Sauerkraut in Winter

In my fridge summer ferments,
in sauerkraut in winter,
salty summer,
red cabbage summer,
pale green cabbage summer,
made at summer’s end,
in a bowl, like kneading bread,
till water, once rain, covers summer
crisp and bursting, ripe and sweet
and sour.

It’s not far a summer field
sauerkraut in winter,
translucent winter,
healing, hearty, fireplace winter,
tart and crunchy winter,
winter to be shared
in sauerkraut Hungarian stew,
sauerkraut, sausage, blue potatoes,
in a toasty-warm, mingling reuben.

This morning is frozen-white,
undeniable at seven below.
I go to the fridge and find
the familiar mason jar of sauerkraut,
cabbages once growing in my garden.
I open the lid,
reach in and spoon
summer out.

Day Three

Like a picture in a book,
we sit in front of the hospital window
looking out

you and Sarie and I,

looking out from the sixth floor,
at snow like an infinity of floating

dandelion seeds.
We are three generations of gardeners,
three observing birds,

three words lined -
waiting to light 

upon the ground.

Day Two

hands strong on arms of the chair
 from Jim
pushing up to stand
  from John
“only one half” she smiles at me
reaching to grab the waiting walker
 from Granddaddy
stepping steadily forward, one foot in front
of the other
 from Anda and Zoli
one foot in front of the other
 from Omi and rounding Lake of the Isles
at the bed she turns delicately around
 from Minnesota wind and ice
she says without sitting, “let’s go again,”
 from Poppie
one foot in front of the other
 from studying and teaching year after year,
 from peach roses and saffron daisies
one foot in front of the other
 from gardening all day and all day again,
 from blueberry picking and every sky
 she has ever seen, blue to black and black to blue,
 from happenings of which she is unaware
she reaches the chair, turns delicately
around and releases the walker
 from all her grandchildren
hands to the arms of the chair, strong and secure
 from great granddaughter Sylvie
and she sits to discuss the philosophy of walking
 from me

Day One

She broke her leg
running  to yoga
missing the last stair step,
my mother

with intramedullary nails,
out of surgery and resting
only for awhile,
she tries to stand the first chance she can get,
my mother

I help her drink a cup of broth,
bring her rye bread
instead of a plant,
feel numb observing and listening
to nurses and doctors,
and in a hospital bed,
my once fast-walking mother.

Tonight we see each other

in the window in her room.

I tell her tomorrow the sun
is going to shine all day. 

How is it that I feel snow
falling on me and onto
my mother?

For Lisel Mueller

2 am
- awakened by Moon,
my hungry, dilute calico.
I rise, half asleep, half a sound
paws and feet on the floor, to give
her canned herring.
Snow still falls outside the window.

2:10 am
I find myself
floating into a world of words.
Yours.  Arctic air fills my room;
I am trying to listen to snow.

4 am
The front door opens, almost asleep
I rise to greet my son home from Florida.
“Did you have a good time?”
One week and he’s taller, shining in the foyer light.
“Dad gave me the key to his house.
 It was sweet.” he says and drifts downstairs,
drifting that sounds like snow.

Snow in November is

today a dusting like powdered sugar on a cake,
an intro, an hors d' oeuvers, a preview,
pink in the dark before dawn,

tomorrow gone, like a one night stand
or a braxton hicks contraction.

pending and felt in an aching knee or shoulder,
sensed in the heart, before Christmas songs are heard
on the radio.

everywhere discussed,
 "it's going to snow next week,"
I read to my people and look up
from the paper’s weather page
as we sit around the table in the morning,
as we always do.
"When?"
"Next Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday."

next week unstoppable,
except from an unlikely angelic intervention,
unstoppable like it’s mighty cousin, the hurricane,
like the earth turns into and away from the sun.

often accompanied by emotions,
"I hate snow. I might fall."
"I love snow.  It’s like vanilla ice cream.”
“Then I’m pushing you into the snow!”

soon to be a white sprawling sculpture garden,
a filagree of diaphanous stars in morning light,
turning everything into marble, slow-moving forms.

soon to be winter's constant companion,
as are we, no matter if we wish and wait for spring,
would rather fly to Florida, sit winter out,
or are the snow-balling, angel-making, cross country skiing,
snow shoeing, ice skating, ice sculpting,
hair-turning-white-with-snow kind.

a nondiscrimination unifier,
"Good thing is, we'll be
in the snow together!”

it will take decades
to uproot this invasive
president trump plant

Holy Spirit

Snow falls and Spirit
exchanges for my sorrow
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing,
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing.
Snow falls and Spirit
exchanges for my sorrow
a coat and shovel,
if I am willing.
I put on the coat,
woolen and warm,
pick up the shovel,
steel and wood handle.
Snow is falling on me.
Holy Spirit, I am willing.

poem by poem
turned to stone

seed by seed
dropped to the ground

turned to tune
note by note

memorized and deeply drawn
sung into air

step by step
leaf by leaf
wing by wing

repeated like
a rosary

Oh Dear!

I've called Orion
Zoli, Sarie and sometimes Jim.
I've called Sarie
Orion, Jim and sometimes Zoli.
I've called Zoli
Orion, Sarie and sometimes Jim.
I’ve called Jim
Zoli, Orion and sometimes Sarie.

