Category: Writings

They Think She Collects China Cats

lindastudley1 Comment

The dust on the figurines bother her,
the cats, presents from her children,
from first born to last great,
range in rows and stilted groupings
on every flat surface in her apartment.
 
Someone bought her a cat one day, then
someone else brought her a cat, then
another one commented “Oh, you collects cats?”
“Not really.” She demurred.
But apparently not loudly enough.
 
Birthdays, Mother’s Day, Christmas Day,
and any other time when they can’t think or won’t see
what she really needs or wants, they bring her cats.
She loves raspberries, jigsaw puzzles, and knitting
but they never bring her raspberries or jigsaw puzzles or yarn.
“We know you’re not allowed pets here” the broken record drones
“but this cat won’t meow or scratch the furniture!”
 
They bring her cats until the search
For a new and unique china cat becomes too time consuming.
Today her great grandson gave her a china dog.
For God’s sake, even the Ark only had two of each.
Tomorrow she will accidentally trip and see
how many cats she can take with her.
She smiles.
There’s more than one way to break a cat.

 

#11

Beginnings

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Beginnings are seductive
Dream conjurers  
Possibility whisperers
who mow the grass growing on the other side of
the fence you built the last time you began.

Beginnings are demanding
The ‘if’ in qualifiers
The ‘want’ in quantifiers
The desired outcomes and arbitrary deadlines
of personal progress  that festoon your
pie in the sky chart.

Beginnings are deceptive
Carny mirrors
Sleight of mind
The used car salesmen of self-improvement
who throw in a genuine pigskin silk purse for free
with every new beginning.

Beginnings are just endings in disguise.

I will not begin today
I will just be

 

#8

Why I ‘tion’ New Year’s Resolutions

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There’s a simple explanation
For my lack of inclination
To indulge in the formation
Of a New Year’s resolution.
 
Though it isn’t quite revulsion
There’s a clear lack of compulsion
That could lead to my expulsion
From your New Year’s dissolution.
 
For I know, without exception,
All attempts at deep reflection
Would be merely self-deception
Causing foolish obligations
 
To impose untold restrictions
And abandon my addictions
To some foolish New Year’s fiction
Fraught with cruel self-castigation
 
And my poem’s culmination
Is that simple explanation
For my insubordination
Toward New Year’s resolutions
 
I don’t wanna!

 

#7

People Are

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People are like rhubarb pies;
Fragile, flaky, and sweet
Or tough, hard, and acidic.
It all depends on how gently they’ve been handled,
On how much sugar has been sprinkled on their lives,
On how much heat they’ve had to endure.

Lovers are like shortbread cookies;
Tender, melting, and seductive
Or hard, demanding and crumby.
It all depends on the quality of the basic ingredients,
On how much they’ve been manipulated,
On how long they’ve sat around waiting for you.

Okay, I said I’d write a poem a day for a year. I never made any promises about their literary quality. And apparently there’s just been way too many sweets around the house over the Christmas season… sigh.

 

#6

The Liberation Begins

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This may be the last year
we have a tree for Christmas.
It’s not like when the children were young
and stood on chairs to reach the top with tinsel.

So many things become meaningless
when disassociated from their past.
Second hand stores are crammed with
Mother’s teapots (chipped lid)
Father’s hand tools (dull blades worn thin)
Grandma’s hand crocheted doilies (small tea stain on the edge)
all abandoned by survivors who wonder
“Why were they keeping these things?”

I don’t want to be so busy curating the story of my past
that I have no time to create my future.

I want to let  go.

I rarely pick wildflowers anymore.
A fleeting memory of them blooming where they grow
infinitely more satisfying than a the longer,
sadder memory of them slowly dying in a vase.

Let the liberation begin.

 

#5

Where Did She Go?

lindastudley1 Comment

I know why the snake sheds her skin.
Self-reinvention being a hobby of mine, I envy
her ability to slide out of her personal slip cover,
her new skin gleaming and fresh,
A personal do-over.
 
I know why the caterpillar cocoons.
I, who often dream of flying, sometimes curl
up in my duvet and wonder how long
I’d have to sleep before
the wings grew.
 
And in that sleep I’d dream the answer
to every question, the key for every lock,
the solution to every problem.
I’d rise into the air, free from pain, doubt, and fear.
 
I know why the chameleon blends.
How many times have I wished my skin
would take on the pattern of the couch covers?
“She was here a minute ago” they’d say
“Where did she go?”

 

#4

A Morning a Hundred and Twenty Four Years Ago

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My grandmother was born a hundred and twenty four years ago yesterday to a world where the light bulb was still a new invention.
A child of the industrial revolution, she unwittingly rode a wave of technology all her life.

From a horse drawn world where steam engines
puffed and clanked, revolutionizing industry and transportation, 
to the slow motion moon walk on our black and white TV.
Technology walked along side of her.
She never learned to drive.

She was born the same year barbed wire was invented.
She was born before the gramophone, zippers, and the internal combustion diesel engine.

She was born before teabags, the theory of relativity, and airplanes.
Before cornflakes, cellophane, sonar, automobiles, tanks, Lifesavers, crossword puzzles, radio, stainless steel, fortune cookies and pop up toasters.

She was born before bubble gum and penicillin, before canned beer and the Colt revolver, before ball point pens and computers, before Silly putty, the Slinky, and the atomic bomb.

She was born before jukeboxes, drive in theatres, and the pill; before Superglue, Teflon, and credit cards.

She died around the same time Ethernet, Bic lighters, and gene splicing were invented.
And I wonder if any single life will ever span such an era of change again?

Happy birthday Nanny.

 

#3

The Light that Holds the Night at Bay

lindastudley6 Comments

And when I flip this switch the night outside will be gone
and all the windows will gleam with our reflections.
Reflections of you and me and the couch and chair
Reflections of the inner world we create and inhabit.

Like a wall of mirrors, the dark reflections on windows and
patio doors infer that what transpires without  
is not as important as what transpires within
I close my eyes and wonder

if the inside of my lids are like the mirror windows.
If I could turn on a light in my head
would everything outside of it disappear?
Would my mind be inundated with dark reflections

Of you and me and thoughts and dreams
As though the perceptions and memories of love
Were more important than the fact
I open my eyes in wonder and see as I’ve never seen before. 

Hold me.

 

#2