fairy godmother of the diary
curly haired librarian, sprite who
collects everything journal related –
prompts, practices, references, remarks,
announced irregularly – she finds respite
in a visit to warmer climates or the nature
center, finds salvation in her stacks
of notebooks, carefully designed,
filled with curly handwriting and
subtle illustrations, rubberstamped

one of the liberal sisters –
it’s relaxing to be at
her house – I don’t fight it –
she rests when she
needs to, often, gardens when
she can, among the rocks –
paints with delicate water the
colors of blueberries and now
winters in the north, closer
to daughters, restricting motor travel

you don’t trust just any
woman to wrest your screaming
toddler from your arms every
morning the first week of
preschool, choosing to believe
her claim that he would be
alright – I trusted her devotion,
twenty years as childcare provider,
and the straightforward light of
egolessness shining in her eyes

silent Scottish Gandalf imprisoned by
his self-imposed inscrutability – family
man Air Force psychiatrist restless
life of travel, nevertheless some
deep insulting turbulence is there
perhaps a spell, Sauron-cast
my speculation, come to rest
in mountains of north Idaho
to live out the reincarnations
that remain before the end

long haired like an Indian
running up and down the
soccer field – and an innocent
Christian Oregonian studying engineering
and listening to loud Frank Zappa
in the dorm – infinite appeal
that turned into release
because you said I was the
first, and we both needed
more – so off you went

the weekend at your college
didn’t turn out like I planned –
expecting good clean fun at
your service club event with
sorority style sleepover to follow,
found myself awakened by
the loud wet psychodrama
of gay betrayal, tears and drink –
eyes closed I only eavesdropt
and in the morning fled