I stretch out Thursday afternoon
until it is see-through at the edges.
I talked to so many people today
and all of them chanted: go west
but maybe that’s not what’s best for me.
Down south is crawling with ***** whispers
and I want to pull them out of the ground
and rinse them clean. Like vegetables
spread out on the kitchen table
in late September: orange and purple
and the scent of soil heavy
by the open windows.

At my aunt’s house,
as a kid, the mudroom was my favorite place -
transition point between low-ceilinged
dark and quiet inside space
and the impossible Vermont sky,
the chickens and the garden
and grass that sloped down to a valley
the size of my child fist. Sometimes in the evening
we’d see coyotes creep from the shadows
of the trees down below, or hear the foxes cry.
We would hike up the gravel road
and climb the mountain before the sun set,
scramble back down in the dusk.
I wish I remembered more
than just picking grass and slowly
splitting it into strips, to learn the way
my hands were capable of deconstructing.
But it came in useful later,
when we went into the woods
to strip the birch trees of their bark:
the best kindling for fire.

So smoke rises and chases us.
To keep the smoke away,
my aunt says, you have to think
about white rabbits. Little
does she know - my ideas
are always half-baked or burnt.
Never the way they should be.
So I do what I think I hear her say –
and I think about white rabbits,
covered in mud.

Somewhere in Vermont
I see the sky
Stars scattered
like lighting bugs back home

Clouds drift,
Cold breeze,
Threatening rain

Shaped like an unfamiliar constellation
Headlamps shine
Some red, some blue, some yellow
Some bright, some dim

There's a presence here
Neither scary
Or threatening

Or even mysterious

People breathe,
A guitar sounds,
Pens scribble
Each in unity with the other

Somewhere in Vermont
People write
Separated by space
Their own thoughts
Spilling around them

Combining as one
Yet still
Individual

Brought together
By happenstance

They breathe together
as
One

I wander trails that are shaded by trees
until I reach the first steep rock scramble.
Walking steadily on old, crunchy leaves
I believe it's the mountains' preamble

I scale these rocks with eager hands and feet
my yearning heart pumps blood through my blue veins.
This mountain will not hand me my defeat
muscles strain and the rocks help break my chains.

Sturdy rocks and sacred trees surround me
their presence strengthens my weak, depressed bones.
My muscles burn with effort, but I'm free
to become one with the trees and the stones.

Though there are times where my mind may plummet.
I'll survive the fall, I've reached the summit.

Spring comes
as grasses leap forth
and emerald hues are added to the landscape,
with wildflowers peeking up from the
dewy roadside.
The world smells
fresh like worms and earth,
while birds drift down to finish last year’s
seeds.
Yellow rain boots hop
out of shelves and into the puddles,
while mud gathers and plays in the road,
gurgling with mirth at passers by.
The badminton net is resurrected,
regally looming over the lawn,
as the swings squeak joyfully in the breeze.
The fireplace gives a sooty yawn
and falls to sleep.
And in the kitchen, fiddleheads unfurl upon
a hot pan
as the old and sour scent of the earth
settles upon our plates,
spring steps lightly
onto the world.

~Yuka Oiwa
May 6, 2008

a woman I once knew
that came fly with me
why I've been there
she found 'twas me
in Rutland only she  
pitted & fell in love
yet believed in me
until such a lore
with her bikini  
by the shore
that admire  
rendezvous

finally
    a moment
  comes
delicately
to sit
  relaxed
  in quiet
   peace.

I close my eyes
to hear
what is in the silence.

beautiful summer rain
soaking
the trees
an the old metal roof
sings along
with unusual songbirds
this year
creaky aluminum
bends in temperature changes
a door sways
back an forth
gentle rhythms
all together
a benevolent band
wet parachuting droplets
bursting on impact,
a soft howling wind
accompanying
their tune.

my ears hummmm..

with vibrations,

apparently
I only hear
when I listen
so intently to life.

which is something
I need to do more often
to be honest
amongst the utter
chaos an confusion
I am currently in.

contentedness for me
is a destination I seek.

it is then-
it is then when I find my ZEN,
where I can honestly be
I honestly am
appreciative
for even
the pain
that I have felt.

that I've endured.

that I have persevered over.

why?
you might wonder?

I think it is simple-
cumulus clouds provide rain,
rain provides water,
water is life.

I am water,
an therefore
I wish to be.

I can tell you that I am tall,
an I am also not petite,
an some they might say sturdy,
like a tree who has two feet,

An I used to be so thin,
as a stick, I heard em say,
though I won't say I'm too big,
I'm no longer quite that way,

Well I have a little belly,
as some older women do,
I earned it,
what I think,
with my cooking yeah it's true,

So someone might say "chubby"
an I guess OK with that,
I keep an eye on the scale each day,
so I won't end up too fat,
as I sample of my cooking,
to add in this an that,

Sometimes I might wear some makeup
though most days I do not,
especially in the summertime,
when the sun is blazing hot,

I wear my jeans till *****,
yup more than just few hours,
some say I am a witch,
who's got some kinda powers,
I like the rain a lot you know,
and soaking in warm showers,

I'm not sure that I'm ****,
my face has many wrinkles,
I like vanilla bean ice cream,
with some yummy chocolate sprinkles,
and some say that I still glow at night,
my eyes they sorta twinkles, ; )

I sip my wine at night to ease,
I work and write by day,
my thoughts come in a rushing breeze,
way more than I can say,

I see the world much differently
than others who are around,
I hear the leaves as they fall dreaming,
an as they hit the sacred ground,
poetry is everyone,
in every lovely sight -an sound

I love my little Tanley cat,
he sits atop my shoulder,
first thing in the morning too,
an each day I'm gettin' older,
I don't take the **** life gives,
cuz I'm a gettin' a lil' bolder,
winters in Vermont are now
much warmer 'stead of colder,

I have an older Subaru,
with lucky all wheel drive,
that thing is like a tank ya know,
it's helped me stay alive,
if you are in the wilderness,
I could help ya to survive,

I cut an split our wood a lot,
but I say the "F" word too,
an I can cook most ANYTHING,
especially a stew!!

Emmmm, emmm yummy!

an I don't have a lot of friends,
but the few I have are true,

If you  really wanna know-
just what I'm really like,
well come up to Vermont -c'mon!
and we'll take a lovely hike,
or take snowmobile out in wintertime,
or catch a real big ugly pike,
or introduce you too my 6'8"
nephew -
who's name is little Mike,

I am so honest- genuine,
I love all people- same,
love is in my heart you see,
to me- it's not a game,
and life is what you make it,
so it's not about the blame,
an I no longer carry anger near,
or not any hidden shame,

I am a very gentle soul,
unless you cross me bad,
and even then I'd likely be,
only maybe sad,
I use my measures often too-
especially the "tad" : )

I think you'd want me in your corner-
I defend mine 'til the death,
an I will speak my certain truth-
until my last an dying breath,

Most days I feel misunderstood,
a curse I bear - alone,
I keep here pretty quite too,
an I like to be at home,

I guess I'm left of center,
NO didn't vote for stupid Trump,
I called him more than maybe twice,
an orange looking angry chump,

I have so many scars,
on my hands from workin hard,
I think I made clean money,
an now I am the bard,

Of a place I love the very most,
where I am my own queen,
and living every day here,
is nothing but a dream,
as I have come to realize,
things are never as they seem,

And we all need to learn,
to be present and to be,
okay with that,
as content is what I seek,

an until I am in total peace,
then I will write,
till the last word that I speak,

turning our truth-
into beautiful poetry.


Ma Cherie © 2017