Dear one, do you often THINK of the moment we met? It was quite the SCENE, wasn’t it? Waiting at the airport, your PLANE was delayed, mine had just arrived. Dodging around some unruly children, I almost fell. And then you caught me, startling me with your gorgeous eyes, firm grip, and gracious smile. I really was smitten from the start. Do you remember, darling? And how you said, “Careful there, you don’t want to end up PRONE on this floor!” And then we laughed because that was such a funny word to use. Nobody says that, except you.

Georg’ann

Clear VOICE found, moves me.
Please don’t STORE away, too PRONE
to being silenced.

Heather

Such a SHAME, they all said
Her waning years saw her SLACK off
Even slink off into depression and despair
What a STAIN on her memory, they said
She was always such a helpful, cheerful girl

Georg’ann

Not noble or deep, yet pressing
this QUEST for a basic shoe.
Mid season, closed toe, leather
hint of heel, brown toned. Ideally.
Landscape STARK for my half size
feet, kind of big with a bunion.
Saw the perfect pair in a catalog.
Black, nutmeg, hickory, and plum options, can you imagine?
Not a single one available for me.
They taunt me from the page,
get my highest STAMP, check every box. Thwarted again.
STAIN on my conscience, this
despairing mission to seek
material goods just so
while other tabs on my computer
call to attention true suffering.
As if I needed reminders,
of what I know to be. Daily
the weaving of it all.
Perhaps what I seek is delight,
a pair of joy to carry me
through the work of being present.

Heather

It’s the hour for my DAILY foray
into the kitchen where I SAUTÉ.
Last time, I did CARVE
a bit out of my thumb
Oh, how I felt dumb

Georg’ann

Parents COACH manners
Kids CAPER through neighborhood
CARVE pumpkins, get sweets

Heather

A FRAIL hand reaches for the glass, a COUPE filled to the brim with expensive bubbles. The ceiling is SOOTY from ancient fires. The air in the room is musty, not helped by the BOGGY humid feeling, creeping in the French doors. The darkness hangs as heavy as the tattered velvet curtains, dusty ropes with long tassels holding them aside. The only sound is a whisper of a sip, as the glass reaches its destination, old lips daintily part, delicate in every move. Her cheeks are powdered and rouged, her gray curls piled on her head. Every bit of her proclaims her wealth and her age. It is with awkward steps and feeling very out of place that I step into this strange room. I feel gauche, overly modern, WONKY and off-kilter. I am not silent as I approach her; I have no wish to startle. She turns at the sound of my steps. I stifle a gasp as her cloudy eyes turn towards me. Before I can say a word, she speaks, a voice as clear as the champagne glass beside her. “MOMMY, is that you?”

Georg’ann

I CRAVE nubby oatmeal cookies.
They won’t SPOIL my dinner
because they might be my dinner.
Ah, pleasures of being an adult,
BOUND by no foolish rules
about what I choose to eat.
Sink my TOOTH into anything
the tongue desires.
No MOMMY to tell me otherwise.

Heather

October Days

SHINE on, autumn sun as
we take a DRINK of cider, as
we rejoice in the cool breeze even as
we CLING to the last warm days!
Allow no worries to TAINT this moment:
though all signs POINT to shorter days ahead.
Let us hold the future at bay a little,
and, perhaps, find in ourselves,
a JOINT resolution to make:
to embrace and savor each moment in October!

Georg’ann

CANDY had lived for many years on NORTH Maple in a small attic apartment, which she loved. Yet lately she was finding it difficult to MOUNT the long staircase. It was becoming apparent that soon she’d need a JOINT replacement, and then what would she do?

Heather

When feeling unsettled and in need of reassurance, I sometimes find it helpful to run an errand. It might seem a little odd that I find PEACE and tranquility in a SHORT trip to the grocery store. But, really, the familiarity of the space, the casual interactions with others, and the sense of being an adult (I and I alone decide what I will eat!) all add up to a release of existential angst. Nothing says “be here now” quite like the assessment of avocados (is this the WRONG one? is it about to go bad) or choosing how much FLOUR to buy.

Georg’ann

In a BREAK with tradition
my daughter is not coming
home for any winter holidays.
There is no lament for her
choice, only admiration
twinged with bittersweet
as she claims her adulthood,
wisely expressing desires
for rest, for ease, for nesting.
Merrymaking of their own making.

I imagine FROST on her windows
Garlands up the banister,
twinkles and trinkets everywhere.
Pups running across the FLOOR
chasing whatever is thrown.
Cozied up in chenille blankets
hot cocoa in hand. A dusting
of FLOUR still clinging to her
cheek, having brushed her hair
aside while baking cookies.
Strolling city streets to ooh
and ahh at the light displays.
Friends will arrive, festive.
Games played, magic made.

