Rat's Country: If My life depended on it...

If my life depended on it, if someone held a gun to my head and said "Write profound thoughts," all that would come to mind would be old sayings like, "A penny saved is a penny earned" or "Do unto others as you would be done by."

Rat's Country: Another Doppleganger

Imagine one child standing behind her friend, pushing her forward.  The first reticent child, with her fist to her mouth, stumbles forward with the momentum of  gentle shoves.  The child behind speaks confidently, "You can do it.  Don't be afraid."

I am both children.

Rat's Country: A Meditation on Lurking

A meditation on lurking:  the cartoon where the private eye  in his trench coat and fedora hat lurks behind a tree.  The masked burglar, too, lurks and then makes his move, tiptoeing out of the house with the silverware in a bag over his shoulder.  Danger lurks everywhere.  The passenger next to you on the flight home has a bomb in his shoe.  No, it’s not him.  It’s the granny knitting on a bench in the train station you need to keep an eye on.

When I am not worried about dangers lurking behind every bush and tree, I am concerned about what I am leaving undone that was important to do.  What have I lost that I don’t know I have lost and will need any minute:  the keys to the car, the checkbook, something to stop the bleeding.  What will be revealed in the lightening bolt of sudden change?

Scorpio Women Are Born Bi-Polar

Scorpio Women Are Born Bi-Polar

I am having a good day.

 Let me tell you about myself. 

I say clever things my friends remember.

 I am kind, caring, bold,

sometimes,

a beautiful woman,

some days,

who deserves manicures, pedicures, exquisite clothing.

Some days

the world conspires to make me  awkward,

unimportant,

 lacking in grace, inclined to drool.

On those days

I am disguised as a thick-waisted lumpenprole,

a shy librarian with tiny affectations

and autistic bursts of knowledge.

One rare day I told the world

(of course, no one was listening)

I am a rare spirit, intuitive and deeply feminine,

an ancient priestess who could rule a kingdom

and read the stars.

Happy Birthday to Me

Happy Birthday to Me

No middle.  Too bad.  A rectangle  on slender  legs.

Ask my friends what  I  have said  worth remembering

Notice  that I love anything that

Crunches.  A ruminate

Yesterday  I tried.  God knows.  Today I begin with promises.

Men in  my dreams?  Always  familiar  but odd.

            Last night my  dentist  curled my  Cher

Hair in red rollers.

Chambray shirts.  Levis.  Suede  jacket.  Gold earrings.

            That’s me.   I sound like some  bitch from Jackson Hole.

            I don’t mean to.

Let’s say she was always interesting,  sometimes

            Beautiful.

Let’s imagine a fire.  She rushes into her house to save

            Five  things.  She  burns with  indecision.

Always says a childhood prayer.  Every night.

No middle.  Too bad.   Built  like a Snickers bar.

Dang.  She’s good company.

Rat's Country: I think it would be fun to design...

I think I would be fun to design a jack-in-the-box so that what pops up is your worst nightmare:  your boss, your ex-, what you will look like if you don’t go on a diet.

Rat's Country: Scorpios

You are in that grand class of Scorpios, with their intelligence, wit, angst, passion, aspirations for greatness, and crafty ways of sabotaging their own best interests.

Rat's Country: If not now...

If not now, when?

Rat's Country: I don't think there is much new...

I don't think there is much new to discuss with myself.

Rat's Country: When you are a prisoner...

When you are a prisoner and you are being transferred from the courthouse to the jail, the guards walk close to you.  They box you in—to your right, left, behind, and in front of you.  At least that’s the way it is in the movies.

It’s the same with celebrities.  Did you ever think of that?  But the prisoner is a bad person, guarded so she won’t get away to do more harm.  The celebrity is guarded because she is precious and must be protected.

You and I don’t need to be guarded, being neither dangerous nor valuable.  

She Comes Home from College for the Weekend

She Comes Home from College for the Weekend

a prose poem

You may laugh, but it feels like a visit from royalty, and  that we are not the parents of royalty, but that we are, you know, the faithful retainers.  When she sits on the floor  of the castle sorting photos, we sigh and say, “Yes, that was you, your blonde hair a halo in the light filtered by redwood trees.”  And we say, “Your hands were always beautiful.”  Yes, we are the humble servants glad to have her back for a weekend, more amused and attentive than anyone to her tales of adventure on the coast of Mexico.  We gladly wash her clothes, fix the door of her car, only tsk slightly to ourselves.  “She is messy,” our eyes say.  Will her carelessness cause her harm, we wonder. 

We sympathize with her parents who deny these leave takings.  We are glad we can stand for them, waving as she backs out of the driveway  and then goes forward into the flow of noisy traffic.