Lay a CLAIM and dig in
EXERT yourself and win
Or so the TROPE goes —
Is it the ROUTE forward:
Plunging ahead like heroes?
Or is it time for us to develop
A new FORTE
Bridging gaps and standing together?

Georg’ann

Self Unrecognized

No motivation to leave
the HOUSE today.
Much sitting here and there.
Thought about a MOVIE.
Not settled enough to commit.
Restless lethargy, strange FORCE.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll FORGE
an exit strategy. Head to woods.
Or will lounging become
my new FORTE. Ever more
like an old house cat.

Heather

We GRASP hands holding on tight
Shadows dance and threaten
Surprised by the PRONG of an antler
Ah, it’s just the friendly neighborhood deer

Georg’ann

Multitudes for months.

The recovery NURSE waits
for the return to consciousness.
Has heated blankets and warm air
for my shivering body.

Pearls ADORN her neck each day.
Many hours together waiting through
many procedures, each with many steps.
Our conversations have also been pearls.

Tending to what went WRONG
initially, by listening then adjusting.
You found the key PRONG for comfort.
Safely held in care, I relax.

Today was the last treatment
yet I feel sadness to say goodbye.
Being nurtured in vulnerability
has been the healing I needed most.

Heather

I SCOOT to the edge of my seat on the bench. I cannot linger, and so I hastily check the CHART where the details of each hike are laid out. To say I am anxious is an understatement. I don’t do well on ice and the altitude of the climb is going to add to the challenge. Nothing to be done but move forward. I carefully fold the papers and put them away. Next, I adjust the CLEAT on my left boot, lift my pack onto my back, and get in line. I can feel the tension and apprehension around me. The sun is not up yet, and there is an eerie light. Big breath. Big sigh. I remind myself that I am just a CADET, standing with others who are starting out from the same place. Nevermind the stories I heard about what happened to the last crew of recruits. They can’t be true. Just stuff said to test us. Line starting to move, okay, let’s go.

Georg’ann

Duolingo for me

DAILY Italian lesson,
earns me BADGE after badge.
Becoming a CADET of sorts
in the Maritano family lineage.
Spanish never took,
my tongue resistant to rolling.
Now I embrace the full body
sensation of dramatic,
playful enunciations.

Heather

I stood tall and took a moment to SAVOR the sense of my own body. It was a nice pause as I SWEPT the porch. Returning to that task, I relished the movement – first sweeping from one side then the other. So delightful, to SPEND a moment just caught up in the SPELL of my own physicality, as I chased down a SPECK of dirt in the corner of the porch.

Georg’ann

Visits home.

You both on the porch SWING,
like many times before.
The continuity of the familiar
that never grows stale.
Season after season you return.
Rocking, talking, laughing there.

I SAVOR each moment,
as if it were wholly new,
with no assurance of another,
though it’s the steadiness that makes it precious. Funny
what we take for granted,
and what we never do.

I will SLEEP well tonight,
sated by your company.
Tomorrow there will be
a SPECK of sorrow
in the liminal space that anticipates your departure
while gathering the nectar
of the last day together.

Heather

It COULD have been a GREAT apartment. It was in Paris, after all. But, alas, it was January, and the FAINT winter light struggled to reach us. It was a weak glow through the window that looked out on what seemed no better than an air SHAFT, that narrow opening in the center of the building. We’d lean out as far as possible, in an effort to see if the sun was shining or if it was raining. Our accuracy was remarkably low.

Georg’ann

You got a root beer FLOAT,
I got a chocolate malt.
Walking through the CRAFT show,
hand in hand. Straws to lips.
Warm, cold, sweet.
We sat under a little bridge
looking for crawdads
in the creek.
A SHAFT of sunlight
came through the slats
highlighting the freckles
sprinkled across your cheek.

Heather

The sunlight, like a TORCH, blazing
The colors STAND out
Structural shapes draw us in —
From tiny, BITTY flowers
To tall wide blossoms —
All enjoy QUITE the array of visitors
Summer’s glorious scene

Georg’ann

In YOUTH
I was
actually
QUITE
the same.

Heather

You must be QUIET before I will SHARE. The slightest move, and I will skitter away, like a most vigilant creature. I am frightened of hurt, terrified of a puncture wound to the heart. I feel as if I will BLEED at the slightest touch. I do not mean to ENDOW you with such power. And truly, I yearn for connection. Would you consider setting out a DECOY you? One where I can practice vulnerability? I would be ever so grateful.

Georg’ann

Rolling the ROUND balls
under foot, feeling
the foundation soften.
Tingles, like pins and needles
spark all the way up my calves.