Heather

Feels like a bit of a TRICK, inviting someone to dinner at the last minute, though EVERY time I do, I am glad that I did. Tonight was no exception. I was able to RELAX and enjoy the process. From ice-cold LAGER to tiny cups of espresso, the meal and conversation were a treat.

Georg’ann

Fall supper I’d like to have

Within REACH, BREAD
fresh from the oven, butter too.
A full meal made, abundant
no need to PARSE components.
Crisp salad- green, purple, orange
sits expectantly in wooden bowl.
WATER with lemon fills a pitcher
patterned with lemons.
Thin sliced potatoes with onions,
LAYER after layer, held together
with egg for a Spanish tortilla.
Wine or LAGER, if desired.
Waiting in the kitchen
Pear tart with Chantilly cream
A mound of dishes, testament
to the effort gladly made.

Heather

The GRASS is tall, signs of neglect and carelessness everywhere. We start to THROW things into piles. I am grateful for the help. Cleaning up after death is never easy. We sort some more, finding letters that will now never receive a REPLY, a postcard of a Greek sponge DIVER from Tarpon Springs. We reminisce about Christmas cookies and birthday cakes when we uncover the ancient MIXER that we all used while growing up. It is strange to dig into this debris, like some sort of MINER of the past, going ever deeper into layers that made up a life.

Georg’ann

Which ROUTE to take?
A DIVER, exploring the depths
or HIKER, seeking new pathways.
FIBER of my being stretched.
These are thoughts as I lick
the MIXER blades.
On the radio an interview
with the widow of a coal MINER.
How strange these threads.

Heather

SHARP needle pokes
from a BLOCK of fabric
A bird sings, so sad and
yet so beautiful, an ELEGY
to summer’s end
Fallen leaves rustle, seeds
float on a breeze
Hands move swift and sure,
needle flashing as
thread colors LIVEN up the dull
browns and grays
A scene worthy of a TITLE:
“Woman Sewing in the Garden”

Georg’ann

For little me.

GLORY, that rarely used word.
Takes me to Cricket Magazine
a recipe for Hallelujah Biscuits
with the instructions to knead
while singing Glory, Glory, Hallelujah.
SMILE at my 9 year old self, alone
in the sunny apartment kitchen.
Tiny yet expansive, up on a hill
with its windows east and north.
A simple wooden table painted
bright yellow, chipping and rickety,
tucked under the north window.
Turn from sink or stove, find
her surface ready to receive.
Singing loudly, arms in marching
motion as hands work the dough.
Kittens curling around my ANKLE.
TITLE this memory, Praise be.

Heather

Oh, I’d like to live in the land
where the LEAFY MANGO tree grows,
a land, I am sure, of milk and honey
Oh, I’d like to be the one who picks
the fruit, heavy and sweet,
to load it all up in the WAGON, hawking
my wares: “Fresh, juicy fruit!” I’d call,
“king of fruits for sale!”
Oh, I’d love to see the happy faces,
hear the contented sighs
as I traveled with my cart of ripe fruit
in the land of mangoes

Georg’ann

Driving down College Avenue
early in the morning, sky
pale grey and cloudless.
Restaurant scents FLOAT
warm yeast, butter and BACON.
Woman walks briskly, folds
of RAYON swish around her hips.
I spot MASON pulling his children
in their red Radio Flyer WAGON.
Town just beginning to wake up.
Parking spots mostly empty,
no sandwhich boards
on the sidewalk. Morning
runners move through the chill
with skimpy shorts, no shirt.
They are not looking to be served.
It’s peaceful this waking up
of the city. Softly lit preparations.
Ah, this prelude to the day ahead.

Heather

I lean in and COVER your hand with mine. I feel no need to AMEND or alter the moment with words. We are BLEST, I know, to celebrate another year together. And so we sit on the patio like the old married couple that we are. You, with your book. Me, with mine. Squeezing your hand, I am bemused that I still find you to be SWELL. And, indeed, equally pleased that I can still put you under my SPELL – and you, in turn, can me. This relationship has weathered much, no thin SHELL covering this precious thing we hold together. Here’s hoping for more years to come. Happy anniversary, my dear.

Georg’ann

MOIST clementine cake
sits on plate. SHARE this sweetness.
Fill your empty SHELL.

