So many stop by for a DRINK
My garden appears to have GROWN
Bright blooms of cardinals and blue jays
They PREEN and chatter
The URBAN space turned wild

Georg’ann

In the WORLD of GRIEF
everything goes off TRACK.
Yet still these URBAN streets
are full of life, pages worth.

Heather

Time and SPACE
To feel beautiful
BLOND and thin
Ready for anything
Still ROUGH around the edges
Behaving as if there is nary a WORRY
Oh, the follies of life before FORTY

Georg’ann

Tonight I rest in your SPACE,
while you work in mine. Trading.
Your children tucked in, sleeping
already. Your dog breathing heavy.
He also sleeps, against my leg.

I BLINK back tears knowing
our proximity is soon to shift.
It will be ROUGH when the distance
between us will require more than our feet.

No more will I see your silhouette
coming over the Howe street crest
as I move uphill toward you
for our WORDY walks at dawn.
Sixty minutes might now become FORTY,
on account of travel.

My shirt is the same color sage
as your living room walls. My feet rest
on a chair that once belonged to me.
So it is with friends, lives interwoven
with myriad threads.
The weaving continues tonight.

Heather

We discuss, but it feels like we ARGUE
We forget who we are to each other
We each wear our hurt
Like a BADGE of honor
Ending like a bad STAGE play
With one stomping away
The emotions linger
An after-IMAGE of pain
A restless energy
That shakes
the wine glasses in the cabinet

Georg’ann

The argument goes in circles.
Stuck on the roundabout,
No road taken in any direction.

From outside myself,
I COUNT the exits not taken.
Each curve a possibility.
Ooops, missed the turn again,
we’re going around a bit longer.

Out of nowhere, like fruit flies,
these exchanges ARISE.
Neither of us AGILE enough
to deflect.
And just as suddenly we’re on
a straight away.

I have an IMAGE of a large hand
taking the wheel, easing us
into new territory.
Talking of birds, our children, warm cake.

Heather

Many years ago, an unusual print laid CLAIM to my attention, leading us to buy it. It is from the 1700s, showing St. Lawrence set to BROIL upon his grill. We were in some curio shop, the kind that produces the feeling of puttering around in someone else’s attic. We have had it for years. Truly, his role as patron saint of cooks and chefs, appears a bit ironic. He is also the patron saint of students. I confess that I fail to see how the roasted saint protects a PUPIL from the DEVIL. But such are the mysterious ways of the holy.

Georg’ann

Through the night, fierce winds,
lightening. Rain pelted the window.
Then settled into a more delicate
ice crystal melody, in UNION
with the wind chime.
40 degree drop by dawn.

Labile weather for the world.
Scrolling the news quickly.
Numbness, despair, outrage,
brief reprieve then more.
DIRTY business.
Someone searching for DEXIE
made a pact with the DEVIL.
Endless these pacts.

Crash in the closet, door widens.
Out comes the cat, nonchalant.

Heather

I consider myself SMART enough
But, the SLOPE of a graph can be tough
I try and SHINE a light,
Keep a reference book in sight
Yet no SENSE can I make
The answer I will just have to fake!

Georg’ann

I didn’t TEACH her to love
the textures of tree bark,
only set her on the path.

She knew by instinct
how to SEIZE the earth
through her feet and fingers.

We SEGUE from concrete
and cluttered containment,
SENSE the expanse in tiny details.

Heather

Relishing the POWER of the camera,
I turn the lens 
Frame myself in the shadows
The effect is almost a CAMEO
I see the ONSET of age
I try not to flinch 
As I OFTEN do
Instead to embrace and claim:
Click.

Georg’ann

Many voices today,
all speaking truths.
The SOUND of vulnerability
reverberates in the chambers.
Mouths no longer wishing
to speak topics like the weather.
Wearing no CROWN,
yet each a queen.
The BATON passes into every hand,
as each story is shared.
Eyes, like mirrors, are met
with knowing kindness.
Too OFTEN we close
when we ought to open.

