIN gown,
and dangling moon earrings,
she sat with a champagne bucket
waiting for totality.

We did no know that when it came
We all WOULD cheer, then go silent.
Unwritten CREED in the collective
experience. New faith in our BREED

Heather

Caramel stuck in my molar
Waiting for the SOLAR
Give me some MOOLA
Let me be your DOULA
Don’t be so bourgeois
Show me your chutzpah
Let me show you VOILA
Eclipse, baby
Eclipse, baby
Eclipse!

Georg’ann

AGILE woman bounds
DAILY, crossing streams
on logs and stones.
VOILA, achieves balance.

Heather

An explosion of green outside
As if a giant BEAST stood above
Sprinkling POUND after pound
Of green and purple dust everywhere
And then got all WINKY and coy
All of nature smiles and flirts in reply
Even the littlest FINCH seems gleeful

Georg’ann

From under a lemon tree,
you gazed at the LUNAR path
reflected on the sea, MINTY
scent filled the cool hill town air.
In all the years SINCE, you still
imagine walking on moonbeams.

Even now as you PINCH
the pie dough, and note
the FINCH feeder needs filled,
you are drawn elsewhere.

Heather

With a CLEAR purpose, I step outside. I will ignore the dark CLOUD – surely I have an hour or more? As I walk along, a steady CLINK can be heard, the rattle of gardening tools in my bag. Here I am: with a new set of gardening goals. I feel determined and ambitious – like an athlete, marking out which CLIFF to CLIMB next in an on-going series of physical challenges. I will excavate garden beds, dig holes, transplant and transform. I see deeply satisfying days of physical labor ahead. My goals are beauty as far as my eye can see, as if I am standing on a bluff, looking out over a gorgeous expanse of nature. I set down my bag, put on my gardening gloves, and begin.

Georg’ann

Scampering up to SHARE
a QUICK look at the view.
Assessing our eclipse vista.
CLING to hope for clear skies,
with the tenacity of the roots
in the CLIFF we came to CLIMB.
Today cold rain and winds blow.
Monday it might be otherwise.

Heather

FIELD glistens in RAINY dusk
SHIRT sleeve points to WRIST where
Bracelet twinkles like raindrops

Georg’ann

It took no MONEY
to hike the long TRAIL.
Soon DRIFT to sleep, so tired.
WRIST tucked under cheek.

Heather

I angle myself in my seat – an acknowledgement that I really am in this meeting to listen to the AGENT from the company. A tedious task for me and the speaker, to be sure. From my shifted position, I can now see the CHART. I can also see hair, the color of deeply brown TOAST pulled back in a long PLAIT, drawing my eye down a tweed jacket. Who is this person? Is this the new hire in sales? Distracted from the talk (not going to lie, I really didn’t care), I begin to plot how I can meet this tweedy person with the gorgeous hair.

Georg’ann

There was no PAUSE, we jumped right in. It had been awhile since we’d done a proper PRANK and this one seemed harmless enough. We’d set out to POACH eggs in the PLAZA, selling them as if we were doing a fundraiser for our school, then take our earnings and to the movies. Wearing PLAID skirts, our hair done in a simple PLAIT, we looked the part.

Unfortunately the plaza we chose was one where my mother happened to be meeting a business colleague for coffee. She was not amused. And did not later accept that she could have spared herself embarrassment by simply ignoring that she knew us. She was not open to our opinion, though I’m fairly certain her colleague was trying to suppress a hearty laugh.

Heather

On the shelf, at the flea market

Our eye is caught by
A STONE kept by a SAVER
Of odd bits and pieces
There, in the little porcelain jar
Lies the polished rock,
The letters A, E, and M —
From a printer’s box —
Decorative with SERIF,
An old vial, where a SERUM
Once was held
Strange little items,
Held by a collector unknown
Your tales will remain untold

Georg’ann

After being kept awake by the STORM, my tired face could use the promises of a luxury SERUM.

Heather

In relationships, it is so hard not to keep SCORE – this thing that a therapist that I had once called “stamp collecting.” All the little bits and pieces of being with someone, added up in columns, pluses and minuses until you DROOP under the weight of it all. I want to sweep it all away, wipe it out with a BROAD brush. Start fresh, as tender and delicate as a new FROND, growing up from a fern on the mossy woodland floor. Loved and appreciated for simply being, a small magical bit of existence.

Georg’ann

Letting quiet GUIDE me
as the capricious ocean within
crashes and calms, moves
toward then recedes. Becomes
steady sea once again.

Crave to HOARD this stillness,
ensure there’s always a store available,
like Frederick the mouse collecting
color and sensations
to brighten the winter WORLD.

Here I remember.
Inside an ocean. Outside
on the path, a soft spiral uncoils.
It is spring.
The fern FROND unfurls.

