On the night I was born,
my father bought two bottles of champagne.
He drank one and saved one
to drink with me when I turned twenty-one.
He didn’t know that champagne
wouldn’t keep that long — nor would he.
On A Long Drive
On a long drive I sometimes imagine
you sitting next to me.
I look at you in the passenger seat
and you are young again.
Your eyes turn to me and you say,
"How long until we’re home?”
The Way of the River
As a young girl my mother learned
the way of the river;
currents and eddies are alive.
“Let it take you where you want to go.”
Midnight Snow
It’s been falling since morning,
weighing down the branches of the trees.
I carry in an armload
of seasoned oak for the wood stove.
The fire flickers and our shadow puppets
dance on the ceiling.
Two entwine like lovers, a Chinese puzzle,
or ring of keys.
When disturbed, empty ones
clatter with the tone of muted bells.
My favorite wears a blue dress,
empire waist, ruffle at the hem.