Heather

Fighting to FROWN,
Rather than giggle
So very serious
The little girl pokes and prods
The peas and carrots on her PLATE
With MISTY eyes and trembling lips
“But my horses need shoes”
That plaintive voice rises
As I try to explain
Plastic toy horses
Need not a SMITH

Georg’ann

In the dream I’m holding
the bread KNIFE, jagged
metal so sharp, long blade.
It feels foreign, dangerous.
A weapon to wield,
rather than a culinary tool

A towheaded CHILD comes in
to the kitchen from somewhere.
She is not mine, yet she is mine
to protect. From something.
We walk out the back door.

I HOIST her up onto the brick
garden wall, then myself.
I jump down to the street,
she jumps into my arms.
We walk down SMITH street.
Once again the bread knife
is in my hand like a sword.

The alarm jolts me awake.

Heather

To be a RULER, requires that you be a MOVER, a leader, an ASKER who can elicit the best of those around you. It is not enough to receive a CHEER for surface actions, things done just to please. Aspire to do things that will live beyond you – that no WIPER can clear away. Accountability is crucial, a good leader is not afraid to pay the PIPER.

Georg’ann

The newest fitness craze
A playful way to get in SHAPE:

Be lithe, strong at your core,
Slither and squirm like a VIPER,

Maintain range of motion,
Move parts as if they’re a WIPER

Create lung capacity and calm,
Breathe deep, long like a PIPER

Heather

I love a good browse in a bookstore. On the right day, in the right frame of mind, I can be interested in everything. From “How to AVOID Life Catastrophes” to “Learn to Fold Dollar Bills into Fun and Useful Toys starting with a Right ANGLE.” On those days, they all seem fun and interesting to me. On other days, the most ARTSY and compelling titles seem dull as dishwater. I can tell none of them APART. They are one giant blur, rows upon rows of indistinguishable titles and covers. Context, as they say, is everything.

Georg’ann

Slowly the GROUP forms
Thoughts shared SPARK new connections.
No one set APART

Heather

I have a bad HABIT
Saying I have HEARD
When, in fact, I have not
Having a physical loss
Like hearing
Can feel like having
To HEAVE
A very HEAVY
Rock
Multiple times
And sometimes
I am just too tired
To do it
One
More
Time

Georg’ann

The CHAIR, in plain view,
hides a STASH of love letters.
HEAVY heart holds on.

Heather

The SCENE, just like all the others in the play, was ABOUT an emotionally BUMPY ride that seemed to BUILD to a pointless end. Such was the challenge facing the cast.

Georg’ann

Dropping a HEAVY weight
onto one’s toes is apparently
a weight room right of passage.
That is what the kind spirited
trainer says
when I loose my grip
loading a 45 pound disc
onto my side of the iron bar.

After years of incident free lifting,
I’m now in the club with only a bit of STING.
My toes, and truthfully my pride.
It popped the way a balloon responds
to a pin PRICK. Only silently, inside.
Externally laughing, we continue
to BUILD muscle strength & endurance.

He doesn’t know how vulnerable
my body seems lately. My fear
in its ever increasing restrictions
and loss of grace.

Heather

He eyed the swirling colors, eddies of desire and possibilities. AMONG tonight’s jewels, there MAYBE is the MATCH of a lifetime.

Georg’ann

AMBER took one last glance into the stands, then turned all her focus to the field. This was the MATCH she most relished, the annual game against her biggest rival. Each spurring the other to their best play.

Heather

It feels like a CHEAT 
We had hoped for a MOVER, a dancer
A future BRIDE, 
Instead we can hear a DIRGE playing 
From up on the RIDGE
We are the cheated
The forlorn
The lost

Georg’ann

I don’t want to WASTE a moment,
yet sense that striving can
itself become a form of waste.
Lying on my back, eyes closed,
listening
to the CRONE weave her stories.
An afternoon passes.
Her voice fills the room
like warm cocoa scented air.
Here it’s easy to PURGE
my mind of intrusions,
her words lulling me
to a type of lucid dream.
Transported from the room,
I lie on a sunny RIDGE,
a large, smooth rock
gathering heat.

