CANADA

mish65@paralynx.com 

back and forth we fly

chains creak and groan as we swing higher
and higher, meeting our hillside, tree and
housetop view from the lush green school
yard. warm red links thread our hands

while the noise curls neck hairs in the
quiet evening heat as nails would, being
raked down a blackboard. up and down,
back and forth we fly, no different from

the day just spent. laughing with the kids
at mom's new lisp from her new retainer,
raised voices in battle with the same gentle
ones, struggling in a new home to understand

that parental values and family love do not
waiver, regardless of location. up and down,
back and forth we fly, from this day to the
next, making the most of each and every one.

a candle in my heart

like a burning flame
I still cannot put my
finger on it. why it is
I love you

time nor distance seem to
matter, just know that
your words touch me
a smile amid thoughts
that extinguish
me throughout
the night.

alluring moments

 still I'm amazed how they do it upstairs, family
 of seven, five children living in a three bedroom
 home, though similar goes for us down here

 three boys and I sharing two bedrooms.
 mom accepts little privacy these days
 little chance for a real bed other than the

 foldout couch and more change times in the
 bathroom than before. but the pluses are beyond
 compare, getting away together more often like

 tonight riding mountain trails up the Star
 day walks down town or running across the
 street to blockbuster's for movies, games or a

 coke then piling home again listening to
 the hour or so it takes the younger two
 to settle, not scorn or sling names back and

 forth in their single room they bunker down in
 until morning when they can spread their wings
 again as on a fine night like this, six or seven

 neighborhood kids head out, street tag in the dark
 amid the safely this hood somehow provides
 along with its alluring moments of contentment.

cloak of oppression

chameleon of many colors, cat with nine
lives, oppression seeps in often unknowingly.

women acknowledged for less than their
worth in the workplace, value in the home.

sexuality suppressed in the bedroom, voices,
interests sequestered by opinions, control

of discussions with others present, tv programs
even the remote. simplicity, femininity denied.

how much one learns, realizes with such freedoms
as being able to now choose a favorite tv show or

being invited to be heard with heart in a conversation,
not brushed aside, over powered, or told to shut up.

life and death

a silver haze weaves through the
valley. coolness nips at heels
a frisky pup.

everything's dying, says the son,
autumn, his least favorite season.

through mother's eyes, life and
vibrancy. a boldness that takes back

the folds of time. intimate golds, crimson
reds, all talking out of turn
begging to be heard

maybe there is something a whimsical
parent can teach their reluctant teen,
after all.

what does matter

orange faces void of a smile
dot the hillside bluff
awaiting the whirl of tractor horsepower
the creak of a wooden wagon
full of childhood glee to adopt

bail out
look out
the trampling of withered vines has begun
drowned out only by chattering youth

and for one
it doesn't matter that he has to be lifted
from chair to wagon ride
or carried into the patch
it doesn't matter that he can't run and trip
in the browning wastelands of harvest time

what does matter
is that farmer bob stop insisting
on the biggest brightest pumpkin in sight
an average one will do
round and plump and manageable
soon to be painted equally as cheerful as he

for this boy feels deep within
knows just when to nod his no's
sing a resounding yes
wanting to adhere to class guidelines
for all the rest
he needs to be able to
carry it home

© All Copyright, 2000, Donna Michelle Hill.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.