MORRO BAY

The view here is given generously
To each house built densely
On a hillside.  The fog ends
At the freeway, and
Just short of the top of the rock.

John is subdued;
I think it's me, then think I'm paranoid.
Bekah is quietly bored.
Emily is sweet
And mellow and being raised well.

I wish I could draw! These tops of houses,
These swallows and their noise.
The wires and the traffic.
Beyond, the great Pacific.
Investing me with serenity I may attempt to maintain.

        But musts are plenty and pressing,
        Shoulds so numerous too;
        If I can be a phoenix I'll rise and shine
        For you and you
        And you and you and you
        And you too.

As words rise and fall
Like tides unceasing, flow of cars
On an interstate.  As children grow,
Become adults, babies grow into children,
Eggs turn into babies.

        All this while it sits in me.
        It flows through me.
        It becomes me, like
        A soft light
        On a late night
        In a dark room
        Where I'm happy, and
        Allowed to be.

Rory is on the balcony swing,
Imperiously demanding, "Faster!"
In the distance I hear Journey sing
"Wheel in the Sky," which seems to be
Appropriately philosophical, as I

Stand at the threshold of 40,
Dusting off my knees,
Homeless but not yet hopeless.

Copyright © Barbara Bales 1997.
- posted by barbara @ 11/29/2002 07:55:00 PM