The sheep kicked up its heels and bolted. The little REBEL looked to make a BRISK getaway to the garden patch where shoots of green still poked through the snow. Excited by the activity, the rest of the flock trotted after like a BROOD of baby chicks following a mother hen. Fortunately, the farm dog saw what was up and with a display of brains not BRAWN, cleverly drove them back to safety.

Georg’ann

Your WHEAT toned hair falls
across your cheek as you read.
Room AGLOW with morning light.
Table strewn with Sunday fare.
Newspapers mingle with jam jar
and butter dish, coffee mugs.
In the center, rising from detritus
a BAWDY red and white amaryllis
in full bloom. BRAWN required
of her long green stalk to hold
four trumpet blossoms heralding
glad tidings in all directions.

Heather

It’s here –
a life defining moment

STARE into the possible –
be with, do not force

Be grounded –
no need to QUAKE

Imagine a safe place –
a verdent GLADE, a
realm of abundance

This is not a battle –
no need for a BLADE,
soften defenses

Walk forward –
embrace gently the emergence
of tender newness

Georg’ann

Visiting Echo Park

Climbing the steep stairs,
a public walkway gentrified,
he tells us childhood stories.
So much happened here.
FINAL time these chapters
might be told. An aunt in LABOR,
each step excruciating.
Little boy temper tantrum
about wanting a bike.
Frustrated mother hit him
on the head, with a glass bottle.

To the left a garden. Back then
it was an empty dirt lot,
tall dried grasses to hide in.
Setting a paper airplane on fire,
he started a BLAZE. Dangerous

sitting in the midst of flames.
Firefighters intimidating, fear.
Years later gang fights.
When the BLADE came out, ran
home so fast, ducking into yards.
Spaces he knew well.

We eat tacos across the street
from where his father’s upholstery
shop had been, down the street
from his uncle’s auto repair.
Paper routes, candy stores.

Returning up the steep staircase
I see a clementine. Pick it up,
hand it to him. He tosses it
down the gully like the marbles
and rocks of yesteryear.
We watch the orange ball bounce,
picking up speed as it rolls.
This old man a boy again.

Heather

Putting a COVER on the STOCK pot, I SCOLD and SCOWL as if that will make the outcome more certain.

Georg’ann

Though they could VOUCH
for shared values, this
alignment didn’t get them CLOSE
to agreement. Both sat with faces
forward all SCOWL and clenched fist.

Heather

Oh my goodness, it is truly one of the WORST things, to sleep poorly night after night. It feels like cruel joke, to sleep in a ragged incomplete way, night after night. It is something I would not FOIST on my worst enemy. Tonight, I expect that I will COAST along easily to dreamland. May I wake in the morning able to BOAST of excellent rest.

Georg’ann

With the SOUND of laughter
we left history in the cupboard.
More to write but not today.
Chapter by chapter, slowly
bringing stories into light.

When this work is done we might
have a roaring fire, setting them
to ROAST. Tonight she’ll COAST
through crafts for distraction.
Shelled peanut nativity scenes,
rocks painted like fluffy sheep.

It was hard. The kind of day
that begs for impossible comfort.
Accepts tea with TOAST and jam.
Despite other’s appreciations
nothing here to BOAST about.
Only a tender heart bursting.

Heather

Switch up the MEDIA
Watch them FLOCK into the room
FUNKY dancers groove

Georg’ann

French Country Picnic

SHADE on the hillside
FLOCK of sheep graze in shadows
We eat FUNKY cheese.

Heather

BOUND by a promise to get a dog, David and his little girl DROVE out into the county to fetch an adorable little yellow lab puppy. The sweetness of the moment was almost too much. They were smitten by every feature of the pup, from the DROOP of her soft velvety ears to her sweet disposition. No one minded the little sharp puppy teeth, the messy DROOL from all the kisses. Ostensibly a gift for a little girl, in truth, she was a gift to all of them. It was a Christmas to remember.