Heather

I spy a little nest started in the strawberry bed. Some small creature, I assume, though not likely a MOUSE. I gently pull the dried grass away, laid carefully in a circle. It’s an action I take with some mixed feelings – who am I to be a THORN in the side of some small animal, forcing it to search for a new home? Does it really need to be TABOO to have a little nest under the sage, next to the strawberries? And then I think of those red berries, and imagine the little thieves. Ah, yes my little friend, go build your nest elsewhere: those berries are mine!

Georg’ann

Even as I try to EQUIP my heart
with all the promise of Easter season, 
the feeling is more suited to Good Friday. 
Slipping back into darkness, 
hard to keep a vigilant WATCH for light. 
Precarious, oh so tender. Everything. 
Dare not seek a TAROT reading. 
TABOO for this mood. 

Only trust divination read 
in woodland wildflowers. 
Dutchman’s breeches, trillium, violets,
celandine poppies are the light.
Suspended between crucifixion 
and resurrection, faith is carried
on the wings of Red Admiral butterflies.

Heather

GREAT wave approaches –
The SHORE, shimmering, yields in
Acceptance, FORCE brings change

Georg’ann

This wind, nature’s SHOUT.
MONEY spent and beauty gone.
FORCE blew it away.

Heather

We journey together:
Different cars, same TRAIN.
I wander the aisles looking for you,
Longing to connect.
You seem out of REACH:
Traveling in parallel
Lines never touch.

READY or not, we are moving forward –
When we get there,
Will we be in the same REALM?

Georg’ann

On cheek, TRACE of tears.
Sobs had been HEARD in next REALM.
Empty now, she slept.

Heather

On a bluff with a CLEAR view
I orient north, SOUTH, east, west
STUDY the hawk above
Focus on the STUMP below
On the breeze bits of fluff and STUFF float by
The woods are full of sensory delights
Things that have STUNK or STUNG,
Are equal invitations to experience wonder

Georg’ann

You take the same ROUTE each day,
yet are not STUCK in the same pattern.
Always finding something new to STUDY.
Or feeling comfort of the familiar,
even as you notice changes, oh so subtle.
Perhaps not even subtle,
like how buildings and trees come down.
While entire neighborhoods go up.
In the yard with toys strewn about,
a child was STUNG running
barefoot in the clover.
The next day he was there again,
laughing. His feet were bare.

Heather

I crave a walk along the SHORE
To see my footprints STAIN the sand
Startle gulls, splash in waves
Alas, we are SADLY land-locked
Hours from the coast
Ah, I would give anything to
SALLY forth along the beach today

Georg’ann

Sam was SWIFT in claiming her SPACE on the top bench of the SAUNA, where she could SAVOR the rosemary scented steam as it settled in droplets on her SAGGY skin. Eventually the heat would become too much and then she’d SALLY forth and plunge into the cool pool, awaking the sleepy senses with a shock.

Heather

What do you suppose is the ORGAN where DOUBT resides? The lungs, where we gasp or hold our breath? Perhaps it lives in a TOOTH – those front teeth where we take a first tentative bite of an apple. Or could an experience like uncertainty reside in a hand, where we struggle to grasp a TOPIC. If so, could we use a TOWEL to be decisive and wipe away any hesitations?

Georg’ann

Fingers stroke the pages
As a continuous CHAIN
of words hold me captive.
Both engaged in the story,
and enchanted with the poetry
of the PROSE. MODEL writing
too rare, precious when discovered.
Even the rendering of a TOWEL
makes my skin long to be wrapped
in such threads of cotton.

Heather

A sailor under a CURSE
Travels far and wide
Finds himself SOBER
And TRIES once again
To resist the SIREN

A cloudless night
The moon has RISEN
The temptress sings
Beware the rocks
Or into the deep you go

Georg’ann

MAGIC wand in hand,
tiara settled askew over curls.
“The Queen of University Street”
one neighbor dubbed her.
She did have a certain POISE and charm,
our preschool royalty, as she sauntered
down the street, bestowing hellos.
I’d watch from the stoop,
ready to sound the SIREN
if she strayed too far.
No matter how early we’d RISEN,
she never seemed to tire,
always up
to meeting what the day had to offer.
“A puddle is a friend,
go out and greet it!”

Heather

The house is quiet. Reaching across the table, I turn on a table lamp. I watch as the circle of light turns AMBER as, first twilight, and then darkness begin to fall. A basket of STALE bread sits before me. The dregs of CHEAP red wine sit drying in a glass. Books, papers cover surfaces. There is a general sense of disarray about the space. I glance over at the door, my coat and bag slump against the wall. How long have I been sitting here? What time did I leave work? Was it yesterday? Today? My faltering sense of time, of reality — I feel lost, adrift. The smell of DECAY wafts in on a breeze. The smell stirs memories – ones that I know are recent, yet feel very far away. I close my eyes, and the images start to come back. I can hear the screams, the phone call to 911, noises of panic and chaos. I force myself to push them away. My mind demands that I sleep here — now, in this chair — for as long as it takes in the vain hope that when I awake it will not be true.