Trying to ADOPT a yielding
frame of mind for discomfort.
Imagine myself like a GEODE
Rough hewn, bumpy, blemished
sturdy seeming, yet breakable.
Exterior a DECOY for the interior
Radiant crystals hidden within.

Heather

It’s a CLEAR day. The sunlight perfectly hits the STONE wall along the picturesque Italian village street. The MOPED revs for the umpteenth time, while the model poses as flawlessly as she has every other time. The crew poised, and the cameras roll. Just another normal day in the world of VIDEO shoots, but quite the excitement for the bystanders.

Georg’ann

Skate equip diner mixed video

This collection of words
clearly wants to be a retro scene.
Notes for a screenplay.
Everyone must learn to SKATE.
EQUIP them with lighted wheels.
Do they go to a rink then to a DINER?
Or is it a diner where servers
are on skates?
We need a good MIXED soundtrack.
Oh to hell with all that,
let’s just make a music VIDEO!

Heather

Hounds chase and PIVOT
Baying, on the SCENT
Instinct prevails, driving
Them to ENACT their roles
Hunters follow, prey leads

Context is all
If I write of ancient days
Or if I write of now
Will you root for hound, hunter, or prey?

Georg’ann

TEASE me with delicacies,
fill my PLATE with goodies.
Let’s ENACT the ritual pleasures,
even as nothing pleases the palate
or sits well in the belly.
I remember who we are,
and longingly await my return.

Heather

Too BLAND, ptooey!
Scrabble about in the POUCH
Surely another SWEET
Somewhere in there
Oooh, a bit GRIMY
Covered in fluff
Give it a wipe
Pop in the mouth
Fix me up in a JIFFY!

Georg’ann

Wrapped in a hand painted bag,
enveloped in colorful tissue,
the gift was an elegant SCARF
of aqua and sky blue silk.

Her friend FOUND it
among discarded treasures
accumulated over decades.
Thought it matched her eyes.

The afternoon was a THEFT
of time, stolen hours together.
Went by in a JIFFY, conversation
like a hall of mirrors- never ending

Heather

It was a LIGHT sweet I wanted, the kind that you CRAVE as a delicate, yet delicious end to a meal. This made me even more determined to discover the CAUSE of the CAKEY, heavy mess in front of me. It’s times like this that I long for a baking expert to pop in, like a famous actor doing a CAMEO on a TV show. I would sigh with relief, and we’d wink and nod to the imagined audience (allowing for time for their recognition of the star). Then under the guise of being a neighbor just popping in, my baking dilemma would be deftly solved with a few witticisms and a bit of kitchen wisdom that would, of course, also solve whatever existential crisis was going on. Plot threads neatly resolved, cue fade out on happy people eating aforementioned baked good, with an upswell of the theme song. And that’s all folks!

Georg’ann

In dream, soft VOICE calls.
Whisperer in OCHER gown
makes her CAMEO.

Heather

It is no rebuke
Nor do we CHIDE the Fates
If we make our own way
STAMP a distinctive mark along the path
Claim desires and needs
We can defy the Oracle and
Reshuffle the TAROT deck
No need to find FAULT or
Starve ourselves GAUNT
Grace will flow
Beauty will abound
We are enough
If we just open our eyes

Woke craving fresh JUICE.
Orange and pulpy. None FOUND.
GAUNT, need refreshed

Heather

A PEACH on the SLATE gray counter
Yellow orange rose – the colors
BLAZE against the drab surface
I brace for rotten interior
Ready to BLAME climate and capitalism in equal measure
I lift my BLADE and slice
Twist free the central pit and expose
The brilliant yellow and heady scent
If it were music, this would be the BLARE of a trumpet
The wail of a saxophone
And the sultry song of a blues singer
All rolled into one fuzzy package

Georg’ann

This year I was EXTRA AWARE
of how the blasts can SCARE.
In celebrations all through town,
loud pops over and over.
Our anthem is a war song.
“Rockets red GLARE,
bombs bursting in air.”
Guns blasting death.
The FLARE in my periphery
is reminder of war ravages,
the BLARE assaults my senses.
No joy in this cacophony.
Wars, big and small,
raging throughout the world.
In streets, neighborhoods, houses.
Children delighting in sparklers
remind me of other children
no delight in view.

Heather

A long CABLE swung from above. I had to dodge it, and almost tripped over an art nouveau vase that was precariously placed next to an arts and crafts cabinet. This antique shop was pretty wild. I had never been in before, but I was looking to sell or perhaps TRADE some items. I had unusual pieces in good SHAPE, including some art, nicely framed. True, at least one was of the “dogs playing cards” variety. But it was a less frequently reproduced one, painted by Coolidge (the dogs are testifying in court, done around 1909). And I had a copy of his opera about mosquitoes. Surely there was a buyer for such oddities? Now, if I could only find the proprietor. Where on earth was he?

