Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

in the snowy yard
one mouse-colored mouse-sized leaf
jitters in the wind

so many layers
snow over ice over-head
cozy winter house

would be simpler
to embrace if only
I knew it was coming
which defies the very
Definition
of Unexpected. Some
days cannot be shoved
in the direction you
planned no matter
Instead I was home
to see how light plays across weekday walls
watch through a Thursday window how
squirrel’s mad treetop dash triggered
tumbling snow from every branch
flurious miniature blizzard now a
crow tries floured snow rises in a cloud
around him and I was here to see.

No matter how late for work
Stop every morning
beneath the dark lace
of your branches
to check on the sky
All three of us
moon tree woman
as still as a diorama
And the diorama
could be titled
Winter Dark or
Get In The Car Already but
just yesterday it changed to
Look, the Sky
Is Lightening

Breathe.
Again. Breathe is spelled like
Spring Breeze. Breathe is spelled
like Deep Sleep Cotton Sheets.
Breathe is spelled Turn
Your Face To
The Sun.
Imitate a flower if
you forget this spelling.
Breathe every day to
remind this body how.
Breathe to remember—
Oh, what was it? The
Present Moment.
That was it. Gone.
but
wait
here is
another.

Pale pink chiffon clouds
tossed anywhere across the sky
luminous party girl
traipsing home
tired and happy, trailing
soft pink fur, feathered boas
soft sound as they fall and
shake the world awake
on her way to bed.

He favors
polite insistent taps on the shoulder
like a gruff and rumpled old boss
reminding the underling,
Tend to Priorities.
Close the book you’re reading.
Reading is not the appropriate
Use of time
being
as it is
Unconcerned
with the Feline.
Focus
on the bottom line.
Attend to what matters
Petting.
Only that.
Be here now.

Shelves built stair-stepped
up the garage wall
not a stairway to heaven
he told her, more practical
than music.
Storage. Stairway
of dusty jars
nuts and bolts and nails
jam and pickles and beans
provisions to carry them
not to
but through
hard winters
with all the tools to hold
their rickety house together

The idea was cheer
in the middle of winter
but these photos
drenched in plastic sheen
shine that’s true and bright
but nowhere is that fat bee
from the real garden
so heavy his body
bending each blossom
to the warm ground

A tiny story:
As always, when we pulled up in front of the shop and climbed down from the carriage, I stopped first to read the sign while everyone else climbed down and got themselves sorted, and mother lifted baby Carey a toddler really by now, stood her wobbly self on the sidewalk then straightened her tiny red hat.
The sign, as ever, read:
The Corner Store
Books & Ice Cream
Remember The Rule!
Always
Books First,
Ice Cream Second
Because Nobody Wants
Sticky Books
Or
Words Mixed In The Ice Cream

I loved this sign every single time I read it. It’s the first time I remember words painting a picture in my head, a story illustration of puzzled people— some opening sticky books to blanks pages, others startled to find words instead of jimmies sprinkled over ice cream. It made an odd kind of flutter in the stomach–a magic trick that turned out to be real magic, conjured from letters painted on wood.