Georg’ann

Seeking to feel RIGHT,
wishing to balance the SCALE.
Each day called to perform
as if I were a magician
in a fancy CAPED costume.
Creating, sustaining illusion.
It’s hard work this magic making.
Effort destined to go unnoticed.
Like how a bulb becomes a bloom.
Our eyes drawn to its bright display
emerging
through the carpet of leaf DECAY.

Heather

A bonded pair for life
Or so they say
This lends caution to my steps
Lest I SCARE them as I approach
This woodland STAGE where
A dance of life is taking SHAPE
Here in the dappled SHADE
I watch in awe as
Mourning doves bob their heads
Rituals of billing and cooing

Georg’ann

The tongue craves for STONE fruit.
Ripe and messy. Flesh both firm
and yielding, juice dripping.
Flavor and scent fill SPACE,
mindfulness inescapable.

The heart laments, around here
good fruit is rare.
No matter the grocer or farm stand.
Piece after piece selected with anticipation.
And again comes some mealy, stringy, flavorless ball.
It’s not worth the pursuit.
An expense to SHAVE off the list.

This summer I’ll sit in the SHADE,
My mouth filling with saliva
dreaming of the perfect peach,
a cool plum, or smooth nectarine.
My hands will not reach for reality.

Heather

The tulips say MAYBE baby
The daffodils say hell yeah
The crocuses say bye bye
The squill say yippee ti yi yay
The LIGHT chuckles and then guffaws
As the wind tickles and chucks it under the chin

It’s a special LINGO
Heard only in the month of March

Georg’ann

It was no GREAT thing
yet to it oh did she CLING
In our LINGO? She a ding a ling!

Heather

The baby cuts a TOOTH —
The DRAWN butter threatens to burn —
A SALAD waits to be tossed —
Sundown brings all tensions to the fore —
Can I ABIDE the transition to night?

Georg’ann

WATER droplets fly
Creek play, dog gives hearty SHAKE.
ABIDE consequence.

Heather

Oh what a good SPORT you are:
Hours SPENT searching for SPELT
Just to make that recipe for me
True friendship, indeed

Georg’ann

Traveling Companion

She kept me company with poetic prose,
an Appalachian love story,
spoken in native dialect.
Her VOICE as comforting as warm BREAD
spread with butter and honey.

Miles pass quickly as I STEEP
in details of people and place.
It’s late when I arrive home,
but I sit in the parked car
too captivated to pause.

Finally the ache of travel,
and gnawing hunger pull me
out of the Kentucky mountains.

Inside, I’m welcomed back.
On the kitchen counter
sits a pound of SPELT flour
and a jar of homemade strawberry jam tucked into a cloth lined basket.

Heather

Have you ever witnessed a CHAIN reaction?
The kind that hits a NERVE,
Contagious as a cold,
In the WRONG place and time

A SNORT of laughter, a fit of giggles
Echoing louder than a sermon,
Disrupting a wedding,
Raising eyebrows,
Shushes rippling all around

Georg’ann

Soon family is coming to VISIT.
We have no GUEST room,
so it will be a cozy time.
Our own SLANT on togetherness
will bring many a SNORT.

Not only our own laughter,
but also a visit to the neighborhood
urban pigs. Snoopy and Piggy
love to grunt and SNORT
while being scratched.

A small rake hangs on the fence.
Time visible a few blocks away
on the courthouse dome.

Heather

Tale told on a spring night 

In the neighborhood of the MANOR, there by the STONY lane, near the  NOTCH in the wall, there is a TOKEN hidden. If you find it, take it, but don’t bite it. It’s laced with a TOXIN. But you can safely hold it and hoard it until the day you need it. Hand it to the ogre, should he come to call, and you’ll be safe forever.

Georg’ann

EXTRA antidote!
Resuming TOXIC patterns.
Your touch a TOXIN.

Heather

GREAT shame can destroy
Like a CRUET overturned
Vinegar and oil ERUPT
Onto the tablecloth

Georg’ann

Give SPACE, be patient.
Fruit will RIPEN, become sweet.
Blossoms will ERUPT.

Heather

Twixt and between
Twist and turn
We TWINE together
As we have
SINCE the day we met

Georg’ann

Spring earth is MOIST, fresh.
The scent awakens my senses.
Having RISEN early for a walk,
there’s time before work
to move the misplaced clematis.
She grows rapidly.
Soon to be unwieldily,
tangled in various electrical LINES.

A few quick prods of the shovel,
and up comes the clump.
Deep rusty red-brown roots below
the flaking, woody growth.
Tender pink and green tendrils
emerging.
I place her next to the elderly honeysuckle,
imagining the pliable new vines
weaving through brittle old growth.

An intergenerational display,
each lending graceful blooms.
Clematis comes on quick, flashy.
Then leaves a purple mess, and gone.
Each year this maiden begins anew.
While the honeysuckle gives understated delight all summer,
bird shelter year round.

Caught in the tangle
is a tiny bit of cloth,
with a SINGE along the edge.
It’s been there SINCE before Eva left for college.
Standing here I wonder, am I
more trellis or aging vine.

Heather