StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XII, No. II

After receiving my First Communion,
I swear I floated several inches off the ground
As we made our way from the communion rail;
Dressed all in white, my soul immaculate,
I truly believed that God was with me
And all His angels watched over me,
For I was seven and my first taste of his son's
Holy sacrifice still lingered on my tongue.

We all are immigrants upon this continent,
Even the Apache and the Iroquois;
Incas and Aztecs to the south were no better,
They were all descendents, as is the North,
Of wanderlust travellers who braved
Great distances for food and open spaces;
We are a rowdy group with little patience
For those who might have us submit to them.

I am a lately immigrant, a century old child of Ellis Island,
Second generation from Palermo born in America;
I am the distant child of the first wanderers
Who crossed the Bering Strait to freely occupy this land,
Hunting mammoth and mastodon, deer and bison,
Fishing along the coasts and great rivers;
I am a child of impressed Englishmen who escaped
To the colonies a century before America was born
In bloody and eternal democratic revolution;
We are all of these and everyone of us,
Immigrant children of a newer world,
Nothing changes but our point of entry.

Talk to the Platypus about it,
He's the one in the know after all,
The shipping schedules and arrival times,
The names and patterns of security.

I'm just passerby, not the Platypus,
A cog not bolted to the operation,
And will be gone before morning comes,
A vague memory you can never prove.

I find myself willing to obey you
Without question, without doubt,
Happy that my cooperation pleases you,
Wondering if everyone feels this.

It doesn't appear I have much choice,
My hardwiring seems intrinsically hardwired
To do what is necessary to win your approval,
To love you without hesitation until my dancing day.

Pale thin, pin white models,
Emaciated women of skeletonical mass,
White washed runways
And brightly spotlighted cosmetic contracts
That homegenize dark and olive flesh
Into a well seasoned tan.

Art and life, diversity and acceptance,
Self-conscious analysis of shades and weight,
Pencil skirts, stilletos, and tight fitting jackets
Wage war against body type and cultural expectations.
Is no one comfortable in their own skin?

Thunder startled me awake,
Shook the window, a loaded boxcar
Humping on the tracks behind us.
I checked the time, the power flickered,
Came back, disappeared,
Came back again at Four Thirty one.
The border collie did not stir,
Telling me the storm was passing,
And I slipped back quickly into sleep,
Not waking again until sunrise.

The natural heart cares not for fashion,
The likes and dislikes of facebook pages
Or poker-faced photographs on a wall;
The heart knows no trends,
No paparazzi fed romantic objects,
Only what lies within its steady beat
And warms our body with their touch.

Shirtsleeves on New Years,
What a curious winter's day,
Sandals and thin blouses,
Windows open when you drive.

Christmas lights still shine,
Trees and mangers are still up,
Outside it could be spring time,
No snow or frost in sight.

So here's to the winter gods
Who choose not to blow,
There's tornadoes in St Louis
And the sun above Virginia.

Tomorrow who can know
What evil lurks in the clouds,
But today we have sunshine,
Who could ask for anything more?

Singing in the Rain, falling in love
With Gene Kelly all over again,
Imagining I was Debbie Reynolds
Dancing arm in arm across the stage;
Donald O'Connor could be my bridesmaid
If he wasn't busy being best man.

I would even practice my tap again
If that meant being closer to Gene;
I admit to being fifty or more years too late,
But hey, what's a girl suppose to do?
I would join him around his light pole in an instant.

There went the old year,
Boom shaka laca boom,
Out like a drunken sailor
Careening down the boulevard

After leaving the world littered
With righteous sectarian violence;
Earthquakes, flood and famine
Plague mountain peak and valley.

The new year stumbles in,
A mixture of alcohol and optimism;
We cheer, we party quite well,
Hoping for an unexpected miracle.