in this notebook

stories ensue
continue
explain
examine
express
this is *it*
life living itself
out loud
and overheard
and here, in this
notebook,
in this digital
camera,
recorded.

take care. i love you.

take care,
i love you
and the phone
clicks shut
here in
this
evidence
of now
flashing
bulb
bulbless
tulip
springing
forth
the winter
is over
we are in the
deep heart
of pollinated
spring
a ring
dadadadadadada
jen and the baby
are here.
aha.
now i know a name.
i'll call you when i get home.
okay
bye
a click of the closed
phone
my dad calls me
every day
she tells jen
the skinny friend
her own pregnancy
protruding
life has its
way with
all of us
a ring
dadadadadadada
some words of
love and explanation
the click
of a closed
connection
cut off?
released.
again. to
LIFE in the present moment.

LIFE living itself

one more
glass
of clear
water
to ascertain
teh half fullness
as i tip over
past full
i am in the
bliss
of this
easy
morning.
i am here
in the crepes a go go
sitting in my
corner perch
observing
both the
rose and
its reflection
baby girl
at home now
on the outside lap
of her already
skinny
mother
eathing
partaking of
crepe
a go go ing
nowhere
for just
a little
while
alive
in the
wide
joy
of entering
a body
exiting
a body
soul
aspiring
fulfilled
LIFE
living itself
AHHHHHHH

A W A K E

the dangerously thin
red head
older than she
should be
greets ghimila
with familiarity
smiles a hello
in my direction
breathes a
breath of clarity
onto her lenses
and wipes the
wet fog
away
settles into
her book
comfortably
turns the
thin pages
crackling
the joy
A W A K E.

here and gone

here and gone
the long muscles
of the slender
young
terse
beauty
in and out
in a caffeinated
hurry
already
on
her
way

to where, so fast?

new life's cries

a pregnant blonde
carrying a baby girl
new to the world
her friend
brunette mother
is thin again
so fast?
the return to
before body?
how does one sweat
so much? so often?
amid the
languorous joy
of new life's
cries?

no j in arabic

ghimila offers to take my picture.
ghimila.
she takes two--
we don't have J in arabic--
and i ask her her name
we shake hands.

a.i.r. reflections

here, at crepes a go go
i lapse into poetry
mother and daughter
battle out
the inconsistencies
of service
ire
and money spent
hard times
traffic details
driving records
play their spinning way
today i am her
at this cafe
instead of my beloved
denica's
because i, too,
had to take my prius
to toyota.

again, connected.
through overheard
story, double mocha and crepe.

spinach, cheese, mushroom & turkey crepe + double mocha

i sit
enjoy
eat
take in the doisneau
reminiscences
am transported
to a crepery
there
tour de eiffel
rising from the papers they
are printed on
i am once again
in the rich memory
of prin temps
and my stroll
down the
champs elysee
sitting in outdoor cafes
lingering over $8 cokes
rejoicing in the
mishmash of
asian guitarists
bringing alive the john denver
song
take me home
to paris, love
with this crepe
i am ready
for the steps of
sacre cour
the joys of mon martre
take me home.

tuesday, may 13

here i sit
startled into joy
by the jutting poem
emerging as clear
inspiration
from the granite
sandwich.
i pause in the pausing
place
the bamboo worn
away
by impatient
footprints
wanting to get
closer
to the
miracle
of these
unexpected
words.
i read the gift of them
came from you,
dear tobi earnhart gold
age 9
from my favorite
bolinas, california
a river of words
contest
winner
how old are you
now?
and how did you
know
your
words
would give me
pause
to see this place
this glorious
walnut
creek
and cause me,
as you have
to spend some looking time
seeing, at last,
your grandmother tree.
fallen
as she may be
your words
have brought her
and indeed this
place
finally
alive
to me.