(This is titled "Summertime".)
The air conditioning goes out. I'm going crazy. Why don't you call the repairman and the doctor and the dentist? A tree falls on our fence. Get me out of here. Why don't you call and get several quotes then go to Home Depot? I drive to the grocery store, to camp, to the library, to the video store. Give me a break! What do you do all day, anyway?
You have a lot of nerve to be unhappy," my ex-husband shouted to me across the terrace. "Do you know how many women would love to live your life?" "No," I wondered, "how many?" All I knew and all I cared about was that I was not happy, but how could I do this to my children? "It's better to come from a broken home than to live in one," my best friend told me. I hate clichés. There is no black and white, no easy answer. It was not easy. "Nobody said it would be easy," my mother quipped." It was not easy but I did it. I am free. I am happy, most of the time.
Later, she revisited this piece. Here's how it looks now.
(This is called "Grammar, A Love Poem".)
I wanted to be the subject of my sentence. I wanted to be the verb in my life. I wanted to be the adjective in my headline. I am one. You are two. One and two makes we. What will be in our lives? When will we become three? What will the rest of our story say?
(It's hard to go last because everyone here, you know, I feel, is a poet or has access to poetry but what was interesting for me is that's not my talent and yet having to use certain grammatical forms, certain kinds of sentences, helped me actually to write a poem without fretting so much. So here it goes. Okay. I don't have a title.)
There is a glass cup on the table. There is a lemon wedge on the rim of the glass cup on the table. Why do I feel like that lemon wedge, teetering on the rim, about to fall into the cup, when I am nervous? I'd like to feel like the lemon wedge swimming contentedly in a pool of ice water instead. Imagine being a lemon.