Feliz y Prospero Año

I shall be spending New Year's Eve in Puerto Vallarta and starting January 1st will participate in the River of Stones, few words of observations, little stones in the river. I am excited to spend the first 12 days gathering stones from old friends and favorite places. Then return to Seattle to figure out how to get back to paradise again.

Thank you for reading.

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Waiting for Christmas

I
If the absent proprietor neglects the trussed up trees much longer
they will be no good for Christmas…
their arms pressed so tight to dark middle
crippled-like, unable to relax, unfold;
Sad branches unwilling to be adorned
and support shiny stars from tinseled fingers.

Soon needles
compressed, suffocating
will turn color
shed
thin in some places
thicken in others
no longer suitable for Christmas
not fitting for joy, pleasure, presentation

A smell will emit
once pleasing
now akin to casualty, rotting from inside to out
no longer cedar, pine, life
instead mold, must, morose

II
They called you Mr. Christmas
pride, splendor, wit
those were your gifts
given and got
some things made so much difference to you
new to your journey
you embraced those traditions and transitions
made them your own

III
Ornament collections now like key chains;
Full of questions, vagaries, whimsies, loss.

IV
A live tree or a fake?
One is not alive
having been cut down and bound like an animal
and the other is still a tree
neither is it alive
How steadfast, how loyal are the branches
How steadfast, how loyal are the branches


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NOT, ACTUALLY

It’s the late 1960’s. Robin, a pregnant runaway in Los Angeles meets Davey, a darling British boy who happens to be gay. Davey proposes marriage to Robin so he can stay in the US and work; continue his relationship with Enrique, the son of a Venezuelan diplomat; and Robin can keep the baby she has pledged to give up for adoption. To muddle their lives and create complications of the ordinary and inane, Robin engages in an adventurous relationship with a dancer who turns out to be enormously wealthy but less available as time goes on. Robin and her friends, who live together in a house by MacArthur Park, become involved in the sticky web of Scientology, connive against the INS and protest the war in Viet Nam. NOT, ACTUALLY takes place at the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, when young people grew up quickly, altered the world they lived in and changed the meaning of innocence.

Black Friday

Giving their thanks with no ordinary feast
Americans from coast to coast
Shamelessly devour food enough to cause complaint,
Which quite often puts them to sleep
So they may
Store energy for the equally traditional
Black Friday shopping on the following day,
When consumers boost the country’s economy
And push the red ink over the line,
Turning it magically to black.

Doorbuster Deals to entice the post-Thanksgiving shoppers
Was not a concept taken seriously by Jdimypai Damour
Until the entrance bulged, snapped and overflowed
With eager New Yorkers
At the darkened hour of 5 a.m.
Seeking a most important supreme Christmas gift.

The blood and bones of Jdimypai Damour
Remained on the floor
Of the Wal-Mart store
As checkers scanned the treasures of holiday shoppers,
Who went back home to eat leftover turkey sandwiches
With chilled cranberry sauce,
And watch the 6’o’clock news
Of the California shootings that left
Two people dead in the aisles of Toys-R-Us,
For the sake of one sought after toy,
Giving new meaning to Loss leader.


(Based on actual events Black Friday 2008)


Thank you for reading.

Awake in the Mid Night

The moon
A crescent
Rolled over on its back
You could toss your hat in the air
Land it on the chin of that moon
To say hello to me

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The Secret Life of Jasmin Garcia Guadalupe

The Secret Life of Jasmin Garcia Guadalupe







Halfway down the steps close to the church
behind the merceria
where she bought thread in late afternoon
after she tells her papi her stockings need mending,
Jasmin Garcia Guadalupe
spreads her skirt into a fan,
folds it across her behind
first left, then right,
this for a little cushion
keeps her tender skin
from the dusty, cracked cement.

Her lips gather the corner of one small plastic bag
filled with water, nectar, jarabe,
sucks like a baby.

Leans her cheek on warm rough wall
watches buses rumble below,
going places she will never know.
Jasmin Garcia Guadalupe
dreams of a seat
in the window
of the big blue bus...
Jesus painted on the back
arms spread wide
oversized palms
with rusty centers.
Jasmin would say
if anyone asked her
that the Bus Jesus says
“Why follow me?”
eyes rolled up to heaven
oily black smoke blowing out his feet.

Lovers steal kisses in shadows;
Señora Diego leans out her window, pulls at her moustache;
niños plucking mangos over a broken fence…
juice runs down their chins, between fingers,
laughing, cussing, shoving, “Animo!”

Ignacio makes the knees of Jasmin Garcia Guadalupe tremble;
bent weary, he comes up the stairs,
work shirt thrown over shoulder
dangling from wiry hanger
he keeps it spotless 'til he gets to the sizzling café.
Ignacio's undershirt with soaking armpits
so white the sun lives in it.

He comes to where the girl sits
whose father would like to kill him,
and stops to find his breath.

“You are the delicious peach.
I think to sink my teeth into your skin.
I think to lick your seed.”

Ignacio passes,
Jasmin shivers,
church bells clang.

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SEVEN WAVES

On Labor Day Monday I can acknowledge that I have momentarily put my labors to rest. After months of editing, my novel is ready for the scrutinizing eye of the eager agent. The title, having been changed from MOZO to SEVEN WAVES, takes on a bit of a new light with this identity.

Here is the pitch I gave at the PNWA Conference:

Rachel Lawrence is a woman without a midlife crisis. Married young to the right man, mother of successful adult children, her life is financially secure -- Rachel leads an enviable existence. Without warning, circumstances rip her stable foundation away, forcing Rachel to rethink her identity and future. Rachel moves restlessly between Seattle and Puerto Vallarta, discovering the full scope of her options until she makes a well considered decision to live in Mexico. She is wise enough to recognize danger at sight, but human enough to follow her passions as she witnesses violence, deceit and the upheaval of a cultural core. As she stands on her balcony on the Mexican Riviera, watching the small tour boats turning toward shore -- "It is the seventh wave that will bring you in " -- Rachel realizes that she must develop her own instinctive timing to navigate the years ahead.

No, it is NOT autobiographical. I have, of course, been able to write this story because of my own experiences living and loving in Mexico.

I’m excited to announce that I’ve begun to work on my next novel and long to devote my waking hours in front of my computer as I once was able to do. Alas, that is not possible at this time in my own personal story. But I fervently believe in myself and remained convinced that a change gonna come, oh yes it will.

Recently JK Rowling told her readership “No story lives unless someone wants to listen – so thank you, all of you.” A woman of great wisdom, that one.

I cannot give enough thanks to Enoch Anderson for his diligent and faithful editing. To my friends who have read SEVEN WAVES and commented, criticized, added, deleted, I am infinitely grateful. Your enthusiasm and encouragement have given me the boost I’ve needed to convince myself of the worthiness of this project and the possibilities that await my future.
Thank you for reading.


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