Sunday, March 29, 2009

Beauty School

I remember the smell of my mother - Breck shampoo and loose pink face powder. Her hair was thin, brown and silver. After I worked for a while, brushing it with the blue plastic brush, it became oily. I then filled her head with pink rollers, clamping their teeth together on the thin strands of hair. I used little brown Bobbie pins, cold to the touch. With these I made pin curls. After removing the curlers and pins from her head, I brushed this pile into a style on top of her head and let her look in the silver handheld mirror.
Sometimes, my cousin, Laurie Jo, and I had my mom soak her fingertips in emerald green Palmolive dish soap like Madge on the TV commercial.
When I was in high school I attended Beauty College with my friends Deveri and Dana. I lasted two weeks. Yes, I am a beauty school drop out.

Monday, March 23, 2009


For my mother who cavorts with crows

If Dad had not brought home that injured bird
from the construction site in the summer of
If the blue black guy, we named Charlie, did
not have a broken wing
If Mr. Miller, the next door neighbor, would
not have held our bird so far from his body
at the labor day picnic
If Charlie had given us and sign that he could
Would my mother be standing at the side of
the road
cawing over 40 years later, waiting
for the crow’s return?

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Word Jar

I collect words
In a jar


I dig them out
With my fingers


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Tumwater Falls

I walk by trees
leaves stick out
their tongues

That wooden bench
to rest these hips

The man with grey halo
whistling Amazing Grace

A sweetness in
his swagger

This choir boy

Sunday, March 8, 2009

God Is In The French Roast

He is in my coffee
this morning
which makes me wonder
why people go to church
when they could just
stay home
admiring the frame
of an old iron bed
no room full of people
who I would not invite
to dinner
Why break bread
with disappointment
when God is right here
in the French roast