among the ruins
(a rengö)
a short old woman
is deadheading her roses,
snipping savagely
as she mutters curses at
thrips and aphids, black-leaf and
mold. why, she cries to
the sky, why does this garden
not thrive? she cossets,
cajoles, begs, beseeches, she
weeds and hoes, waters and feeds.
she knows why, but will
not allow her head to hear;
she knows how love works:
love is a habit; it frays
and flows one way to its end.
haiku 10
a late snow falling
on tender spring time blossoms:
pink, though come morn, black
Ahh, the Dance
Friday night gridlock:
she won’t let it slow her down.
The purse is rifled
for the necessary tools
to transform a face weary
of the long work week
to the allure of youthful
woman – glistening
lips, a whisper of roses
across her cheekbones and then
her eyes. She deftly
brushes soft tiers of color
on her fragile lids,
skewing the rear view mirror
for a closer look, turning
her head side to side.
The traffic creeps ahead, horns
honk – she turns her eyes
to the road, creeping up to
the bumper before her, and
dives into the purse
again, retrieving the thin
tube and adjusting
the mirror again, widens
her eyes, lips forming an O
as she brushes dark
color with care on lashes
to frame her sultry
eyes. Turning her head one way
then another, pursing her lips,
then pouting, smiling,
checking for imperfection
on her Friday night
face. Ahh, the dance, the rhythms,
the ritual of Friday night:
male bravado and
swagger, female preening and
maneuvering, lights
and music, inquisitive
stares. Looking for mates who will
save us from gridlock.
But the future can’t be told,
can it? He may be
reluctant to commit, she
may deplore the one-night-stand.
Mountains of laundry,
piles of dirty dishes, bills
to pay, no money,
children who outgrow cuteness
to become strange adolescents,
years of loneliness
in crowded rooms, aching to
remember freedom:
Friday night gridlock but we’ll dance
all night. Traffic creeps forward.
She shakes her head to
fluff her hair, running fingers
through her locks, pushes
the mirror into place and
leans on her horn. Friday night.
Elizabeth Annette Lee (nee House) was born January 29, 1947 in Monterey, California. She was the oldest child of a career Navy non-com, Robert M. House, and his wife, Margaret Elizabeth House (nee Shearer). She grew up as a “Navy brat” – a euphemism for a life that offers travel, excitement and constant exposure to varied cultures and landscapes. Most of her childhood was spent near Navy bases up and down the California coast; she enjoyed close relationships with her mother’s extended California family, one of whom was a great-uncle who doted on her. Because she could read before kindergarten and loved to draw pictures and write about the pictures, Great-Uncle Charlie and his wife Ruth proclaimed that “This child is going to be a writer!” That statement took up permanent residence in her sub-conscious and drove her towards that goal. In 1966, she was delighted to have two articles accepted for publication by Seventeen magazine. It was a short-lived ecstasy since the day after she was interviewed by the local TV station in Topeka, Kansas, an F5 tornado roared through Topeka, and everyone became more interested in giving aid and comfort to their neighbors and friends. Then she was convinced to choose a practical career and at her dad’s suggestion, chose computers. Throughout almost 30 very successful years with Southwestern Bell and 10 years with other corporations in California, she put most of her energy into that career, writing sporadically. During that time, she had poems published in anthologies and newspapers. But now she and her husband Russ are retired, living in their dream location in rural north Monterey County in California, and she has focused on reviving her writing. With her daughter Brooke (who also is a writer), she attended some creative writing courses at Monterey Peninsula College. She was a member of the MPC Creative Writing Club, and assisted in the inception of MPC’s bi-annual literary magazine featuring MPC students’ work. At present, she is a member of WritersCafe.org, PoetryZoo.com, Neopoet.com, WordPress.com and Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction and Fantasy. She does not have her own web page yet, but a great deal of her work is posted on http://www.writerscafe.org/2minichinz/writing/ . She is fond of Japanese forms (tanka, rengö, haiku, haikai and senryu) and free verse, short stories, Jabberwocky, and she is currently working on a science/fantasy novel.
–Art by Diana Cretu
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