The Breast Clinic

After a two hour wait

at the Elizabeth Wende

Breast Clinic, my name was

called, and I was directed to

a Results Room. “My name is

Naomi,” the young woman holding

my Results slip-of-paper informed me.

“Nice to meet you.” She then compliment-

ed my necklace and asked what the symbol

meant. “Clarity,” I said. “In what language?”

she asked me. “Japanese,” I replied - quickly.

“Can you confirm for me your date of birth?”

“Yes,” I said, (pausing ever-so-slightly so she

could give me a date to confirm. She did not

do that, of course). I informed her of my date

of birth, “April 16, 1948.” “You’re fine,” she

said, handing me the slip-of-paper, “We’ll

see you in one year.” Passing a woman I’d

been sitting with, I gave the “thumbs up”

sign, mouthed, “Good Luck!” as I walked

out. I inhaled the fresh air, as I left the

Clinic, saddened by the sight of giant

trees being felled, probably to make

room for an even larger parking lot.

I walked over to a new memorial:

Surrounded by freshly-planted

geraniums, covered with

mulch, stood a smooth

and perfectly round

three-foot tall rock,

embedded, with an

engraved plaque,

honoring Dr. Wende

Logun-Young’s 25

years in the breast

care business.

As I realized that rock

looked a lot like a breast,

I thought briefly, “Why not

two?” Then, swallowing the

lump in my throat, I thought

of all the one-breasted (and

breast-less) women –all of

the cancer survivors –

those female rocks,

grounded in the

earth of their forts,

subtly showing their

friends and daughters,

husbands and others -

how to get past the fear,

hurt, anger or confusion,

how to press on with their

lives and their dreams, how

to find balance, even in the

presence of great falling trees.

Memorial Day Rain Rant

The day dawns easy, overcast,

neither hot nor cold, barely

a breeze -- flawlessly.

Humidity sneaks

in, like a nest of

snakes. Again

this year, clouds

appear, about to

burst, but they don’t

or won’t – You want

to shake your fist at

the sky, and shout:

Just RAIN already –

get it over with!

One lousy day off

for folks from May

‘til the Fourth of July!

Chance of showers –

Thunder storms likely –-

Should we call-off

the picnic or not?

Just RAIN already!

RAIN for the cat, who

hides in the basement at

the first shift in barometric

pressure, stays ‘til it’s over.

RAIN to motivate basil

and tomatoes, planted

today in pots of clay

on the porch. RAIN

the dust off the cars;

we can not afford to

wash them anymore.

RAIN ‘til the trees shake

loose last year’s bird nests.

RAIN ‘til the playground

turns to a mosh pit, as

mothers call the kids home.

RAIN to ruin Memorial Day

weekend, like you always do!

RAIN to knock down the tents

and lean-to’s people are using

for shelters in broken parts

of the world. RAIN to wreak

havoc on the few remaining

items they might still own.

RAIN ‘til the ominous sky is so

black, no one can tell if it’s night

or the end of the world. RAIN ‘til

the worms crawl out of the ground,

groveling for mercy. RAIN ‘til Noah

returns: Noah, who was building his

arc, as everyone laughed — Noah who

gathered pairs of geese, horses, mice,

rabbits, monkeys, elephants and gnats,

as they boarded his floating wood raft.

RAIN ‘til the ocean’s salt is diluted,

and only our tears can keep it

in balance. RAIN ‘til the darkened

wet street obliterates all shadows.

RAIN ‘til a desert meets with a forest
and exchanges ideas. RAIN ‘til the

names of the soldiers on all of the

tomb stones in all the grave yards

are completely washed clean.

If This Was The Last Day

If this was the last day

that you would walk,

what revered place might

you hike - to reach?

If this was the last day

that you could hear,

what sounds would soothe

you through - deaf years?

If this was the last day

that you had sight,

what precious scene

would you hope - to see?

If this was the last day

that you had a voice,

what would the lines be

that you - would speak?

If this was the last day

that you could feel

love, whom would you

hold - in your arms?

If this was the last day

you were able - to think,

would you dare –

to open - your mind?

If today, you had only one wish,

would it be for whole-world peace?

If this was your last day on earth,

what unique gift - would you leave?

Coffee Shop Scene

Outside the glass wall,

snow falls as salt --

from a sky shaker.

Inside, satirical artwork

plasters the facing

brick wall. It’s late

morning; musicians

drag in. Baristas

have stopped hissing

and fussing. Empty

mugs sit, foam drying

on wobbly tables,

creased muffin wraps

hint at cranberry. Blog

sites glow as patrons –

one toe in the ‘hood –

text with internet buds.

The morning paper, tossed

from sticky hands to

crumb-skewed chairs

screams a local headline --

now old news to all.

Couch slipcovers crawl

toward the floor. The

lighting is poor.

Why do we stay?

Clapton is wailing:

“Well if I’ve done somebody wrong,

Lord, have mercy if you please.”

Shot

Shot --

the hammock

snapped, --

dropped

us down.

Shot --

the tulip heads –

stems left aground.

Shot --

the weeping

cherry .

Blink and we

miss its glory;

blossoms dust the

mid-May lawns.

Shot –

another

Rochester teen –

no words

to explain

or gang

to blame.

Shot – his

parents’ dream

to smithereens.

Shot –

a prayer to

Heaven to

heal their

grief.

New Life Gossip

(for Richard and Grace)

Right -- Poetry is not Memoir --
voice of the poem, yada, yada.
Are you kidding me? Did you
see him with her? Have
you read his new book?
Those love poems rise up
like hot air balloons at the
Bristol Balloon Festival --
purple, yellow, red, green,
and oh, my gondola—
when his shoulders
press into hers, tweed
jackets or not—you
know what I’m saying?
They were sizzling like
bacon on a griddle at
an Eddie Rocket Diner.
They had their lesson plans,
books, their serene teacher
faces – all-is-copasetic looks.
But when she lifted her
eyes to glance at him,
he felt it right through
the back of his head.
I’ll tell you this, girlphone--
that new book of his? He
is just getting warmed up.