Heather

Abigail walked slowly. It was time to CLEAN up, and she wanted to AVAIL herself of every second of peace before the drudgery began. She could hear from above the sounds of the other children going to bed – routines of washing bodies and brushing hair, soon to be murmurs of prayers and the rustling of dozens of sheets as they settled for the night. She knew that she had stacks of dishes and LOADS of laundry to sort before she could begin her own nightly rituals. At least she would not be alone; Ginny was also on night cleaning duty. Ginny was slender like a plant STALK and for all that surprisingly strong. Abigail was glad for Ginny’s company – Ginny was cheerful. The last time Abigail had to fetch flour for Sister, she was terrified. The pantry had felt huge, she had felt small, there were weird noises, and despite frantic reciting of PSALM 91 over and over, she had been very afraid. She hadn’t believed Sister when she said that the sound coming up from the cellar was mice. Mice don’t moan and bang. Abigail decided then and there that she would ask Ginny to go to the pantry if needed. Heck, she would even offer Ginny her best buttons from her collection.

Georg’ann

Light EXTRA candles
Make care PLAIN in all you do
A PSALM in motion

Heather

It is unpleasant to be uprooted. So much nicer when we can PLANT and be grounded. But life is unpredictable, and, here I am. I wonder if I can turn this unsettled moment, where I am in danger of sliding, into a graceful swoop, an opportunity to SKATE rather than slip or trip. I can feel that fear or a stiff and STAID demeanor will make this harder. Can I find something to assist me, like a STAFF or cane? Something in my STASH of tools that can generate a temporary anchor. I love the irony – that the more I am rooted, the freer I am to fly.

Georg’ann

A surprise snow, heavy and wet.
School takes an early BREAK,
extra hours added
to an already long weekend.
Parents, sitters, neighbors rally
to coordinate coverage.
After snowy play comes snacks.
Hot cocoa STAIN above
your little lip, a STAMP
of approval for your devoted
STAFF of one, as she reaches
into the STASH of animal crackers.
This afternoon winter wonderland
settles, slows, softens.

Heather

You have set great STORE by me,
Let me return the favor
And raise a glass,
A TOAST – to you:
Your wit, your sense of style –
From bon mot to ASCOT,
You are the top

Georg’ann

The familiar ROUTE , no longer secure.
Taken for granted, it’s oddly easy
to trip on the path of least resistance.
Time to take STOCK, look at the road.
Don’t want to COAST or drift any farther.
Where are we going?
Why are we going?

Are we going?

Those carefree days of flowered dresses,
broad rimmed sun hats, linen suits
with a pocket scarf and matching ASCOT
strolling arm in arm?
Those carefree days took a strange turn.

Heather

I FROWN. If anyone had been around to observe me, they would surely have thought I was frowning at the BACON. That was not, thankfully, the case (I do love an occasional bit of crispy, yet fatty meat). Rather, I was pondering how best to proceed. But I should back up; you are no doubt wondering how I ended up in this particular country estate in a remote part of Scotland, staring, if not at pork products, then at the thought that I am sitting at this table by invitation of the Baron. He has asked me to locate the source for the story of the MASON, related in an obscure bit of poetry, a PAEON, published sometime before 1740. There is an important clue in the part of the poem that relates to the riddle of the falcon’s TALON, supposedly hidden in a part of the stonework. If we can solve the riddle then maybe – just maybe – we figure out what happened to the jewels.

Georg’ann

FRESH out of assurances
COUNT on me no longer
Time to pass the BATON
Release the TALON, fly.

Heather

We really have no idea what to do with this. We have been given a set of clues, and they make no sense. This is the hardest scavenger hunt we have ever done! First, we have to find a BEAST to avoid, then an aroma to SAVOR, followed by the need to find a SPRAY of flowers! Well if we don’t want to get left behind, we had better SCRAM! I think the other teams have already headed out!