Georg’ann

We took her to a FANCY restaurant.
The kind with cloth napkins.
Which she didn’t realize
were for using, laid it in her lap
and later asked for something
to wipe her mouth. “But it’s white
how will they get it clean?”

Watched the cook work
the DOUGH, fill something
from a pastry bag.
Ate with hearty appetites.
Finished with green salad to DETOX.
Ready to DROOP, full and tired.
Then the dessert cart,
which made us DROOL.

Looking around she stated
she’d like to work here
when she gets big.
Now to the theater,
balcony box seats.

Heather

Ready for a PARTY —
Ready to dance into
A FRESH take on life
Listen for those LOWER notes
Pulse with that backbeat
Step like the MOVER I am
Light on my feet like a BOXER
Feint, spar, and swing
Jump and jive, baby!

Georg’ann

He never went to TRIAL
though he appeared before the judge.
Wearing the orange jumpsuit.
Chained in a line to fellow inmates.
Each waiting their ROUND
to be spoken about, asked
if they understood. Though not really
caring if they did.
Moving quickly through details.
Didn’t COVER much. Rote process.
No sense of humanity in any of it.
Caught a glance from his scared, sad eyes.
Wanting to maintain bravado of a BOXER.
Knowing he was in for a knockout.

Heather

At the TRIAL, it became clear that the family’s effort to put a SHINY veneer on their behavior was a sham. Under the guise of attending the DYING matriarch, they were busy EYING the heirlooms and extensive art collection. There was a lot of very messy VYING for the position of most loved heir. I doubt they wanted there to be a trail of bodies leading to this moment. The irony? The object of all this attention, Madame H herself, was not so close to death’s door. It’s funny how things are working out.

Georg’ann

Glancing around the room feeling
an impulse to SCOUR the floors.
Reset my foundation if you will.
Bring a gleam to the wood
let an almond scent waft upwards
riding the heating currents that
blow in the night.

Ready to revive this DINGY room.
EYING the walls, noting faded paint.
In point of fact, I’d be LYING if
I said there was anything here
worth keeping. I’m not the same
woman who created this space.
No part of that me VYING to remain.

Heather

GLIDE across the floor
BLUSH pink silk rustles and swirls
Gentlemen queue, hearts beating
Crystal beads dangle from ceiling
Like dozens of sparkling PLUMB lines

Georg’ann

I would not TRADE my life
for any other. Like sandstone
hills, etched and pocked,
into exquisite beauty. A sense
of history, wide expanses
of something solid. Recesses
grand, and tiny too, carved
to give shelter.
Waters move through.
Fall and pool. Small swirls.
Sometimes terror here,
more often wonder.
LUCKY for it all.
Roots and rocks rise,
covered in PLUSH moss.
Shaped by the elements,
nothing hangs PLUMB.

Heather

WOULD that I were a fine gentleman, sipping BROTH with a silver spoon, wearing my ASCOT. I would sit, nattily dressed on my PATIO and pretend it’s the Riviera.

Georg’ann

You COURT here no more.
STOMP on my heart. Flowers wilt
in PATIO pots.

Heather

In her excitement about the HEAVY TROUT on her line, Frankie almost blew it. But her mama and Uncle Frank had taught her well. She played the line and managed to bring the big fish in. But in truth, it UNDID her to catch sight of the beauty and SPUNK of the creature. It twisted and CLUNG to life. In the end, saying a prayer of thanks for the moment, she FLUNG it back into the ice-cold river. Carefully walking back across the slippery rocks, she wondered if anyone at home would understand why she had done that. Gathering up her stuff, she looked back at the river — the rushing water, the play of light, the insects swirling in the clean, clear air. The beauty made her heart hurt with emotions beyond her 12 years. She knew this was important but couldn’t quite say why.

