Friday the 13th

history has tainted the day of my birth
Jesus was crucified on a Friday
after being betrayed by Judas
his thirteenth guest
at the Last Supper
a coven of witches
when joined by the devil
equals thirteen
Adam and Eve were banished
from the Garden of Eden on a Friday
well-known serial killers
have thirteen letters in their names

the date instills an uneasiness
in the minds of otherwise rational people
who wear amulets of protection
to ward off lurking evil
and live cautiously for twenty-four hours
taking no unnecessary chances with fate
the number alone instills such fear
high-rises and hospitals skip the thirteenth floor
airports omit both gates and aisles
bearing the unlucky number
giving fear credibility
in a superstitious society

did Jesus not rise from the dead?
does Jesus plus twelve apostles not equal thirteen?
did Eve not gain the gift of knowledge?
are there not thirteen letters in the name Mahatma Gandhi?
Friday, ruled by Venus, the day of Freya
goddess of love and fertility
the day of my first breath of life
thirteen is the extra cookie in a baker’s dozen
an unexpected gift of sweetness
my number of luck and good fortune
just one of many oddities
characterizing the uniqueness of my life


* first published in Poesia in July 2006

my Sanctuary

upon entering your doors, I inhale deeply

breathing in the smell of paper, ink, the glue of bindings

at once I am at home and lost

unable to decide where to begin my quest

within your vast walls of knowledge

I want to learn Italian, ancient ceremonies,

the name of the flowering tree in the park,

how to use my new camera, new vegetarian dishes,

the type of hawk that circles above my woods

hours slip by unnoticed as I drift between shelves

often sprawling out in the floor with my treasures

trying in vain to decide what I cannot leave without

choosing carefully the nourishment for my mind and soul

I leave with a sigh of satisfaction and regret

hurrying home with a feast as large as my arms can carry

already plotting the course of my next escape

first published on www.strondes.com in September 2005

Rebirth

I have been in gestation
for over six years
in an airtight cocoon
slowly chewing my way out
with bleeding gums and aching jaws
only now do I see
the smallest shard of light
beckoning me to chew faster
fresh air seeps through
bringing my first taste of freedom
with one final push
I burst through the crack
leaving the darkness behind
and suddenly become aware
that I have grown wings



* first published in issue 14 of Blackwidows Web of Poetry in 2003
* published in volume 29 of Parnassus Literary Review in 2005

Winter

the dead of winter settles in
freezing my energy with it’s darkness
it begs for sleep and additional insulation which I freely give
I am drawn to my kitchen
where baking cookies thaws my frostbitten brain
and hot chocolate melts the icicles hanging in my throat
I stand before my oven
trying to remember the warmth of the sun
when layers are stripped for the comfort of nakedness
the howling wind sends me back to bed shivering
where I become an iceberg in a sea of blankets
waiting for spring to defrost my soul


* first published in Curriculum Vitae Literary Supplement

Fading Daylight

from my perch above the city
I watch the sun set in the western horizon
the moon appears in the eastern sky
as if the sun dropping on a seesaw
is launching it upward into place

finger-painted clouds glow with brilliance
I imagine portals into other dimensions
beyond doors of gold, apricot, and lavender
mysteries just missed by an airplane
managing not to stray from its course

staring directly into the fiery orb
I close my eyes before the water comes
searing the image before me
into the back of my eyelids
like glowing red crayon

my senses alert with eyes closed
I detect the odor of decaying leaves
rustling as scurrying squirrels store acorns
birds gather on wires holding meetings of preparation
as crickets serenade the last days of warmth


* first published in SecondWind in December 2004

Yearning to Go

inside my heart yearns to be free
to travel to countries beckoning me
to see with my eyes such wondrous sights
as the sky when it glows with the northern lights
I want to hear the song of the humpback whale
and hike where fallen teardrops covered the trail
I want to see glaciers where the howling wind blows
and ride an elephant where the rainforest grows
I want to hear the sound of the eagle’s screech
and without a saddle ride a horse on the beach
I want to explore sunken treasures beneath the seas
and stand in a forest of huge redwood trees
I want to see bright tulips as the windmill turns
and watch tribal dances as the campfire burns
I want to ride a gondola through the canals
and safari where the king of the jungle prowls
I want to roam through houses cliff dwellers built
and see the tower that stands at a tilt
I want to see the castles of kings and queens
and visit the opera where the phantom sings
I want to see lighthouses that brought ships safely home
and see the famous chapel with the hand painted dome
I want to visit the fields where battles were fought
and stand in the places where Socrates taught
I want to see the lands painted by the hands of Monet
and see burial grounds where entombed mummies lay
I want to see the cathedrals where saints rest their heads
and walk along sacred pathways where Jesus has tread
I want to stand in the mysterious circle of stones
and sail through the triangle of strange occurrences unknown
I want to see the pyramids surrounded by sand
and hear the language spoken in my ancestor’s land
if all this I have seen when it is my time to die
there will be no need for sorrow, no need to cry
I will be content to know that I have been
not a guest of this world, but an intimate friend

* first published in Splizz (England) in June 2004

Skin

Skin

as a child
I collected all things foreign
stamps, postcards, rocks, coins
trying to capture the exotic
to erase my plainness
I tried on the blue-black wigs at Kmart
which only illuminated my ghostly skin
staring back at me in the mirror

this skin does not fit my soul
it looks too thin, too dull, too clean
to hold all the life within
I long to blend with the earth
to trade in my too white skin
for a rich, warm brown with eyes of cocoa
to wear gauzy saris, beaded moccasins, silk kimonos
and speak a more musical language

if only I were a snake
I would shed this ill-fitting suit
for a more tailored outfit
made of colorful, exotic materials
to coordinate with my spirit
letting me breathe
as I dance against the earth
ssspeaking in foreign tongues


* first published in America's Intercultural Magazine