because peonies bloom here in April
i put them in these poems
and risk pathetic fallacy to say they are
patience in green-pink pods
or longing or delights sudden appearance
after rain pink sun on a stem
unfurling fragrance
establishment
purveyor of ants to the kitchen table
cheerleaders in a blue vase
puffed mothers of song
saints of desired
beloved
beloved
Nocturne
Nightbirds sing in the holly tree just outside my window
a trilling ode to darkness, then call and response
my old dog snores through his long ShihTzu body
stretched out on the rug
one by one the houses up and down the street
go dark, bedtime stories read, dishes done
and the small dragon that lives in the Cooper Creek culvert
stirs herself on her pile of gleaming stones
begins her nightwatch, spreads her sturdy wings
and glides along the rooftops, keeping her red eyes peeled
and her fires stoked
I Write These Poems at Night
The Crow Dilemma
They Called Me
a big boxy girl
who lived up
the street, Moose,
The Bigger, she's
a brick house
mighty mighty
I was Moose,
The Shorter
a younger version
just as chubby
they said
became Lizzie
after my Confirmation name
Saint Elizabeth they
chanted Lizzie is a Lezzie
at summer camp but
we all were then
and when I went out
as a short-haired
boy in a ballcap
I'd be Lee for no
reason except
it was shorter
my last first name
syllable spelt wrong
on purpose to be familiar
a beloved blue jeans brand
or else it would be L-i-e
and nobody wants
to be called that
in Spanish class
I was Leanna which
wasn't Spanish but
something I'd invented
to sound that way
and passing notes
with Nancy was I Star
or Moon or was she?
My many names nest one
inside another
matryoshka-ed
self-contained
