New Poetry by Deborah Lattizori
The Seeds of Dis
Home home on the …
Why do you call Patti’s mother mom?
Where are you going?
Out? Out is a place? Well
Be home by dinner.
pedalin’ nowhere special
lookin’ at the bees
findin’ all the treasures
lookin’ at the trees
Where the deer and the antelope…
No! Don’t touch that cat it’s dirty.
Leave that dog alone. It’s got mange
We should leave you here
With the animals where you belong.
runnin’ sorta too fast
scrape my knee
cry a little sittin’
just bein’ me
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word…
Look at what you’ve done.
What are you crying for?
You shouldn’t feel like that .
Shame on you.
dreamin’ out the voices
hummin’ in the breeze
hidin’ in my music
lookin’ for some ease
And the skies…
Always
Rain
Rain
Rain.
lookin’ at the rainbows
dragons in the sea
playin’ in the puddles
waitin’ to be free.
Thirty Second Lives
In the dark
we set our intentions.
Left, not right. Two blocks only;
it looks like rain.
The dogs are glad for the fallen leaves.
What smells were up
are now down.
I am glad for the night,
for the few stars left holding
the darkness before the oncoming clouds.
We set the pace.
First, stop. What other walks begin
like this I wonder.
Then stroll, stroll, step… stop.
The dogs think the walk is for them,
but really it’s for me.
They are my excuse
to stand in the dark
and look through unguarded windows
thirty seconds at a time.
At one house, how odd to place a stove against a window.
At another, I like that lamp. At another I wonder
what he’s reading.
And then, my favorite child, she and her grandmother
in the glow of a candle light dinner.
Sort of late for the child though.
It all looks so golden from here
where I stand comfortably just outside the circle of light
in the place that is not seen.
My breathing gets so easy
that my lungs get big.
If a door were to open and a voice call out, “Hi!
Come in”, I think I could leave my
suddenly butterfly stomach and sweaty palms
tied to the street lamp with the dogs.
I think I could answer, “OK thanks. Maybe just for a minute.”
Coming in from Play
Two princess friends
The cold air makes our mouths juicy
We shake the hay from our heads, bowing low,
Dust the horsehair from each other’s sleeves.
We head into the kitchen
To grab rewards for our winged warriors
Who have saved us from the evil daemons
With their strength of flight.
The late morning light chases us through the door
Then dashes ahead, glancing off the apples
In the blue ceramic bowl.
Gliding through the amber of the half empty bottle
It comes to rest on the mother
Face up on the kitchen floor.
My friend steps stiffly over the body
And heads up the stairs to her room
Our heroes whinny
And stomp in their stalls.
I follow her in silence.
We will still have butterflies.