Open Doors

—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock, Antioch

OPEN DOOR I
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole

A sparrow
hops
into apartment
pecks grit
from hallway rug,
slips

into bathroom
doesn't flush
or turn on tub water

Dances into kitchen
where when I peek
sure to find him
washing dishes
preparing lunch

only the memory
the compliment
remains.

______________________

OPEN DOOR II
—Claire J. Baker

A hummingbird
zips
into living room
settles on
windowsill
a tiny
caesura
I draw a deep
breath, let
fingers encircle
iridescence
At back door
the jewel
spirals high
into a honey-
colored sky
leaving in hand
a pulsating
rainbow.

—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock

IN REPLY TO HUNTER HILL'S
“nightdarknessfog”
—Ann Wehrman, Sacramento
Hunteritooamahunter
Dianainmiddleage
(allrighti’moverfifty-don’ttellanyone)
Youarejustakidlikealltheothers
Don’tworrythisisnotacomeon
butwheniread
Your
**brilliant**
poem
andeverywordRAAANNNintothenext
andyouplayedwiththetext—
youmusthavefiguredout
HOWTODISABLEYOURCOMPUTER’SREDUNDERLINE
THATTELLSYOUYOU’VEMADEOOPS
AGRAMMARORSPELLINGMISTAKE
(mypoemisonebigmistakeaccordingtothiscomputer)
Whenireadyourpoemandfelt
thenightandthestemsofthegrasscomealive
andyouknewU2musicwouldberightatthattimeofnight
notratatattat!!!!!
butemotionalandfullofpainandconviction…
i’mgoingtogetUPnow
andchangethestereo
oh,Godnotastereo

i’mshowingmyage

it’snightheretoo
iusedastereowheniwasakidlikeyou
nowit’saCDplayer
iwouldplayU2foryoursake
butidon’thaveanysoiwillspinmyclassicaldiscs
unlikeinyourpoem
(i’msettleddownamaidenladystrictfearfulandsensible
i’mDianainmindonly—itcouldbedangerous)
isit{[inside]}inthisverylatenightalone
listentoeverycrackandpeepandjumpwhenthesprinklerscomeon

liketheydoeverynight
beautyofCopeland’smusic
overitthebuzzinginmyears
thenightdarknessoverarchesalloutside
nevermindlookingforanoverarchingmetaphor
thenightskyfilled***withsilentstars***doesjustfine

____________________

OBSESSION
—Ann Wehrman

three years old
something wakes me
I pad down the hallway
peer into the kitchen

Mom sits in the dark
like Curie surrounded by radium
watching a lone, cobalt flame
burn on the stove

no food simmers
the heater works fine
still she gazes, entranced
at the deep blue glowing

Mommy
I break her silence
her gaze registers
I return to bed

 

 —Photo by Robert Lee Haycock

ON BEING FIRED FOR
TALKING BACK TO MY MANAGER
—Ann Wehrman

The queen decrees, “Off with her head!”—
I tremble, grow cold, but
look straight in the eye
of the unmasked executioner, her vassal,
who, nonplussed, raises his sword,
obedient to her command.

It feels like I’ve been here before—
faced off with, then lost to
women wearing Mommy’s face;
back then, I suffered under her spell—
but this battle, I fight to win.

The red queen might be thirty—
I, fifty plus,
should be able to stand up to her
by now,

yet my years and achievements
prove weak armor
against her disfavor;
my defenses fail,
sword falls powerless from my hand,
pride rolls across the room,
body slumps out the door;
I accept this defeat,
but do not surrender.

____________________

RETURNING
—Ann Wehrman

our fifty-year-old bodies
even more beautiful
wrinkles are battle scars
eyes open with experience

we begin the return
circle continuously, like kites or hawks
make long swoops
catch glimpses of each other in passing
signs that you hear me
feel what I feel

________________________

TO MY BROTHER
—Ann Wehrman

I see him as I walk
down the aisle at Thrifty’s
he is young, maybe twenty
he sits in a chair in the corner
head in his hands
waits as the druggist mixes
his clothes are dirty and ragged
dark hair long, unkempt
is the prescription for him, or a loved one?
does he just sit
not waiting for a prescription at all?
miserable, in pain, drunk, on drugs,
lost, or with nowhere left to go,
the face is hidden, still held in his hands

if this stranger raises his head
out of his eyes could shine darkly
the soul of my brother, lost since thirteen
in a lawless world which I dare not enter

brother/stranger
if he lifts his face to mine
he will howl

 

—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock

 

BARNSTORMING
—Robert Lee Haycock, Pinole

A biplane practices her aerobatics over the shores of old seas, Sand and Marsh Creek.  

Growling and whining barrel rolls, she loops the loop and is silent as the engine stalls. 

I hold my breath to hear the purr of pistons revive, that last explosive kiss of gravity.

_____________________

HAUNT
—Robert Lee Haycock

Our dead visit then fade like old photos 
My hands are sticky with their kisses 
The choir refuses to get off the bus 
My wedding ring holds the ocean 
Lightning follows thunder 
The door knobs turn

_____________________

BURNING DAYLIGHT
—Robert Lee Haycock

We saddled up 
Down dusty streets 
Saloon, livery, assay office 
Beyond the weed tumbled edge of town

Into the hills 
Out of nowhere 
Pools, palm trees, driving range 
Before we knew what we were doing

____________________

CONCORDANCE
—Robert Lee Haycock

I asked you for change

          "Approaching Concord"

I held out my cup

          "Concord is our final destination"

You spit in it

          "The doors will only open once"

____________________

Today's LittleNip(s):

GHOST HUNTING
—Robert Lee Haycock

Dog runs in her sleep 
Pursuing phantom quarry 
I dream I follow

         ***

RAIN
—Robert Lee Haycock

The downspouts chuckle 
The sere hills dream of green robes 
I chuckle and dream
 

___________________
 

—Medusa

 

—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock