There Were No Circus Tickets

There Were No Circus Tickets

when I was a child.

Poor is what my neighbors were.

I thought everyone lived this way.

Christmas 1953 we got a television

but my younger sister was so sick she

wouldn’t even get up to watch or open her presents.

Later I watched the circus from

the box in the living room

and began to dream.

My father never denied us what was free

or that he could make.

Soon, a swing set sprang into the back yard

made from discarded pipe he painted green

complete with a hanging bar from smaller pipe.

I became a traipse artist

hanging first from knees,

then ankles

and soon from just one ankle –

Oh, I was glorious swinging

one foot wrapped around the chain.

I was performing, the trees applauded

and the chickens sang.

Elephants and the exotic animals

from “Jungle Boy” on Saturday morning TV

all paraded through our yard

as I would swing-sway, then

tight-rope across the top pipe.

There was no stopping me

in my own amazing circus

as I wrapped myself in cotton shorts –

a daisy chain halo circling my hair.

Singing calliope music in my mind.

I even perfected the bicycle - first with no hands

later I could stand on the seat my arms outstretched and free

no small task on a country rock based road.

It was the best free circus anyone ever saw.

It Seems You Have Forgotten Me.

It Seems You Have Forgotten Me

It seems you have forgotten me,

and I toil each day with your memory

coiled deep in my body as you once were,

a gentle spark leaning toward a moving.

I should have known

when you walked early,

it might also be far,

yet I never dreamed it would be away.

I remember, your small small hand

curled around my finger;

how you stumbled room to room

looking for something I could not fathom.

I remember your dark hair,

foamy with shampoo,

how you laughed when I spiked

and curled and rinsed it in the tub.

I remember dresses and boots

and coats in every size and color,

summer shorts and pants

and pleasure in your eyes,

I remember, gifts and giving,

how, when you finally had real money

you bought me a birthstone ring,

rubies spiraling the finger you once grasped.

Everything you are echoes through

the blood we share

your gentleness, indignation, caring,

always always, always your red and robust laughter.

I am walking, motherless now,

toward another birthday

anxious for your voice or presence, any

indication that you have not forgotten me!

New draft poem

35 Random Facts About Me

I once shot a neighbor and his dog with rock salt,
my father had loaded the shell;

I like old houses and old people;

Most days I feel androgynous and am quite comfortable it;

In spring and fall, I drive the back roads with all the windows down;

I feel at home with sassafras, ferns and gnarly apple trees;

I have systemic lupus arithmatosis;

For my favorite cousin, music notes have colors and numbers.

I like to do laundry but am very tired on doing everything for everybody;

Smoking is a joy I indulge in frequently;

The poems of Tennyson always sing to me;

My grandmother was in an insane asylum and couldn’t remember my name,
even though I am partly named for her;

I get five o-clock shadow on my legs;

I love the evening ‘tween time especially when the light is yellow;

I don’t like the city;

My father could play the jaw’s harp, I use to try to do it myself but always hurt my teeth;

Rainy days are a comfort to me.

As a teenage I stole Camel cigarettes from my Father and Lucky Strikes from my uncle;

Death seems like a new exciting adventure waiting for me.

I have my own religion with roots deep in dark loam, and it has never failed me.

I buy white cotton socks and I always wear them without shoes;

I like to be invisible and am sometimes so good that I being to resent the ability.

I don’t remember my childhood.  I like good West Virginia moonshine.

I see invisible people all the time and they talk to me.

I still miss the child from my miscarriage in 1970,
even though, as a rule, I’m not that fond of children;

The smell of fresh green marijuana sends me somewhere wonderful,
I don't like to smoke it, only smell it.

When I hear good music I accompany it with dancing in my head. 
I always wanted dance lessons;

I am a little afraid of cows.

I understand the language of violets and buttercups, it’s convoluted fairy speak.

I was once married to a habitual liar who was also crazy.  He’s dead now.

I am a collector of useless information and gadgets.

I am so much shorter than I think I am.