My Duck Pond

Children seek to find a secret place

where their minds can trace outlines

for the imagination to colour in

where magic is no myth

and no story too elaborate

to be true

children seek to find a secret garden

a place that no adult has discovered

to uncover a door to days of make-believe

where they can not so much as hide

but be unobserved

When I sit on a rock by my pond

I recognise this place from my childhood fantasies

families of ducks paddle past

like a Spanish armada

and feed and swim at my feet

and I breath in so deep

because I finally found the secret door

the one I wanted more

than anything else as a child
to find

the one that led me to here

where I can not so much as hide

but be unobserved

Heaven

Arms and legs splayed out

as if to make a snow angel

limbs weightless

you drift untethered in space

an enormous visor obscures your face

but in its reflection the shuttle can be seen

and I imagine conspiracy theorists

searching the image for signs of a set-up

a Hollywood studio concoction

sanctioned by the government

to pull a swifty on the people

but I believe you

swam

completely and utterly devoid of any attachment to Earth

and I wonder if you would have minded

if you couldn’t have made your way back

destined to slow-spiral forever

like a plastic bag on a windy day

“to touch the face of God” they say

well, I’m not sure he is that close

or even that far away

One Sixteenth Greek

We throw compliments back and forth between ourselves

like a bottle of wine being passed around a circle of friends

taking turns to swig

we make sincere and sweet and supportive statements

the essence and elixir of friendship

and we teach ourselves to swallow the other’s good opinion of us

and we learn to trust we each mean what the others say about us

and we learn not to listen to the voice that says

“they’re just saying that”

these words are powerful

these words bolster

make us believe

we are what others see we are

and some unexpected compliments stay with me

and puncture through my doubt and disbelief

when you told me my hands look pretty when I talk

you made me feel like the most beautiful girl

that ever gesticulated

The Colour Of A Grated Carrot

A dedication to the colour of a grated carrot

Such vibrancy!

such vividness!

how can that even be from nature’s own making?

is it in the grating?

does that release extra carotene?

has the colour been

written about before

by poets of yore?

or

has the task been left to me

to describe eloquently

how just amazingly bright

the sight of a freshly grated carrot is?

A Decline

It suddenly became all too apparent

just what she had declined

when she decided to

not take him up on what she thought he was offering

love, marriage, companionship

together ever after

although there was no

formal proposal

she's supposing that’s what she declined

they could have gone all the way to the top

but she declined

the pinnacle of everything she wanted

but she declined

so close to touching

but she declined

so close to reaching

but she declined

turned around

went all the way down

a decline

Or Almost

I think, technically, I may be middle-aged.

or almost

if I fold my life over

like a piece of paper

and the crease is where I am now

then one edge is seventy

or almost

I would like to get old

it’s the only way I know to stay alive

I would love to be comfortable with

a body that is becoming an autumn leaf

the lines that will become deeper etched on my face

some describe as crow’s feet

but to me

they are trenches

dug out from years of battles

little victories and larger losses

furrowed brow

laughter lines

the sketches of a work in progress

“It’s a process”

they say

well, that’s okay with me

to live

is better than the alternative