there was a tiny girl
who lived in a shoe
she had so much footwear
she didn't know what to do:
itsy-bitsy teensy-weensy
sneakers and pumps
and microscopic oxfords
that made her heart jump

the little clogs she wore
were custom-made in france
they went well with leisurewear
like her blue capri pants

she loved her ballet slippers
(the ones that did not pinch)
and preferred stilettos with heels
a sixteenth of an inch

her favorite choice of footgear
was a gift that could not be hipper:
a resplendent miniature pair
of magical ruby slippers

and she looked quite lovely always
wearing a minuscule diamond crown
and was the belle of every ball
as she twirled in her wee princess gown

He remembers his son's young eyes,
    clear and brown as marbles,
And when laughter made the boy's face
    light up with joy.
He remembers his step, like a
    thoroughbred's, galloping
    through the dust,
And his enormous kites soaring
    into the unknown.
A boy in cowboy boots,
    exploring the jungle.
A boy enchanted with frogs
    and the graceful flight of birds.
                           *                                                                
His father tries to find him now
    in this other jungle,
    sinking into the quicksand
    of another world,
And he still remembers those eyes -
    still young, still clear
    and brown as marbles.

mom was on "password" once

i saw a rerun of the program
the other day
on the game show channel

peter lawford
kept feeding her
bad clues

he looked at her
condescendingly
but i suspect
she was too entranced
by his bushy eyebrows
and **** smile
to even notice

i didn't really like
his smirk
when she kept guessing wrong
and then
when his clue was "passion"
she giggled

he winced

i laughed out loud
sitting there
in my disheveled living room
rain pounding
on the awning
the dog asleep
on my lap
magazines piled high
at my feet
my mother's laughter
lighting the room
like a lovely luminous ghost

Your nimble fingers
secrete the stray
merchandise at Main
Street's Almighty
Dollar Store -
a place brimming with
inanimate objects made in
Japan and China,
transported into your bulky
winter coat's four
outside pockets

Hide that pack of gum,
those ballpoint pens,
mechanical pencils, tiny
spiral bound notebooks that
fit so easily

Conceal that paperback best seller
you were looking through earlier,
the one titled "Where is God?"
in bold red type superimposed
against a threatening gray sky

Grab that bracelet for your wife,
that string of pearls too
and don't forget a bib for the
baby, a knickknack to brighten
your mother's dingy living
room and remember to take
those black leather gloves
so perfect for the
months ahead

With your heart racing,
move toward the exit door,
walk - don't run - avoid
eye contact - that's it -
keep going, but slowly

And then, as you take a few
steps forward outside,
someone from behind roughly
grabs your shoulders

As you turn around, those
gloves fall out
of a crowded pocket,
landing on the
snowy sidewalk

The hefty security
guy retrieves the
gloves and nudges
you back into the
warmth of the store

Somewhere in the
distance, carolers
are singing "Silent Night"

Every now and then
everything seems to stop

you pause
look around
survey
and then it's as if
you go away
all of a sudden
vanish
into a state of suspension
your physical self
released
your mind    body    soul
sways
you drift
into some safe sprawling space
where nothing really
touches you
there are no borders
no boundaries
nothing audible   nothing visible
except a strong comforting light
sweeping you into its
   expanding warmth
no fear   no anguish
as you bathe in this vast radiance
this glimpse into oneself
this singular moment
of infinite grace

Suspending moments
above this spindle stretch,
the rope tugged tight
under his shifting feet,
his eyes catch the spotlight
shining on ring one.

Transfixed by the knife-thrower,
he too is strangely thrown,
hands leaping endlessly
through a somersault sky;
hands to head, hands to chest,
then to thigh,
while knives turn quickly
and a liquored mob shouts:
voices breaking
against the freak show tent.

Smiling upon her sleeping there
Graceful child with face so fair
With hair like flame and eyes so dark
And laughter like a meadowlark

Lovely child of summer light
Her prayer like music in the night
Her mind proceeds in peaceful flight
To dream of clowns and leaping kites

Sleeping through these silver dreams
Her breathing soft as gentle snow
That drifts upon December's trees
To light the darkened land below

Her quiet heart as light as wings
That fill the sky in early spring
Her hopes are bold and brave and bright
Her love as warm as candlelight