Georg’ann

A series of medical tests, resulting
in discoveries unexpected, unrelated.
EARLY detection of a faulty AORTA.
SCRAP the knee, the back, the nerves.
Immediate attention required,
lest this passageway SCRAM
the lifeline irreparably. Blow out.
And in this, this we know
life plays like a game of chance.
We won this round.

Heather

Normally, your return would be a treat, but on this occasion, it is PLAIN and simple that we are not to have a PARTY. You came in holding grief, needing silence as you sit with the current rupture in your world. We hold that space together, as if in meditation. Of course, we cannot stay there. And so we try to cut and PASTE together a reason for some joy. In the true traditions of our family, you look me straight in the eye, hints of a smile flickering across your face, saying “I would like to have pesto PASTA while I am here.” I nod, grateful to be able to offer memories and summer and reminders of the inevitable passage of time, captured in basil, garlic, pine nuts, cheese, and olive oil.

Georg’ann

Recipe calls for CREAM,
of which there is none.
Keep drawing a BLANK.
An AUDIT of the kitchen
reveals nothing appealing,
not even any of the basics
to whip up a HASTY PASTA,
starting with the pasta itself.
Maybe a lone egg, scrambled
and some stale Triscuits
will stave off the pangs.
I shall relish the combination
of warm and soft with crunchy.
Perhaps a sprinkle of paprika-
that deep rusty red gracing
the small, pale gold mound
will make all the difference.

Heather

The TRUTH, written
on the BOARD:
A SIREN NEVER bodes well

Georg’ann

Running up, or down, the trail
she stops OFTEN to pet moss,
tosses rocks and acorns, yelling “Be free”.
Shakes small trees, listening to the rustling.
Pretends small branches are hands,
reaches out to shake them,
“Nice to meet you” as she makes up a name.
The hollowed out, rotting trunks
pocked with holes are assessed
to be a bug and bird DINER.
A pair of slender, smooth, middle aged trunks
curve together, small space between them,
draws her attention.
While alone a few months ago,
I had photographed them.
“It’s a couple leaning on each other.”
For me they were in a sensual dance.
We talk about the birch leaves,
how they stay through winter.
NEVER a hesitation, this young poet states,
“They hold their leaves like memories”

Heather

It was a slow BLINK, and definitely something more than just an acknowledgement that I EXIST. As I DRIVE away from the party, I keep going over and over the moments of interaction: on the dance floor, at the bar, that long languorous look as we exchanged numbers. My heart — okay, let’s be honest — my PRIDE had been so bruised when Sam had left. I had CRIED for days, gorged on FRIED food until I was sick of it and myself. This party had been a much needed step back into the world. Heading into the valley, towards the lights, I alternated between fantasies of a future with the glamorous Barbara and considering my next move.

Georg’ann

Not ready to TEACH
SPINE of textbook still uncracked,
Prof is beyond FRIED

Heather

Will you ADMIT, let me in to the secret places?
Can we, will we TWINE around each other?
Come, take a chance with me:
Let’s bend, sway, stretch together –
Find the STIFF and stuck places –
Dancing, improvising, discovering
Each other

Georg’ann

Many a red construction paper HEART
A single glue STICK, white doilies,
abundant glitter. What a mess!
And STILL those tender days I miss
as my STIFF hand writes you a love note.

Heather

Another PIECE fell into PLACE, once she arrived at the farm where her mother had been born.

Georg’ann

There is nothing GRAND
about the cup I use each morning.
It’s not arty or sentimental.
Or at least it wasn’t.
It has a pleasing SHAPE,
comfortable in my hand
while holding an ample amount
of warm, foamy milk of some variety
mixed with lots of strong coffee.
This cup, and a single silver PLATE spoon,
have a particular PLACE
in the order of my morning.
Funny how objects can become companions.

Heather

Falling snow, icy paths, wind that can knock you over — odd to feel more ALIVE when faced with a sense of danger. Standing on the rim again and again, I cannot stop looking at the AMBER cliffs, the purples and reds further down, a wall of ASTER-colored layers. I want to remember, hold close this intense landscape, like an AFTER-image accessible to me anytime I close my eyes.

