Susan, with Banana Wings

She is an angel
with a story that echoes mine
but amplified
by a frame, crumpled, by a car wreck
she floats in front of us
with her banana wings
she inspires
and glows
and even a murderer
tried to kill her hero
but she is OUR hero
soft and quiet
with a power like the prophet
Joseph Smith
she is out floating devotional, Susan.

Going to Church (Like a Mormon Girl Should) with a Migraine

The lights
amber, but far too bright
seem to grow with a crazy hot intensity
as children grow more restless
crying
singing discordantly
squirming
somewhere, an angry buzz
like a wasp from a 1930's sci-fi thriller about Martians
drills into my brain
severing whatever devotion to faith or obedience I had left
through the painful cacophony
of screaming toddlers and general shuffling noises
that bother only those with migraines
or Fibromyalgia
(or both)
is it feedback from a mic? Someone's cell phone?
Why is it resonating above all else and shattering my head like crystal?
The electronic audio poison continues.
Bored and wiggling kiddlets still yell and assault my nerves.

I ready myself to leave,
gathering my scriptures, and lightly cursing children
but mostly cursing me and this body
that cannot abide a spirit who wants to feast.

But then
the speaker says something that I can HEAR
spiritual balm for my soul
and for a few minutes... maybe 3 or 4
I can hold on.
His words are the light at the end of the tunnel...
Or rather, since light right now is as abhorrent as noise
Cool, Rich, Darkness.
Because the Lord knows what we need
even if we only get
just enough to hold out
till the benediction
before racing home to bed and dark and meds and despair.
But maybe, just a little less despair than if we had skipped church completely?

magpie

a court jester
in a tuxedo
flaps and begs
for coins of silver
to satisfy his craving
for all that glitters
in the sun
scolding and laughing
nipping
and challenging everyone's authority
even the dog's
clucking and squawking
bobbing
and tucking treasures under the mat
or in the folds of my sister's jeans
we laugh
as he goes about
pirating very seriously
this pillager in plumage
strutting
like he owns the place
clowning and making us giggle
till our face hurts



[This is an old poem, but I found it today and decided I should post it so I could throw away the paper it was scribbled on. It is about a "pet" magpie I had years ago named Merlin McDuck. If you have ever read either my animal blog or my regular blog about my life (that inevitably revolves AROUND my animals) you know we often end up with strays and even wild animals needing rehabilitation. Merlin technically stayed wild... as in I never kept him in a cage and he was free to come and go as he pleased, BUT I think he was more of a lost pet... a stray as he was a young bird, very tame, and had been banded. He was hilarious. We did try to track down his home by his band with no luck, and in the end his freedom cost him his life... we believe he was shot as a "pest." But we never could be sure, and since he would have been frantic if caged I knew of no other way to keep him than to let him be a free bird, who made visits to us every few hours to play and eat. I loved him.]

April Powers

the wind

is racing
through saffron
and purple
blossoms
reminding me
that spring
is violent
and love
is untrappable
as the viscous
racing
wind