Georg’ann

Without the cat sleep has changed.
Deeper, steadier, more vivid.
Each night DREAM after dream.
Being STUCK in a shed somewhere
on the edge of town, afraid
of being discovered hiding there.
Walking along a wide BLUFF
overlooking a clear deep stream,
fish swimming over spotted rocks.
Images FLUNG into being,
what meaning they hold
is of no interest. I don’t want
to puzzle through my psyche.
My preoccupation is with timing.
These dreams mark the nights
without my constant companion.
I want the comfort of disrupted sleep.

Heather

SHORT are the days, so best
make a list, it will come in HANDY:
a furry HYENA, spotted and cute
a teddy bear, traditional and sweet
games for everyone
cookies to bake
dinners to plan…
Oh, my! No time to waste!

Georg’ann

A PARTY with those most LOYAL.
Friends kept me from the ABYSS.
Oh did we laugh, I like a HYENA.

Heather

The TENOR of the place was spooky. As she approached the SHACK, Marie regretted having taken this job as a census worker. So far, this HILLY, rural area had been charming. But, now, she has no confidence that it will remain benign.

Georg’ann

What of her YOUTH remains.
Still those sparkling eyes, seeing
the world through artist lens.
Captivated by light and shadow,
reflections in SHINY objects.
Still plucking that one HAIRY mole
on the far left side of her jaw.
Still desiring hands to caress
the curves of her HILLY body.

Heather

Winter

School on DELAY
Snow on the way
Kids happily EMOTE
Parents struggle to cope
All fumble and GROPE
For scarf and coat
CHOKE down gruel
Body needs some fuel
Tumble and SHOVE
Grab a glove
Out the door
Gotta explore

Georg’ann

An idealized winter eve

I CRAVE the scent of pine,
the taste of warm cocoa,
a good mystery to SOLVE,
steady snow falling in the dark,
white amaryllis blooms unfurling,
the crackling of a wood STOVE
when I SHOVE in another log.

Heather

‘Tis the Season

Busy sounds make a happy NOISE from every kitchen
Spicy smells follow, wafting along on the breeze
All around the block, bakers ENDOW homes
like wealthy bankers beset by a fit of generosity.

Georg’ann

What the body holds onto.

Her father had strong opinions.
To SWEAR was inarticulate.
Only china for tea and coffee.
No mugs for this man.
Curry used to disguise rotting meat.
Garlic was an unnecessary
assault on the tongue. He’d have none.
WHITE clothing strictly held
to June, July, August. No exceptions.

Weight was to be kept BELOW
certain markers, which was
monitored by weekly weighing
of his daughters, both of whom
failed to meet the standard. Ever.
He did not mean to ENDOW
them with disorders. Surely not.

In the months after his death,
without changing a thing,
100 pounds went missing from
the youngest. A lifetime of heavy
handed expectation melted away.

Heather

Aging brings a special AGONY, for sure. We now are of an age where we are losing friends to death more than to moving away. I have cried so many times this year that my eyes feel like they’ve been through a DRYER. These events do not make me any readier to have my own TRYST with death. On the contrary, I am fiercely alive and ready for more. Let me not yet enter a CRYPT for a final time, order not my funeral flowers. Save that for later.

Georg’ann

These words require a particular VOICE, which is not mine. I experience them as a CLAMP on my imagination, a stopper in my bottle of sensitivity, a dam holding back my vast waters of expression. The word CUPPY renders me locked tight as a CRYPT. So for tonight I’ll gaze upon our makeshift altar and let my mind wander through the emptiness.

Heather

“4 Smart Guesses”

So the app says,
pandering to my PRIDE,
like a BLAST to the ego,
a little SNACK of boost juice.
Definitely a way to keep
the SHAKY vibes at bay…
at least for a while!

Georg’ann

From the boat came the cry,
“WATCH out AHEAD!
SHARK!”
We turned our rafts around quick.
Not far to go to get back to shore.
Felt SHAKY the rest of the day.