Georg’ann

Our home is etched with the life lived within.
Many markings, none that mar.
Here I sit, sipping coffee in the CHAIR
the cat has clawed to shreds.
She on my lap purring, contentment.
Cottage warmth, no desire for a MANOR.
Flowers in every season, even now
when winter bulbs delight inside.
Soon the outside blooms begin
with crocus, violets, peonies, iris, lilies,
bursts through summer, until Zinnias
carry us to the purple ASTER of fall.
Imperfections inside and out,
yet nothing to ALTER.
In this scratched up chair,
gorgeous fabric destroyed,
is still much beauty AFTER all.

Heather

Worried about FLASH floods, we had to turn to our hostess and with much regret leave early. By GOLLY, it was hard to avoid LURID thoughts of disaster and mayhem. It certainly added a sense of urgency, one that I was not known to REVEL in, though occasionally my beloved gets rather ramped up. What an odd feeling when going for a calm demeanor makes one a REBEL. In any event, our efforts somehow sorted themselves out, and together we were able to avoid disaster, REPEL our demons and land quite sweetly in a good place, in emotion and in fact.

Georg’ann

SHARP words, like shards
shifting in a kaleidoscope,
every twist a new version
from the colorful bits
tossed with no regard
for the PRICE being paid.

Spent, she rolled away
in the Land ROVER,
destination: escape.
Desire for a darkness
thick enough to REPEL
the slowly seeping regret.

Heather

I sit, not knowing how your heart came to BREAK. It feels as if I am standing on a far SHORE, the sound of a DIRGE faint in the distance. How do I support you without overwhelming you? Make space for the two halves of your heart to MERGE?
I watch anxiously — you are on the VERGE of change.

Georg’ann

In their house each CHAIR was unique.
An upright modern white wood desk chair
stood next to a vintage velvet,
golden, round seat low to the floor,
high carved wood back.
Another vintage in red leather
with brass tacking.
At least 3 more varieties graced the room.
We selected our preferred perches,
and with a BURST of energy, the children began
the salon with music and dance.
PERKY improvisations to Bach and Tchaikovsky.
Poems, photos, memoir pages followed.
Tentatively sharing vision and voice,
we come to the VERGE of knowing
one another intimately, still
uncertain how much to reveal.

Heather

Sara stepped off the train, battered brown suitcase in one hand, cloche hat in place. She was open and ready for whatever this day would bring. She paused, looking around, and she felt satisfied. Very far from home, indeed. She moved along the platform, taking in the sights and sounds – the cheerful CHIME of a bicycle bell, the CREAK of wagons being loaded, a bevy of COEDS from the local uni, followed by handsome lads in boaters and seersucker. “Hey oh, miss? Are you the new secretary come to work at t’office?” Sara blinked. This, she was not prepared for – an elderly man approaching, nervously turning his hat in his hands. A rather sad-looking buggy with two old horses. “Yes, I am Sara Bradford. Are you with Mr. Smythe’s law office?” “Aye, that I am. If you will coom this way, we’ll head oof.” As she got in the buggy, he kept up a string of comments that were difficult to grasp –
something about a recent loss of a family member off the local CLEVE, and how it was like something something being caught in the CLEFT of a rock formation. Sara hoped that Mr. Smythe’s speech would be easier to follow. And she suddenly felt nervous about stepping into a family tragedy of some sort. Isn’t that what she was trying to escape??

Georg’ann

Today has been a meandering sort of day,
one in which I keep losing my TRAIN of thought
and struggle to remember the simple QUOTE
that so clearly illustrates the main point.

These poor students! It’s already
a STEEP learning curve trying to absorb principles,
of intangible and often ineffable happenings.
Unfurling from reliance on prompts and protocols.

Usually I move deftly between experiential
and explanatory, weaving meaning gracefully.
Succinctly making relevant what seems a mystery.
Today, between the hemispheres a large CLEFT.