Georg’ann

Sauntering down the street,
sun hitting the silky fabric.
Her dress the color of fresh
squeezed orange JUICE
pouring over her SHAPE
like a glass of refreshment.
I drank her in one long swig.

Heather

The sisters were having a squabble. From the other room, it sounded like a FIGHT to the finish. With an effort, I heave myself out of the chair and check in. “What’s going on?” A chorus of disgruntled girls answers me. I hear “PEARL,” “CANDY,” and of course the inevitable finger pointing of siblings. A few questions later, and it appears that broken bits of a necklace had ended up in a bowl where someone had dumped an assortment of hard candies and now there was a kerfuffle over sorting, rescuing, and claiming all the various bits. Called upon to adjudicate, I approached it with the seriousness of a CANON lawyer faced with a thorny Church issue. I hemmed and hawed, weighed and balanced. The act, after all, was as important as the decision. In the end, all parties were pleased and order was restored in the playroom. As for me, I returned to my chair.

Georg’ann

There was no TRICK to finding myself
in worship this Sunday morning.
I sat.
I sat and looked out the window.
The sun in this Japanese maple
has become my favorite temple.
The CAUSE of stillness aided
by dreaminess, the weight
of time like a chenille blanket.
Musical layers come together
as a single CANON.
Birdsong, purring, soft snoring
and the lyrical voice of Pádraig Ó Tuama.
Each its own steady rhythm.

Heather

I didn’t realize that the second day would be more TOUGH than the first. If I could ORDER my scraped knee to hurt less, then I certainly would. But I know that pain will lessen with time, and I need to ALLOW for healing. I will never again SCOFF at a scraped knee as a minor injury!

Georg’ann

This summer, an intriguing PAUSE.
an opportunity to practice
the SKILL of receiving.
Attention like a STORM.
Often the slowing down into coziness
type, held and captivated by the shift
in air, sky, water, color.
A storm that soothes.
At other times the kind of storm
that blows too hard, unsettles
saturates, floods, too much to fast.
Aspects of self and other SHOWN
as we stretch capacities,
flex new patterns of interaction.
Nothing to SCOFF at, these lessons.
And soon the summer gone.

Heather

The end of the day, time for our FINAL walk. As we turn to cross the street, I am talking, about to share a story of an aggressive driver who frightened me today. My attention is drawn in multiple places. I feel emotionally off-balance. And it is mirrored in my body tilting, hitting just right, on the CREST of some storm debris. Stupid stick. Stupid shoe. Stupid me. Down I go, swearing loudly, feeling the CRUSH of sidewalk dust and sand, scraping my knee, banging my hands hard as I go down. You reach to help; it barely registers. Flashes of memory – falling on the asphalt parking lot that was our only playground at school. Familiar stinging sensations — my knee, my hands, my face wet with angry tears. Seven, eight, many ages in between, and now sixty-five — the layers of memory keeping us company as we walk home.

Georg’ann

My friend, so kind, gifts me
with 10 potato and pea patties.
Low on the hot spices
refreshing raita on top.
High protein comfort
for this hard to satisfy time
when taste buds fail, and belly
rejects things oh so quickly.

She’s ADEPT at Indian food.
Better than any local restaurant,
even Laxmi will VOUCH
for the authenticity of details.
With each bite I taste her care,
knowing the love in every herb
CRUSH and spice sizzle.
Sense her gentle hands patiently patting the rounds.

If intention could be cooked
I’ve been served a platter
of protection and wellness.
A delicious act of generosity.

Heather

We are AWARE of the need to BLEND our efforts and to bring together our best selves. We have decided that in order to achieve our goals, we will not focus on what is owed, to move beyond an assessment of a DEBIT column, as it were. That would only serve to distract us from our real purpose, the saving of lives and the ending of poverty and struggle. Years in the making, we are pleased to DEBUT this new coalition, where we will all come together in the fight to save the planet, our home.

Georg’ann

A child’s LAUGH comes in
from the park, breaks the QUIET
DEBUT today’s joy.

Heather

I am convinced that the bunnies are to BLAME. Darn them! I shake my fist and POUND the ground in frustration. First the strawberries and now the eggplant flowers – gone! I have an image of Peter Rabbit in his little blue jacket stuffing his pockets. Oh if only I could FRISK the little guy and make the stolen goodies tumble out! I’d pinch his furry little THIGH and scold him, I would!

