"Me and Elvis (Elvis and me)" and Other Poems

Me and Elvis (Elvis and me)

He turned 21 on the day I was born.
(Or was I born on the day he turned 21?)

Birthdate mates...me and Elvis.
(Or is that...Elvis and me?)

Not a die-hard fan,
I can't help but smile when I see
the young man:
Blue suede shoes, guitar, humble grin, wide eyes,
wanting fame but not knowing quite how
to deal with it.

Well, ain't we all a little like Elvis now?
(Or is Elvis...a little like all of us?)

-----------------
published in "Listening to the Birth of Crystals"
Paula Brown Press, 2003©

---

The Soft Surprise

Give me one birthday wish...
And I'd revisit a long ago
January dawn
When my sister appeared
On my front lawn
In her Goodwill overcoat,
Unbuttoned,
Stomach swollen,
Nine months heavy
With her second child.

The sky dropped swirling
Silver dollar flakes
As she stood there, shivering
With a coconut cake
Enwreathed in marshmallows
And thirty dripping candles,
Half-lit and flickering.
"Happy B-B-Birthday to you..."

There is soft surprise in
Wintry gray mornings
And falling snow,
And coconut and candleglow,
And angels disguised as sisters
Bundled in tattered coats
And worn, woolen caps,
And rosy nieces named Mandy
Born three days after that.

There is soft surprise in Love.

---

Doors and Windows and Corners

For luck
I cross three times
over the threshold of my door,
this sacramental place,

a bridge between two worlds
as are all the windows of my rooms,
not in-here, yet not out-there,
and heavy frost to bind my gloom.

As the wheel of the sun turns
and the year grows old,
I ponder tomorrow and tremble
less from the cold.

Spirits of the corners
and the winds of the quarters,
You who stand watching
and hear my voice,

Guard well my home tonight.

---

Zuzu's Petals

Less is more.
And great things really do come in
small packages.
Pardon my cliches.
It's getting harder to be
original these days.
Shall I simply say that I miss you?
I miss the silly moments
that made us laugh
till we were breathless.
I miss the quiet talks over tea
on a rainy afternoon,
I miss the gift I took for granted
till it left us ---
like Zuzu's Petals from the movie
"It's a Wonderful Life,"
A father's remembrance of a sick child,
a tiny token, his only evidence
that such an adoring angel existed.
How often have I stood alone
on that same snow-covered bridge,
longing to be wonderfully alive again,
imagining you and me
and the rainy-day tea
whistling in the kettle...
fumbling in my pocket
in search of Zuzu's Petals.