Katie Arnold
See Katie's
web page on William Carlos Williams
See Katie's
web links on William Carlos Williams |
| Dear
Sweet Ireland
Waves with
stretched arms grasp as long as they can to the rocky sides
We envy them for we've been gone from the island too long
Waves pull the green apple sea up to peek
We strain our eyes from the Statue of Liberty to see home
Here the ocean laps the shore, bored, unsatisfied
Years tiptoe past our children and us
We've forgotten the gentle rain God drizzles growing our emerald land
We ache in the searing sun pounding railways
Pounding the infinite blazing in our hearts
We ache for Ireland
Dreaming one day to be placed back in her soil
To feel the cool waves hugging our bodies
Dreaming to watch the green grass signal to the skies for a drink
Dear sweet Patrick hold on to our hearts till we return
Dear sweet Ireland smile back in the freckles of our children's eyes
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| In
the Suburbs
Drops
of rain rolled down the driver-side window
like balloons gently descending from the sky.
My windshield wipers kept a rhythmic beat;
whoosh shwoosh, whoosh shwoosh, whoosh shwoosh,
as I turned on to my dampened driveway.
All the plants, flowers, and trees lowered
their drenched bodies close to the ground in humble thanks.
The sky reminded me of a warm wool blanket
knitted with fluffy patches of gray clouds.
As I leaped out of my car, cool beads of rain
parachuted from heaven.
The rain does not bother me, I've arrived home
in the cornfield like rows of houses near the “windy city.”
|
| The
Cleaning Lady
A
long tunnel lay before me filthy, encrusted with dirt.
I stop; drag my sleeve across my forehead, which is swimming in sweat.
I am so tired!
The
summer sun pinches and slaps me mercilessly.
I carry my mop, my cross, further down the hall as girls giggle.
I smile at each juvenile politely;
it
is not my job to get angry when they run across
my newly cleaned gift.
The sides of the garbage can claw and beckon at me to empty them,
They're too feel heavy and full of needless waste.
I am so tired!
The
pungent bleach and B.O. smell worsen my headache.
I see a ribbon fly by the window, it awakens thoughts of swing sets
and monkey bars.
The mop splashes and flops against the cement floor, there is no laughter
here.
My shoes scream at the feeling of dampness against them.
I am so tired!
I
sigh; tomorrow will be here soon enough.
“There is always something in tomorrow,” I assure myself.
And I push push my mop down the floor smiling at my own reflection.
It is my gift.
|
| Sister
Patricia
The
church bells clang as I wake to day
I put on my cloak and begin to pray
"Lord, Jesus they know not what they do,
someday they will learn to truly love you."
I walk through the Abby out to the street
My clothes are black and attract the heat.
The streets are filled with dirt and crime
These children drink and eat their own grime.
My eyes wet and swell at the sight of the fall
"Lord Jesus Christ what can I do about it all?"
|
| Sailboats
Soaring
sailboat slices
Chopping waters collide
White sails flap in the wind
Like laundry on the line
Salt
seethes through skin
Winds whips hair
Water pellets throw themselves
Parachuting in the air
White-capped
waves roll
Hazy sunset sinks
Seagulls bob like boonies
Directing starry links
I lay close
to you
Watching the camouflage sea
When I hear you whisper
“Hey, I love you, sweet pea”
|
| Growing
Up
I
watched the children as they were brought back from
The hospital, cuddled and warm wrapped in arms.
They
wove a trail through my legs playing tag,
Caught fireflies from my tower,
Danced down my slide,
Flew to the stars from my swings,
Hid under my shaded belly from the sharp sun and spring showers,
Dug entire cities out of deserts in my sandbox,
Cried under my arms when grandpa died,
Kissed Bobby and Cindy behind my strong back,
Hung balloons on my poles for sweet sixteen’s,
And sat for one last swing before heading to the dormers.
I
was there.
My
wood chips now, aged and weathered.
My yellow hat has faded to a pale cream.
The old oak that shaded my swings is gone now.
My blueberry blue slide has cracked and wrinkled with passing time.
We grew
up together.
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