Heather

Holding Space

REACH with tentative hand
Touch at the ELBOW
Not wanting to startle
That’s not my STYLE
Nor wishing to deceive
I try to be without GUILE
No desire to be intrusive
Hold and behold
Tend and befriend

Georg’ann

Waiting, watching every breath.
Keeping CLOSE to the APPLE
of so many eyes. Closing time.
Her head in my hand WHILE we sit
looking at the withered garden
of early winter. Came quickly,
this layered EXILE. Grief,
your GUILE now evident
in dried hydrangea blossoms,

her tattered fur over arthritic bones.
Barely flesh yet still our sweet love.
Here only for a few more hours.

Heather

In a PLAIN winter landscape
Birds hop and scratch in the leaves
Under the EAVES linger MAUVE petals
Soft hues against harsh browns and grays

Georg’ann

Two forks, one last piece of pie.
We SHARE it right out of the pan.
Politely try to evenly GAUGE
distributions of nuts suspended
in caramel and oh so flaky crust.

Silver tines linger
between your MAUVE lips.
I have my last taste there.

Heather

Today’s Writing Process

Pull up a CHAIR
No time to WASTE
Steady on and
APPLY even pressure
Allow random thoughts
Be a NOMAD of the mind
Reject DOGMA
And have fun

Georg’ann

At FIRST there was no BLAME.
Encountered disagreement as if
it were travel to a new culture,
both baffling and enchanting.

Now it’s like entering the ring,
punches striving for a CHAMP.
Each locked in their own DOGMA.
Retreat to corners, hang on ropes.

Heather

The Land of Nod

Set a TIMER and
Slip into the SILKY
Folds of sleep
VIVID dreams of a
Blue HIPPO goddess
Floating by on a lily pad
Acolytes dance
Weird songs fill the air
Daytime naps —
What a delight!

Georg’ann

Ghosts HAUNT these woods,
feel their presence HOVER
in evergreen branches.
Visit cave of old man HIPPO.
Read his story on a plaque.
Later, at the house, strange noise.
Startled hearts thump.

Heather

Apron on, I lean over the fruit bowl, where a fat quince sits. I breathe in its floral scent, so sweet and slightly mysterious. It’s a FINAL moment of stillness before this day of cooking. I walk through the house, feeling the ghosts of the past. They HOVER just beyond my sight, ghostly voices that SHOUT and murmur in my ears. I can even hear dogs of days gone by, underfoot, hopeful, waiting to CHOMP on any stray bit that falls to the floor. Heart and mind CHOCK full of memories. So much past, so many thanks.

Georg’ann

He sleeps under the white COVER,
Curled in a cotton CLOTH nest.
His daughter in the kitchen
making CHOPS, her seagull
laugh rings through the house.
Accompanied by her daughters
playing Hallelujah on the piano.
Side by side. Occasional gruff
chortle from their father.
Me sitting in this still room
watching his breath raise
the blanket, heart CHOCK full.
Thankful for belonging here.

Heather

Winter Adjustment Woes

PROBE the closet, find a single glove
Pull out another, decide it doesn’t CLASH much.
Grab a sweater with enough holes that you
Guess the last person to wear it was
SLAIN where they stood.
Grab last week’s jeans, making sure
Not the pair from the rag-bag.
Throw it all on and give self
A SLANT-wise look in the mirror.
Decide it works, and if anyone asks,
Just say you’ve been called on to
Illustrate a SLANG dictionary
For the entry on “frumpy.”

Georg’ann

After driving hours in blinding rain
finally a BREAK. Hands ease
their grip on the steering wheel.
CATCH a glimpse of rolling fields
studded with far off black cows.
Majestic white sycamore trees
divas among the chorus
of dark silhouettes.

Try to AVOID being
boxed between semi trucks,
push aside my QUALM
with an audiobook. SPAWN
images of a river adventure
told using the SLANG of
another time, another place.