Heather

I used to play the PIANO. In fact, it was a real source of joy. But over the years, without any OVERT decision being made, I stopped playing. GOLLY, there are times when I want to get that part of me back! It feels like a significant loss; it was such an easy source of joy. Now, sitting down at the keys brings back a FLOOD of memories, a younger self: a child who liked to sing, a teenager who loved playing, a woman who played Christmas carols and sang. These days, my self-consciousness casts a CLOUD over me, making it hard to give it a try. I’m too aware of how badly I play, too aware of neighbors and being overheard, as if my imperfections are equal to a prohibition. Writing this, I realize that is another piece of what I have lost: a freedom to be imperfect, to make music just for myself.

Georg’ann

Wet leaves FOUND bottom
of shoes. Scattered across floor,
CLOUD the mind, briefly.

Heather

FOUND upon a LEDGE is a toy soldier, a CADET by his uniform, an officer in training. The other toy soldiers seem to give him a WIDER berth, all arranged in dusty rows. Perhaps they are in awe of him, as he does have the air of an elite. Perhaps imagined as a RIDER on an army charger, noble of purpose and brave of heart.

Georg’ann

I don’t know how to respond
when asked to rate my pain.
It isn’t pain really. Perhaps more
SONAR of sensation. Questions
designed to clarify, I DEMUR.
Find my own descriptors.
When I move this way, it feels
acidly sweet like warm CIDER
pouring through my muscles.
Pulling my arms WIDER,
creates a pulsing heat, steady
pounding of a sharp meat mallet
then yielding to how taffy
might feel in an industrial mixer
right as it turns on, stiff
aching as the tugging begins.
Sitting still too long brings waves
of numbness, oddly present
this absence of pain.
Remember that feeling of being
a bicycle or horseback RIDER?
My body awareness does not fit
neatly into the question.

Heather

A little bit of TOAST
Coffee at the READY
Settle into a CHAIR
Morning rituals for a
Slow wake up of my BRAIN

Georg’ann

WATCH the hour pass.
Cease activity, PAUSE.
Listen to the song sparrow
singing her distinctive measures.
Abrupt clanking, evenly spaced
finishing with a trill.
Secure in the tangled BRIAR,
BRAID of thorny stems
a cozy nest. Reads each
raised barb as if it were BRAIL
sheet music. Flitting here
and there among the brambles
respite from fear, she finds
the notes, her voice so clear.
Let the BRAIN have a rest,
while we attend the concert.

Heather

Eyes open, take in the FRESH air
Sound of a FINCH in the window
Stirs my FAITH in the day

Georg’ann

COUNT small miracles.
World on TRIAL, FAITH waivers.
Still you smile warmly.

Heather

To point the finger of BLAME creates a link in a CHAIN. Feeling gratitude and figuring out how to say “THANK you” in the same scenario can transform the nature of the connection. Perhaps not always the right next step, but perhaps an interesting experiment to run.

Georg’ann

Basketball swishes.
POINT to a TREND, improvement.
THANK you for playing.

Heather

How NOBLE your character
How many lives felt your TOUCH
TORCH of honor burns bright

Georg’ann

Side by side on the BENCH
to WATCH every game.
Both there for different reasons.
Sara fully engaged in her fandom.
You going through the gestures
while occupied elsewhere.
Electricity shooting through
your body with every TOUCH.
Not yet brave enough to reveal
the TORCH you carried.

Heather

The library windows afford the
best place for gazing out at clouds
Today, they are fluffy, like a FLOCK
of errant grey-bellied sheep
I admire the isolated bits of blue that
BURST through, spaces of hope in the sky
I WEIGH the pros and cons:
Do I stay or do I go?
HAPPY in this peaceful spot, yet
without an umbrella HANDY,
I may come to regret my lingering.

Georg’ann

EXTRA tired today.
heavy CHAIN dragging me down.
Your help so HANDY.

Heather

It’s a busy time, this month of September, more than I was expecting when I had looked ahead from the vantage point of July or even August. And not UNTIL the month is over, will I gain some breathing space. The thought of time to attend to things that have been put off, well, that is October’s TEASE. Abundance, a lengthy ASSET list, the metaphorical equivalent of STEAK dinner every night – that is my October dream. Hoping that it doesn’t evaporate like STEAM from the tea kettle.

Georg’ann

Walk too HUMID, ugh
Cold MELON refreshes, mmm
Shower STEAM wafts, ahhh

Heather

Nothing could CLOUD the crystal clear quality of the gemstone. Each FACET sparkled, and when she looked at it long enough, she felt certain that there were secrets hidden in its past. If only she could hold it long enough, the emerald would yield up its precious stories. She longed for this, and unbidden, words came into her mind: TEACH me. She glanced around, nervous that she had said them aloud. The jeweler was watching from the other side of the room. She reluctantly put the necklace down. And quietly slipped back out to the street.