Heather

AWARE of the APPLE
ALONE in the bowl
I touch the skin
Turn to see
The shine of the peel
And feel ALIVE

Georg’ann

Rainy NIGHT, warm air,
smells as if spring is in POISE.
Blooms almost ALIVE.

Heather

Looking at the pile of clothes, books, toiletries, and more, I COULD LAUGH out loud. It is a ridiculous idea to think that all of this will fit in one suitcase. But it must be done. I begin. Folding, rolling, finding nooks and crannies, UNTIL, at last, every bit of the suitcase is full. How satisfying – and it had almost a PULSE beat, a nice rhythm, as I attempted to BULLY pajamas and underwear, sweaters and socks into submission. The chaos of these assorted BULKY piles has been tidily tamed.

Georg’ann

Greta was done BEING embarrassed by her side hustle. Leaning in, she actually really enjoyed wearing the sandwich BOARD, the BUSHY beard, skull cap, and Carhartt biberalls. It was a BULKY get up, heavy to carry, but she was warm, and believed in the product they were paying her to promote.

Heather

I watch and wonder about
These regular visitors to our HOUSE —
Do they DREAM of our feeders?
Ponder PETTY squabbling over seeds?
Plot to EXPEL the squirrels?
Curse when the feeders are empty?
Our little bird friends

Georg’ann

Quickly an EXTRA place was set
for the EXILE who’d come to the table.
Unexpected, he had crossed the border,
newly drawn in this on-going war.
We EXCEL at moving undetected,
in and out of our homelands.
Guarded, I EXPEL a sigh,
letting the tension release
as I ladle the soup into his bowl.

Heather

Sitting and pondering today’s words, I am struck how sometimes the words have personalities. And so: “TRIAL” seems a trickster, tempting one to read it as trail. “LOUSE” feels judgemental – don’t be one and don’t mess up, though it also conjures up images of English class and the poem by Robert Burns. And then there is “LEGGY” with its identity crisis: is it a svelte model or a plant in need of tending? And so today, they end up like mismatched guests at a party, circling one another and deciding that they really don’t have much in common.

Georg’ann

UNDER a woven piece of cloth,
too pretty to toss, is a treasure
box of junk, recycled like its cover.
It’s easier for my imagination
to create out of WASTE held
together with EPOXY, material
not too precious for experiments
with structure and form,
perfectionism takes a rest.
Hands begin exploring, soon
a woman with copper wire hair
takes shape, her bead BELLY full,
she’s long and LEGGY, ready
for her pipe cleaner limbs to dance.

Heather

Looking out the window of the DINER, I see the moon. It is made PALER against the sky by city lights. A mere crescent, it seems to rise up from the SHEER cliffs of skyscrapers. Now, I see it is joined by a flickering EMBER of light, a jet moving steadily across the sky. A moment of awe and wonder: to savor the creations of humanity and the universe.

Georg’ann

Inside my head so many things,
keeping TRACK of it all is ROUGH.
Imagine every crevice of grey matter stuffed,
bits spilling out, piled up
like something from a Hoarders episode.
Yet my externally facing spaces
show no clutter. Maintained to soothe.

Over a slice of DINER pumpkin pie my mother asked
if I would sort 3 paper bags of accumulated mail.
She’d pay me handsomely,
as she could not distinguish
the junk from the necessary.
Perhaps bills were coming due?

I took the bags home, started a fire,
made a cup of tea.
Poured out the envelopes.
Back into a bag went what needed attention,
the rest I set aflame, piece by piece.
It was actually quick work, so simple.
I sat in bewildered sadness watching
the last remaining EMBER turn
from hot orange red to cooler black.

Heather

With a LAUGH, I reached into the DRAIN, pulling out the thing that was MEANT to scare me, but only made a mess: a rubber SNAKE. It’s going to take a minute to figure out how I will pay my sister back for this prank.

Georg’ann

Rustling SOUND in leaves,
Still I SNEAK up, take your hand
We SNAKE down the path.

Heather