So often have I traveled
away
and back
to this room in my heart
where the candles are lit
the cat is sleeping
and from my window
I can watch the snow falling,
so soft and quiet
that I must listen hard
to hear its message.
Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems
Whispering, Rest
Resolvathon
Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends —Emerson, Lake & Palmer
With champagne and confetti,
we welcome you,
New Year, cold and small and dark,
so unsure of yourself, here at the start.
Trust us. We have done this many times.
We are full of rich food and resolutions,
and dedicate your birthday,
to revelry and resolving, both revolving
round again and again.
Trust us, fresh and uncertain year—we
are full, more than full—
overflowing with our good intentions,
wrapped packages of presents and promises,
all for you.
Turquoise Thoughts
When the yoga teacher tells us
in her calmest voice, Picture
the space between thoughts,
I try. The space is white,
framed by the real show:
Those turquoise thoughts
edging both sides,
unfolding into lines that curl
round themselves like long tails,
patterns intricate and warm with
color, so distinct from the
white quiet between.
Store Clerk Of My Dreams
After hours spent calling out, Next, please, fluorescent light paling their skin and making eyes water, at the end of their shift they go home to their quiet home, pet the big, gentle dog who greets them at the door, hang up their jacket and the handmade scarf that was their favorite gift, curl up in a chair with a borrowed book and a mug of tea—only heated water, only leaves and herbs, and by soft candlelight stretch into themselves, thankful, thankful, to not be who they served all day, those sad and desperate, ravenous shoppers with their naked needs.
Boxing Day Lesson
This is how it’s done:
The children must be
stuffed into snowsuits, overheated,
dragged car to store to car to another store
until they learn to beg
for one more shiny thing,
one more bit of brightly colored plastic.
Some get there quickly. Other, stoic, stubborn children,
determined to daydream about dressing up the cat
or building forts from empty boxes
and ripped wrapping paper—these children take longer.
But they are, after all, only children—
in the end, each one succumbs
to heat and hunger and greed.
Then finally, finally, a grownup can take them
home again. Sighing over how spoiled
the children have become,
an adult can carry them home to
the naps and quiet they both needed
all along.
Six Word Saturday: December 28
Cozy daughter day, Little Women, popcorn.
Read more Six-Word Saturdays
Windfall
Before dawn, a crowd filled the yard.
Herds of deer, quiet, feasting on windfalls—-
pears fallen in the side yard and
seven more deer beneath the apple tree
at the edge of the field
half-hidden by the barn.
Slow to startle,
they roused themselves, remembered to run
as sky brightened and doors opened,
lights came on, shovels and motors
began making all those noises.
They ran. Except for one small doe
who lingered, stubborn and in love with
apples in the snow.
Lights At Every Window
adorning trees and doorways,
staircases, banisters,
edged along the ceilings,
stretched out and glowing,
as all of us—
Evolved Pagans,
Recalcitrant Christians,
Faithful Followers,
the Uninvolved But Jolly,
and the
Perpetually Uncertain,
go forward, feeling our way for
the electric plug, the match to the candle,
the spark to the night,
mostly blind to each other,
but working at the important work:
Holding back the darkness, together.
The World Thick With Angels
These are the days thick with angels.
Here’s the tiny one from my childhood,
in her pale pink gown, silver wings chipped,
her painted plaster face fading but serene.
Here’s the handmade one on my mantle
dressed in green velvet, wings of soft white feathers,
her banner trimmed in gold, proclaiming hopefully—
Peace Be With You Always.
Here, three enormous plywood angels
adorn my neighbor’s yard, painted white,
bedecked with strings of lights and
caught mid-flight, wings and trumpets raised
announcing joy to the grey skies of my street.
And here, the most important angel,
invisible and vital—the one who steered
while you slid off the snowy country road
and into a field—a lovely field with no precipice,
no pond, no enormous tree in your path.
That one? Oh, that is my favorite angel.
Six Word Saturday: Dec. 21
Angel shapes ribbon through the cornfields.
Read more at Six Word Saturdays.
