revisited a poem from Rosicrucian workshop

May comes

dogwood blossoms curl, brown

glad orange poppies about the house.

On top of Red Bud mountain

my dog and I pause

our house between branches

down where the spring runs.

I understand cremation has the advantage

of stopping the desire body

from coming back.

Yet I know the lust in my heart

is huge for this spot

and it will be all I can do

to not return.

Mhnorth

4/29/12

“the desire body in May”

with an empty feeling

Moving through the day, realizing about 9 am that I do not have to dress out of my old gardening garb, I slow down, even sitting in a chair on my deck under the shade of the red bud. Six shows and we began to gain a momentum as if the next weekend might repeat, but no we are loose into our own idiosyncratic habitats!
I vow to add committed writing time to my schedule, not just my afternoon escape from the heat reading/writing time, but a before opening the chickens hiatus! Well, it's a thought. I want to work on a poem that has been chasing my thoughts, usually when driving, that hinges on "I was that only one who could tell you apart." My mother's words to which she added the action of switching our birth bracelets. At Turo hospital in New Orleans in the spring of 1945, babies received bracelets which were made of small beads. I have mine still with "baldwin baby B." I wonder if I am really Mary. My twin Mimi certainly looked more like our grandmother, Mary, with her rounder face. Whereas I had the more oval face like our grandmother, Mildred.  I imagine that my mother got caught switching them, swearing that she had them right. Who would care, really. Only for 51 years, Mildred Baldwin has been engraved on the Hayne granite head stone in Metairie Cemetary. 
Identity has been an issue for me; I tend to twin with others. I do think that I married my first husband for among other reasons (that he stood up to  my mother's berating of me, for one) that he seemed to know what he was doing, he had direction. NORTH!

He's Here

My new grandchild, True, is home. Smiling like he's familiar with this new space,smiling and delighted at Mojo, smiling up at me and right into my heart. He crawled over to his sister and pulled up, sturdy; and I wager soon walking. Oh, handsome little one, we are so glad you are home. 
 

 

OPENING NIGHT!

The plan is to take a nap as Miss Katrina woke me up with her scratching on the closet door and meowing. I can feel excitement in my throat and chest. There will be much energy in the black box theater tonight with a full house. Dress rehearsal went well, a bit slow. Diane helped us all with make-up, but my lips were a little too bright - said Bob! I swallowed a few words of a line in my melanoma poem - but no one seemed to notice.We had not been able to coax many folks to rehearsal, but Molly and her friend Tacy and Andy came - which was certainly better than no one. It is more fun, now that we relate to each other on stage; Ann and Liz and I get to act up on stage at several points: we dance while Diane speaks her "Boot scootin boogie" poem, and we jostle on the ottoman while Diane does her "goddess"poem. Ann slipped slightly during her dance, but she giggled so very delightfully that - recovering as if it was nothing - I thought it endearing. Liz has a sore throbbing tooth which gave her some problem with her opening story - but she so valiantly rises to the occasion that the story unfolded more wonderfully than ever. It is as if, now that we have rehearsed this into our bones, we are able to be ourselves on stage - and it is fun. Whatever else the audience may take away, they will have a chance to see six women be their authentic selves.

High Rver

Waking this morning surrounded by rushing water sound. Had to walk down to see the river, see the drama from all this rain.

The falls are running; galloping river, hardly Little
bringing silt, mud red
to New.