Heather

There was a time when I took sleep for granted. It simply happened: a rudmentary, basic routine was all I needed for good sleep. This CRUDE approach no longer works. My brain has moments of PANIC in the night due to my breath stopping. I can no longer take sleep for granted. But it is not something that you can beat into submission with a STICK, so to speak. Falling asleep has to be set up, invited in — and oh, this 21st century world, you are not human-sized! With your lights and noise and constant stimulation. I think back to a moment when we lost power, and all gathered around our table, night fell, candles glowed, babies fell asleep without a HITCH, darkness worked her magic like a WITCH, all our bodies attuned to ancient rhythms.

Georg’ann

Halloween Joy on the Square

Large glass windows
of the PLANT STORE, filled.
Leaves like a THICK curtain.
Peeking through is a green face,
grinning from ear to ear.
This little WITCH wants
to look wicked. Impossible.
From the sidewalk I feign fear,
cowering then running out of view.
Feet light, uplifted by innocence.

Heather

A LIGHT glows
Arm stretches
Fingers POINT
Bend from WAIST
A spinal TWIST
Glorious yoga pose

Georg’ann

Set one more place,
our GUEST shall stay.
Hot soup, candlelit conversation.
MOIST pear cake, a leftover.
Cat’s chin rests across her WRIST,
no rush to move, any of us.
He tells us the TWIST
is the biggest seller
at Crescent Donut. We launch
into silly food reminiscences.
Laughing, eyes twinkling.

The last time we gathered,
lit these same candles, we spoke
of fear, loss, what it means to trust.

Heather

It felt like a USUAL morning. My feet hit the FLOOR with a satisfying thud, pushing away the last remnants of sleep. Down the steps I go, all the WHILE dreaming of hot coffee, my BELLY rumbling, and fantasies of dark purple blackberry JELLY to slather on a slice or two of hot buttered toast. And then I realized, this moment, a gray chilly November morning, is not to be treated as run of the mill. What if I open myself up to the delight of the mundane, the joy to be found in the ordinary. May I savor the simple fact of being alive, safe in the moment, sheltered and secure.

Georg’ann

I’d already done the day’s writing
earlier, about a man going
through a TRIAL with his
abdominal BULGE, the joys of a donut.
Humorous fluff to start Saturday.

Then the mail came
carrying a charming gift
from my darling daughter.
A Bonne Maman Advent calendar!

Every day a new door to open,
sweet delights waiting in tiny jars
lidded with red and white checks.
Sweet jam or JELLY for toast,
to enjoy on a warm scone, perhaps
that dollop of flavor on cheese
or in a sauce.

I marvel at her thinking of me,
tangibly connecting when
I’ve been missing her so keenly.
The gesture new, unexpected.

How tender my heart at receiving
this particular seasonal magic.
So much contained and ineffable
in a plain brown box traveling
from Philadelphia to Bloomington.

Heather

I trace the line of your profile: my finger gently moves down the bridge of your nose, across your mustache, now startlingly white, down your soft lips, a little dry, scoops along your chin. All is as familiar to me as my own. I think of edges, bumps of land along a COAST.

Across the bed lies an old PLAID blanket, remnant of some part of the past. Now, we are so blended, I can’t remember who or where or when.
I think of the PEARL cuff links that sit, unused, on the dresser. I start to stir, aware of this tangled up, messy life: bodies and bedclothes, yes – but also, so much past, cluttering the present, shaping the future

Georg’ann

Friend takes PAUSE to pet
her warm PEACH colored pooch,
PEARL, while snow cascades.

Heather

After the CRASH, we SPENT a lot of time trying to straighten her, well, for lack of a better word, I guess I will call it a SPINE. You see, this piece of art had been in the family forever. Privately, we all hated it. But no one wanted to tell Great Aunt Tessie. I called it a “her,” but this piece of art was such a hot mess that it was only our best guess. Humanoid? Rabbitoid? Insectoid? Heck, I don’t know. It had been in the back of Jimmy’s little Fiat when he was t-boned by that big Chevy. Big American crushes little Italian – we milked that scenario for far too long. Anyway, because the car got smashed, the sculpture was bent pretty badly. At least Jimmy hadn’t been in the car when it happened. We blamed the valet who allowed that drunken guest who owned the big Chevy to park in the dark. We had to hide all this from Great Aunt Tessie, which was hard given the incident made the society page and was talked about for months.