Orion flatly said yesterday,
"Mom, I’m not Zoli or Sarie or Jim.
I’m Orion.”  (Oh dear!)
I answered, “Of course you are!”
The world is indeed round.  I remember...
Mom calling me Jim and John
before saying Claudia.

Not Just With My Vote

not my government
not my vote
not my vote
not my president
not my vote
not my vote
not my order to abandon the Kurds
not my vote
not my vote
now they must flee or be killed, 

not my president
not from my vote

not my shame
not my criminality
not my deceit
not my...   treason
one of my best friends voted for him
not my vote
my neighbor voted for him
not my vote
my coworker voted for him

one of my dear brothers voted for him!
not my president
not my government
not my vote
not from my vote
Heaven help us!
this is...   my government
is...    my president
this is my country
this is my shame
this is my sorrow
this is my asking for forgiveness

This is my problem to help solve and

not just with my vote

Toast to Elijah Cummings

Many times we watched you
heads bowed or in awe because you said
exactly what we wanted to say
more eloquently and fearlessly
than we ever could have said it.

Can’t sleep
voices compete
worries run
a marathon

i've been a no show
on my favorite stage
a no ink
on the sacred page
standing up my prayer

so You, whom i love
gave me today
pencils and books
a perfect bouquet
something to say and pray

Half awake- 

it may have been a mistake

to write all night.

Now, after work, 

I am home, 

prone,

only one eye open, 

like a sleeping dolphin

guarding against poems 

amassing and passing

without a “welcome in!” 

 “who goes there?”

without an offer 

of friendship or curiosity, 

depending on what temper, 

what splendor,

one eye open reveals!  

A pod of herring?

A passing sail boat off the fluke?

A shark marauding?  

A magical masterpiece?

Now I must be dreaming.

Where is the sun?
It’s 6 am.
September is rolling in
like a high speed bullet train.
All aboard!

missing my family
In Four Connecting Haikus

when family visits
notes flow into chords
a cappella song!

like migrating birds
congregating together
before flying home

off and on I feel
a sudden coldness a coat
cannot undue

I am a minor
melody remembering,
missing, major chords

chicadee chirping
outside the window at dusk
"empty feeder!"

I miss Lynnie Lynn because
I'm no longer a mashed potato
or a turkey or missie toe
and David's no longer a root beer float

I'm no longer a mashed potato
she, a rascally, ridiculous raccoon,
and David's no longer a root beer float
one of four musketeers is missing

she, a rascally, ridiculous raccoon,
who giggles and the whole room is smiling
one of four musketeers is missing
the one who helps her companions at their table

who giggles and the whole room is smiling
and she'd ask, "what are you going to do about me?"
the one who helps her companions at their table
she focuses when doing a 300 piece puzzle

and she'd ask, "what you doing to do about me?"
"We need to buy you another puzzle." I'd say
she focuses when doing a 300 piece puzzle
David and I are not blueberry muffins.

"We need to buy you another puzzle."  I'd say
I miss Lynnie Lynn because
David and I are not blueberry muffins
or turkeys or missie toes

Sometimes I look up
at apartments and wish
everyone had decks.

My pillow is indented, swirled
like a land-napping nautilus,
like a giant roly poly bug
of a cat.  Moon!

fear is spreading
like all the befores
and we are forgetting
the burried bones of millions
because we are magnets to fear

I write of hummingbirds, sky-loving gold finches,
a favorite tulip tree beside my house
and in my garden red-rose tomatoes
overflowing

while we are magnets to fear
and there are cages in my country and
children in them

Up and out, into the garden -
I take my first deep breath,
rest my hands in dirt,
my morning shower!

For breakfast I ate a perfect tomato
from my garden and a perfect mango
and drank a perfect cup of coffee
with coconut milk and a bit of honey.
I read a perfect daily poem
and took a perfectly refreshing shower.
Now, no matter what happens,
it's already a perfect day!
Even if I brake my leg,
it'll be a perfect brake.

Orion drums downstairs
composes upstairs on the piano
walks back and forth between -
feet on stairs, head in a cloud
of rhythm and melody.
I am, at 2am, a leaf
on the tree of time
trying not to feel the breeze,
yelling for him to be quieter.
My son is a bird.
I call from my pillowed head -
       "I am trying to sleep!
         I have to work!"
Sometimes it's hard to close your ears.
Wind is starting to quietly roar,
as it always does.
I better get up, let go,
listen and try to write
something
beautiful.

bittersweet chocolate
bittersweet cat
one bite and one pat
one mmmm and one meow
I'm the one purring now!

one note, one step, 
one Mikhail pirouette
meets you at the starting line
in time

Three Haikus

Listen to spaces

in the rhythm of a storm.
Heaven is chanting.

I bend and touch leaves
mortar and pestle rain ground
felt under my hand.

I’m planting haikus,
giving them kisses in rain,
willing them to root and grow.

My dearest William

sleep no more ditties,
sleep no more.
The sun deliciously shines
lemons onto the ground
waiting for you to pick them up
make morning lemonade!
The sky, undeceived,
brings all good things
into your sweet and sour
waking.