Georg’ann

HOUSE thoughts like a guest.
Welcome the unbidden THIEF
with her lessons to TEACH.

Heather

I heard the WATER running. And then — the crash. With incredible SPEED, the evening was transformed, as SEVEN plates hit the ground, shattering instantly. What had been a light hearted silly time, felt heavy and a little uncertain. Thankfully, the only injury was a minor cut. I will get the old plates out of the basement tomorrow.

Georg’ann

Silky bag tied with TWINE.
Tempts a SNEAK peek.
Curiosity wins, rewarded
with the iridescent SHEEN
of seashell nacre.
SEVEN small abalone vessels.
Looking down I marvel
at this exquisite protective coating
hidden within a hard exterior –
ugly, bumpy, and grey.
Radiance revealed
only when broken. Open.

Heather

Lady Brenda had only a VAGUE sense, as she STOLE onto the Stephens’ estate, how she would settle the SCORE with her rival. Under cover of darkness, anything seemed possible. But as the first whiff of SMOKE hit her, she froze. She could only think, “no, no, no…” even as she broke into a run. Whatever she wished on that wretched Beatrice, this was not it. This was way too serious. Casting aside how it would look, Lady Brenda pulled out her cell phone, desperate to call for help. Maybe she could get away before help arrived. Even as she frantically spoke to the dispatcher (“Fire! Stephens’ estate! Hurry!”), she knew she had to try and see if anyone was in the house. Swearing to herself, Lady Brenda rushed forward, uncertainty and adrenaline swirling through her in equal measure.

Georg’ann

Summer was a TRIAL
time to explore light
and shadow. Hear
the SOUND of quiet.
Take in the SCOPE
of living small
which is paradoxically
living large. Less required
to sate the senses, expand
the heart, she becomes
so filled with noticing.
The scent of wood
SMOKE is infinite poetry.

Heather

The CLASH between them had left her in a bit of a TWIST. She hadn’t meant to be quite so FUSSY, but you know how sometimes the DROSS of a relationship just gets to you until you can’t take it anymore? Well, that was what had happened over the weekend. Next time, she would try not to PRESS quite so hard about minor matters.

Georg’ann

Driving on curvy roads
fall color just beginning.
We talked of GRIEF, stopped
for ice CREAM. Remembering
the day we picked up the ashes
two eagles flew over, their white
tails bright like sun on the river
by where we stood in that early stage.
Last winter death became
an unwelcome TREND. Too many.
Hands intertwine now, gentle PRESS.

Heather

Rummaging about, digging in the PLACE where all the old things are, I stop. All thoughts of whatever I was looking for are gone. There she is, the DOLLY I loved the best and the longest, Thumbelina. She has lost the windup thing in her back that made her move like a “real baby.”
Her soft body is still FULLY stuffed, though her plastic arms and legs are a little grubby. I just sit, a little sad that she is not going to be passed on to anyone. A little sad that she no longer evokes much emotion. But perhaps it is enough that she was once loved so deeply by a little girl who cherished her companionship. Sometimes, what happened in the past is enough.

Georg’ann

Under the harvest moon
a shoeless woman wobbled
away from me heading east
at the corner a slight PAUSE
before turning RIGHT, out of view
nothing FUNNY, only sadness
in her FUZZY narrative
wearing leggings and a tank top
nothing else on her person
we’d found her asleep
on the floor of our garden office
FULLY an enigma,
in a story too familiar.

Heather

Under the LEAFY canopy,
EVERY night, when the world is still
we creep out,
like POKEY little puppies,
new to the world,
slowly finding our way.
And we gather the wood;
we build the fire.
And then, better than
spending tons of MONEY —
maybe as good as a jar of HONEY? —
we dance together,
our only witnesses the old owl
and the stars above.
And they will never tell.
Will you?

Georg’ann

Each work week begins
and ends, like bookends,
with an early morning walk
side by side at a quick clip
our stories unfurling like yarn
knitting together friendship.

Not a moment of WASTE.
Even the most mundane
threads become
binding for sharing tales of GRIEF.
Spinning out ideas, plans, intentions.
Recommendations for this or that.
What needs to be let go,
or brought in to sustain.

With sleep filled eyes we walk,
leaving homes we’ve built.
At times they’re sanctuary,
other times more toward HOVEL.
Daybreak this way, with you,
comforting like tea with HONEY.