Georg’ann

AFTER the long hike
absorbing tree medicine
no bug STING, THIGH hurts.

Heather

With EQUAL parts despair and relief, I CAVED in and gave over to just stopping. Sick of feeling helpless, I close my computer. I adjust the DRAPE of my my shawl and lean back into the chair. The SHADE of the patio umbrella feels protective, and under its embrace I focus on the present moment. I am struggling with that shift, though, longing for some clever or wise ADAGE that will aid me in making meaning of this moment in history. Finally giving up, I pick up the clippers and my trowel. The garden, at least, feels manageable.

Georg’ann

Saturday I pulled out the CD player,
listened to old collections.
MUSIC from friendships, courtships,
commitment celebrations, parenting,
kitchen dancing music, car riding music,
pensive nostalgic soundtracks,
buoyant freedom singing aloud tunes.

On my PLATE was nothing,
a huge expanse of time to be nowhere.
To do nothing. GRADE A+ time alone.
Minus the weakness and nausea.
A day full of ADAGE potential.
No end to pithy statements
on solitude
or illness
on connection
or contentment

Heather

The FIBER of the cloth tie was already frayed before the BLAST. The cloth had BOUND together a set of treasures sent me by a childhood pal, a BUDDY most dear. The wind spread those mementos across the yard. I struggled to find all the pieces in the aftermath of the explosion. Fragments are all I have left, and I feel so unmoored, having so little to remind me of our friendship from so long ago. A chunk of my life almost gone forever.

Georg’ann

The SIGHT of you here, now
my heart BLOWN wide open.
Together let’s take a BREAK,
what do you say, BUDDY?

Heather

Bridget waits for the COVER of a crowd. Nothing quite like normal noise and activity for hiding things you would rather not have noticed. Walking normally, as goes down the market street, she stops in front of a shoe store. To anyone watching, they would not think twice: nicely dressed woman, staring at some high-end shoes. As a small group of people proceed down the sidewalk behind her, another woman pushes between them. There is no OVERT motion. No one would have noticed that this second woman pushed a note into Bridget’s waiting hand. She waits a bit, and then casually walks on, finally ducking into a coffee shop and sitting at a table right in the middle. She orders a cappuccino and a scone. Once these arrive, it feels safe enough to open the note. Bridget reads what her next steps are – a rendezvous in Cedar GROVE, near the cemetery. Bridget frowns. She would prefer something a little less cloak-and-dagger. Oh well, maybe the other side has something to PROVE. Or (shudder), is she being set up? That last time didn’t go well – her car still bears the marks of having to dodge bullets as she DROVE away from a midnight meeting in a dark and deserted place. At least this meeting is for 7 pm. So, a not-yet-dark and deserted place. That sounds only minimally better than last time. Wonder if she could get away with asking Beverly to hide in the back seat – might be good to not go alone to this one.

Georg’ann

In the NIGHT, I move strategically
trying not to disturb the cat.
Sometimes it turns out the lump is blanket,
not feline, she jumped down.
Its not infrequent that my body defers,
tries not to disturb
tries not to unsettle
tries to give space
While craving to be close.

How does a 6 pound cat
SCORE the entirety of a full bed
whether there or not.
What is there to PROVE
in not claiming space
in not claiming comfort
in legs contorted.
As if there were a DROVE
of beasts here.
Despite the disturbance,
I like her here, even when
its just the assumption of her
presence that I accommodate

Heather

A GUEST who arrives EARLY alters the PRIME ORDER of events.

Georg’ann

SWING by anytime
When in ROUTE, please get breadsticks
Standing ORDER, yum.

Heather

Making rhythmic motions, I clean the counter. Lulled by the repetitive movements, I let my mind wander. Random thoughts begin to arise – if I wipe, am I a WIPER? – then threaten to turn into negativity. It takes a moment, but there I am, wrestling with the ENEMY in my head yet again. I interrupt the downward spiral, getting out the ingredients to start a new loaf of bread. My mind is busy with following the recipe, for while I have made it often, I do still have to pay attention. And then there I am again, with rhythmic, repetitive movements. My attention releases as I KNEAD the dough. Again random thoughts arise. Again the flow of thought begins: down rabbit holes, looping into familiar pathways. And so it goes — the dance of mind, into and out of focus. Age and experience help me appreciate the flow, and above all, to not take it too seriously. After all, I still get a nice loaf of bread out of the process.

