The Seeds of DisHome home on the …Why do you call Patti’s mother mom?Where are you going?Out? Out is a place? WellBe home by dinner.pedalin’ nowhere speciallookin’ at the beesfindin’ all the treasureslookin’ at the treesWhere the deer and the antelope…No! Don’t touch that cat it’s dirty.Leave that dog alone. It’s got mangeWe should leave you hereWith the animals where you belong.runnin’ sorta too fastscrape my kneecry a little sittin’just bein’ meWhere 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 voiceshummin’ in the breezehidin’ in my musiclookin’ for some easeAnd the skies…AlwaysRainRainRain.lookin’ at the rainbowsdragons in the seaplayin’ in the puddleswaitin’ to be free.
Thirty Second LivesIn the darkwe set our intentions.Left, not right. Two blocks only;it looks like rain.The dogs are glad for the fallen leaves.What smells were upare now down.I am glad for the night,for the few stars left holdingthe darkness before the oncoming clouds.We set the pace.First, stop. What other walks beginlike 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 excuseto stand in the darkand look through unguarded windowsthirty 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 grandmotherin the glow of a candle light dinner.Sort of late for the child though.It all looks so golden from herewhere I stand comfortably just outside the circle of lightin the place that is not seen.My breathing gets so easythat 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 palmstied 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 friendsThe cold air makes our mouths juicyWe shake the hay from our heads, bowing low,Dust the horsehair from each other’s sleeves.We head into the kitchenTo grab rewards for our winged warriorsWho have saved us from the evil daemonsWith their strength of flight.The late morning light chases us through the doorThen dashes ahead, glancing off the applesIn the blue ceramic bowl.Gliding through the amber of the half empty bottleIt comes to rest on the motherFace up on the kitchen floor.My friend steps stiffly over the bodyAnd heads up the stairs to her roomOur heroes whinnyAnd stomp in their stalls.I follow her in silence.We will still have butterflies.