Peeling and slicing apples for pie.

My son Jack asked for a slice,

Then another slice,

Then “Just one more,”

And “Just one more.”

I said, “If you keep eating the apples,

I’ll have none left for pie.”

These are surely the exact same words

My mother said to me

When I helped myself to apple slices,

As she made pie.

By the morning sun,

Your empty chair

Reminds me that

You’re gone.

It’s my turn.
I get 2.
Five hundred dollars —
Thank you, aunt.

The last roll;
Time to count;
I have more than you.
It’s Payday!

Her hair just grazed her shoulders in a style that was neither trendy nor dated. In fact, there was a timelessness that seemed to permeate everything about her. Her bikini was modest, as far as a bikini can be modest. It covered all that should be covered and made everything else look perfect. She didn’t hide her gorgeous blue eyes behind obnoxious sunglasses that screamed, “Look at me.” Nothing about her screamed. She drew attention to herself like a perfectly formed rose amid a bush of ordinary roses. You simply could not pass her by without a second look, because everything around her paled in comparison.

Roy literally paced next to his own towel, arguing with himself silently. He had never been so attracted to any woman in his life, but why in the world would she give him the time of day? He felt like even meeting her eyes for a fraction of second would be too much to ask, but he’d never be able to get her out of his mind if he didn’t at least try.

Finally, steeling himself for the task at hand, he turned and took three steps in her direction. Then, he noticed that she was gone. How could that be? She had been there a minute ago. He looked toward the ocean. Maybe she had waded in. No, she wasn’t there. He looked down the beach. Had she gone for a walk? No. Kicking at the sand and turning with downcast eyes, he looked up and saw her standing before him with a smile on her face. It was directed at him.

The Quest

The journey was long and perilous. Young Jeremy Bluejay picked his way carefully along the path, ever conscious of his surroundings and possible attacks. Stopping every ten paces to paw through the stones at his feet, his gait created a rhythm that played softly in head: bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-ting-a-ting-a-ting-a-ting. He was searching for evidence that he was on the right path. When the soil beneath the stones turned to gold, it would be time to veer off into the forest to his right. At that point, he could expect to find the Enchanted Stream of Galahadrian within one hundred paces.

There were blue, yellow and green.

The blanket in progress

Was the loveliest Lucida had seen.

It would cover Baby Jesus

And protect Him from the cold.

But Lucida ruined all, trying to help.

It was too hard for a ten-year-old.

Mamma had fallen ill.

Papa never left her side.

Lucida cried as she left the house.

She ran to the woods to hide.

Who was that beautiful Lady?

Why did she smile at the child?

How’d she know Mamma would live?

Why was she here in the wild?

“Dear Lucida — yes, I know your name.

“Don’t be afraid to open the door.

“Gather those weeds for the Babe.

“Go to the church; lay them on the floor.”

Lucida’s arrival caused quite a stir.

How could she offer those weeds?

Why didn’t the girl know any better?

Tongues wagged as fingers moved over beads.

Lucida heard not a sound.

Her eyes were wide and bright.

She knelt, prayed and offered her gift.

The church was suffused with great light.

A collective gasp echoed throughout.

Lucida turned from Jesus’ bed.

The weeds had transformed into flowers.

They glowed like fire and love — deep, flaming red.

I based this poem on the The Legend of the Poinsettia, as recorded by Tomie dePaola in his illustrated book by the same name.

Untangled

The moon gets tangled in your branches
Like your leaves used to tangle in my hair
When he and I tangled beneath you.

Unlike the moon, he no longer returns,
And I have cut my hair short.

Home

The hole in the ground
Is the beginning.
The concrete solidifies;
Now the question: are we wise?

Walls are up and straight
Insulated and sided—
Doors and windows lead us in.
Our new life is about to begin.

The roof’s on: weathertight.
Flooring, paint and trim —
We’re closer; we’ll establish
A family, all that we wish.

The curtains are up
Sheets dress the bed.
Other rooms wait to be filled.
It’s alright; the wine is chilled.

Months and years go by;
Carpeting get stained.
Curtains fade in the sunlight;
Bedrooms stay empty; nothing’s right.

You leave me: no wave, no kiss.
It’s alright; I’ll get through alone
My foundation is strong.
About that, I won’t be wrong.

Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown;

Rapping at the window, crying at the lock,

“Are the children in their beds, for now it’s eight o’clock?”

— Mother Goose