Georg’ann

Feline Thank You

In a FLASH, cat jumps
CREAM in her dish, whiskers wet
Paws KNEAD my belly

Heather

It was the FINAL night, and the play was going to CLOSE. We imagined ourselves such sophisticates — I was stage manager; I was friends with most of the cast. In between rehearsals, we critiqued films, made up dance routines, and debated philosophy — the usual stuff of smarty-pants college kids. But GOLLY, we did love a good show tune. So it was no great surprise that we ended the closing night cast party with a rousing rendition of “Hello, DOLLY!” à la Carol Channing. What fun, and what silliness!

Georg’ann

WATER seeped into the basement.
Oozing through the stone,
It was certain to SPOIL
all the collected, yet neglected,
archives of this well lived life.

COULD anything be salvaged
from the MOLDY ravages.
Even the rubber blender lid
was speckled with white spores.
Christmas paper, Easter baskets
no longer useable with musty odor.

Diplomas, trinkets, photos,
a canvas croquet bag,
a gingham lined basket
housing a Beatrix Potter tea set,
two teddy bears, one DOLLY,
scraps of fabric from Ghana,
a painting from Suriname.

The list goes on.

In college geology we learned
about water.
Learned it was the most
powerful force in nature.
It doesn’t need to be a flood,
doesn’t need millions of years.
One season of steady seeping
is sufficient to reorder a life.

Heather

BROWN and white birds run on the BEACH
Children build a mountain of sand
More miniature BUTTE than Alp
Perfect in its imperfections
No one wants to end the day
Butts firmly in the sand
Reluctant to BUDGE
Even as parents start to call
And the sound of a distant BUGLE
Is carried on the breeze

Georg’ann

Captain Barca-Hall always kept his pencils with a sharp POINT. His workspace had not one but two sharpeners, which he would happily SHARE so long as they were used in his space and not borrowed for use anywhere else on the boat.

It’s not uncommon for certain possessions and habits to take on almost superstitious levels of meaning, as if they were imbued with magic charms of protection.

On the LEDGE over his desk was a framed picture of a blonde beauty resting on a velveteen couch with a grey kitten curled asleep on the soft pillow of her tiny belly BULGE. Her eyes are looking right at the camera, fully engaged in the moment.

The captain often talked to her in an easy, playful manner. And sometimes with worry or painful longing. You could almost hear her responding, and imagine her hand reaching out to hold his, pulling him close without disturbing the kitty.

Just above the photo hung a BUGLE, which was rarely blown.
It had been purchased in some antique store years ago and seemingly had no real value or intriguing story behind it, yet the Captain never left port without this shiny noise maker.

Heather

Amid the BROAD leaves and tall flowers, butterflies flutter and birds GLIDE past. The temptations are great, but the little children follow their mother’s EDICT to stay within the yard and not to stray beyond. They know that while the sun shines brightly, the woods are dark and full of mysteries.

Georg’ann

QUICK Chipmunk scurries away,
startled by the front door opening.
TWICE this week it’s been there.
Sitting like a sentry,
paws poised as if issuing an EDICT.

Heather

I just came outside, and the world is so beautiful. A June evening, when the heat has subsided just enough, yields a PEARL of a moment with a PATCH of golden light and PASTY white clouds above. The hackberry tree looks as if it were something a 19th century French artist would PAINT, creating a backdrop for the rendering of a peaceful stream and a peasant with his oxen and wagon. A gift to be savored at the end of the day.

Georg’ann

Leaf shadows dance on PLAIN walls.
Meditation to ease PANIC.
Light PAINT comes alive.

Heather

In the small SPACE of our kitchen
The SCENT of lemongrass and kaffir lime,
Blend and waft throughout the house
Like exotic touches in our ordinary home

Georg’ann

As the TRAIN pulls
away, COUNT hours to return
your SCENT upon me

Heather

AGAIN, we shuffle
Along, pain will ERODE our
COVER, self laid bare

Georg’ann

Just before bed the sky darkened
in the south, visible from my bed.
Swirls of grey and poufs of white.
Thick silence hanging in humid air,
conjuring an electrical force.

The STORM continued this morning.
Intermittently. Allowing respite.
Exciting flashes of bright lines
against the dark sky ahead
as I drove up the highway
for a different electrical force.

Climbing onto the table, positioning
myself under, between strange panels.
Legs cradled into my personal mold.
It keeps things lined up, steady.
Assures trajectory of the electrical force.

After the team checks my marks,
Aaron lays a warm COVER
across my body, I fold my hands
over my heart. This position
reminiscent of a funeral pose.
I will become an electrical force

someday. Likely well into the future.
May there be this much peace,
and tender tendings then.
Though a much better soundtrack.
Today fills me with radiant light beams.
Cellular savior is an electrical force.

Heather