Georg’ann

There’s a comfort in going
to the STORE. Familiar
and also new each time.
Something like SALVE,
these aisles filled as they are.
My daughter wrote a college entrance
essay about our Kroger
citing similar sentiments.
More depth here for each
of us than I have the energy
to write now for you.

Its time to SWIPE up
and clear the day away.
Do a little SPINE stretching,
take a hot shower. Off to bed
where the cat and a new book wait.

Heather

Prayer for the Earth

In fields of WHEAT, tiny
Birds flutter and PERCH
Wondrous beings fill
Every NICHE, from soil to sky
Love to our home, sacred
Space, deserving of our best
Love our home and
Love each other

Georg’ann

GREAT blue heron stands
in POISE. Large body held up
by thin legs that rise
out of dark water steeped
with brown and gold leaves
blown into this quiet NICHE.
Bright green moss on the shore.
Three contrasting crescents.
Wide lake glistens in the distance.

Heather

What is this fabric THING?
I pull it out: I WRING! I FLING!
And, at last, BEING no closer
To the answer than when I started,
I announce with sweet relief:
“this is GOING into the rag bag!”

Georg’ann

There was that time when
my cousin touched
the electric fence.
Not a bad SHOCK, given
it was designed to dissuade cows
not little girls. Always pushing,
enticed by challenge, danger.

She climbed to the roof,
scaled the tv antenna even higher,
walked across the icy pond.
It didn’t give way until the edge,
only fell in thigh deep.
Grandma thought a BOARD
on the butt would deter
future adventures. Though belts
and switches hadn’t yet crushed
her spirit, in fact probably
propelled her reckless impulses.

Often we ran wild in the woods,
scampering over fallen trees,
swinging on grape vines,
splashing in the creek.
Making huts in the brambles.
In recall, there is light through
tree branches haloing her
copper hair with shining gold.

Nestled in the beech leaves
a mother bear, her TOTEM come
to protect this wild, restless one.
Some might dispute my recall
as FOLLY. But she was there.
Heidi’s spirit animal. Maternal
love missing outside these woods.

Or was it mine? After all she was
my vision. That has never occurred
to me, though the desire to guard
children has been GOING since
those early days when
generational rage sent us running
toward nature or hiding in closets.

Heather

Did you hear the FABLE that told of how a FLASH of light in the sky brought a thin sliver of hope to those who saw it? It was a beautiful yet FRAIL thing, more precious for its fleeting nature.

Georg’ann

Aging cat now GAUNT,
finds soft PLACE. Her tattered fur
coat covers FRAIL bones.

Heather

LOATH to rise, yet eyes spy
Sunlit TABLE, spreads a warm glow
My TALLY of joy begins

Georg’ann

His back to the audience, alert
still as a statue until
this GUIDE for our evening
raises his hand so precisely,
sweeping up our anticipation, then
a SHARP swipe down of the BATON
brings forth a swell of sound.
Magic of that wand reaches
into me, as if the orchestra
were within, music pressing out.
Taut heartstrings respond, playing
vigorously. My body arching,
swirling legato then quickly
twitches of pulsing staccato.
Yet these bodily movements
almost imperceptible, internal.
No observer would sense. Outwardly
only subtle appreciative motion
noted perhaps by seat mates so staid.
Without keeping TALLY, note
by layered note hours pass.
Adrenaline fueled exhaustion
as thunderous clapping denotes
the close. Body comes to stillness
within the shuffle around me.
Patrons gather their belongings
to make rapid departures. Why?

Heather