Heather

I would love for it to feel like a playful CAPER – the two of us embarking on a house project. All the questions we could ask about DECOR and ambiance, mood setting and tone. Perhaps, just this once, if I frame it just so, we won’t have any fretful struggles RECUR. You know what I mean, right? The push-me, pull-you experience that we can fall into. Yes, I like this idea, and it deserves some thought.

Georg’ann

Try not to overthink,
don’t be too precious.
Simply begin someplace
WRITE, see where it takes you.

Laughing, the word SPEAR
wants to associate with pickles, cubes of bread dipped
into molten cheese or dry
landscapes where tall men hunt.
Lizards seek COVER under rocks.
Larger prey dart between grasses.

Lessons on craft RECUR, mantras
playing voices of trusted teachers.

Heather

Oh ACRID smell,
oh morning breeze
together you fill
the BROAD expanses
filter into every nook and cranny
Oh Neighbor Skunk
you drive me from my cozy bed
in futile search of
less odorous spaces

Georg’ann

Unfocused kind of day

PLACE her in this scene
no one knows where she is
Reprieve from what is familiar.
Careful not to leave a STAIN
to alert she’d come ABORD.

Which is not really a word,
WORDLE let me wander,
giving BROAD borders
to my addled morning brain.

Heather

The wood STOVE sits idle. Soon will be the days when we will CRASH on the couch, with a cup of tea and a book. The rains of fall will come and convert the backyard to a MARSH-like wetness, reversing the damage of a HARSH, dry summer. For now, I lounge in a garden chair on the patio, savoring the last days of summer.

Georg’ann

Praying mantis poised
between a post and a pillar
Three legs dangling in air,
one barely touching its support.
Suspended GRACE.
This is how I’d like to be
in prayer, trusting
that my lightest touch is enough
to hold me.

Waiting for an inclination to move.
No RAPID action required.
Sunlight limns MARSH grasses.
HARSH realities paused at midday

Heather

SINCE childhood, I have enjoyed the mundane household tasks. Among these is cleaning any GLASS – like windows and mirrors – or polishing wooden surfaces. I have even been known to clean BRASS candlesticks. Nothing satisfies quite like a task with a clear beginning, middle, and end. And a visible result? Well, that’s a real treat. So different from graduate school or the rest of my work life, which seemed to be a bottomless pit of effort.

Georg’ann

Dancing with a paintbrush
is NOVEL. Watercolor class,
first art lessons since 6th grade.
Density and form, light, shadow,
angle of the brush. Subtleties.
Used the SCRAP practice
sheet as a postcard. Not TRASH
these rose colored lines
thin and thick softly sweeping
side to side, not precise.
Fluid yet distinctly spaced.
Unlike the dried GRASS rendering.
Layers of color melding.
Brush strokes flicked or dabbed
to create sunlight at the tips
of a BRASS hued field.

Heather

A RAVEN sits high above us,
the naked white branch
like a RISER on a stage
Its raucous call may REPEL some
But we see you, storyteller of old
We REBEL and ignore passersby
For your caws and clacks
intrigue and invite
Can you tell us what is coming?
Predict or point a way forward?
We wait, like acolytes at the feet of an elder

Georg’ann

TAUPE linen pulled taut
embroidery ring enclosing
BRIEF dashes of bright color
each woman made her mark
stitching until the fire was nothing
more than an EMBER.
REBEL artists subverting
patterns of productivity
in and out the needles
plunge through the surface
deep breathes moving life along

Heather

Walking along the lake, ACORN caps and pebbles litter our path. A crow so big, it must surely be a RAVEN. I stand agape and stare at the magnificent cliff that exposes the GRAIN of the soil, layers of earth and time laid bare for all to see. I want to commit it to memory, wanting to be that person who can recreate it on a paper. I would say, casually, “oh, yes, that’s DRAWN from memory, from my trip to Seattle, you know.”

Georg’ann

ROUGH day, PRICE was paid.
Remove from mind. Relax now.
Warm bath has been DRAWN.

Heather

At the Celebration of Penny

We STAND, close but not touching, so many people in the sweet space of grief and joy. For some, it’s NICER in the heart space of sharing. For others, feeling apart is treasured, feeling safe, not as a LONER, but rather a separate self, whole among others. Each can claim feelings, no shame in being the OWNER of her experience, a sacred mosaic of the collective experience, coming together to honor their beloved mentor and teacher.

Georg’ann

My heart waits to RIPEN
like the cantaloupe
will I have waited too long
flesh too soft, no longer sweet.

Searching Berlin he wants
the perfect DONER kabob.
Hour passes in conversation
with the OWNER of a small stand.

Just the time enough to open,
find perfection within.
Sated, we stroll the streets,
hand in hand.

Heather