Friday the 13th

An Omen is a Sign

maybe good and maybe bad

from Somewhere Else

that today that tonight or this morning

or This New Year or even right now

when the red bird sits on the porch

and actually seems to smile at me

do birds smile I’ll google the answer

when I finish this poem

a red bird

smiles at me on Friday the 13th

and All whatever All might be

is better than OK.  It’s Good.

Our Book of Poems

Although my poems are a little like

Tibetan sand paintings

they exist and then, they’re blown away

by wind (my poems are blown away by

other poems and dailiness and an almost full moon

and lamb chops and Ahava’s Peppa Pig sheets

and ignoring Boris Johnson and tonight’s debate

and the woman in a writing workshop last weekend who said

I Want to Be Ignited Again

and this morning’s phone call from a friend whose mother

has dementia woke up at 2 am for a 9 am appointment

and went outside and though it was dark she kept going

my poems are blown away by Real and Unreal life

even so I want a new book of them, not in any

logical order, order is not my middle name, but in a book

with an evocative cover, page numbers and a place

to say Thank You for Reading and a  then, a place

for you can send me yours.




The older I get the more I want

to speak Yiddish even though I don’t know

much Yiddish just a word here and there.  Like

EPES translated on the internet as SOMETHING.

EPES is better more nuanced a word with

IMAGINE THAT as well as a small OY and always

The Humor of Life as in last night

Peter and I went to the movies in Albany to see

the new Julianne Moore Michelle Williams film

(it was OK) and the theater had

a Cat Film Festival EPES.

We Don’t Want Summer to End


nothing like summer even when it is too fast

too full of incident not enough of those slow days

even when the president is this one and when

there were heat waves and rain storms and many guests

and laundry laundry and trips to the store to buy more rose

more gin more prosecco more cashews and my friend Delores

didn’t feel well even when it’s not the summer of childhood

with all those days and days because summer, older summers now,

is still summer and there are still and always will be Those Nights

Those Days that only happen no matter what in summer.

The Hobart Festival of Women Writers and Why I Love It Every Year

Many women

a hundred maybe more together

small unusual absolutely gorgeous unexpected

village of Hobart New York population

383 six bookstores  even a good bar

what we do together all of us

talk listen closely read  tell many stories

three memorable exhausting full happy

days of women every age every face

days of books and books and infinite possibilities

or what words can do

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