Bach for Birds (A Mildly Irreverent Arrangement)

I’m probably going to end up being haunted by the glowering ghost of Bach for this one, but then – how cool would that be? Ha!

squelchy Monday

today I would trade my squelchy shoes
and sodden self for warm dogs
and ticking radiators, steaming mugs
of freshly brewed, nearly obscenely
creamed coffee – there’s even, I think,
a donut on the kitchen counter
with my name on it saying stay in!

but instead it’s frizzled hair,
unending responsibilities, and rain
that managed to drip everywhere

© Sarah Whiteley

Squelchy Mondays are the worst.

counting the dead

a woman at work innocently asked
and where’s your other brother?

even after ten years I often cannot
bring myself to say he’s dead

so I said Minnesota instead,
which I think he’s probably laughing about

wherever he is or isn’t

saying now that I have one brother
feels false as soon as the words are formed

so there must be a way of counting the dead –
but until I find a math that works,

I have two – although one of them currently
is unreachable somewhere in Minnesota

© Sarah Whiteley

I really did say “Minnesota” though I don’t know what possessed me at the time. And he would be laughing over it, which makes me smile. But I still never know whether to say I have two brothers or one.

weed philosophy

by the roots, you say,
but sometimes the roots
are impossible to get at

or they’ve spread immeasurable
tendrils in countless directions
so that even when pulled,

pioneers still bust the sod
and burst in yellow jeers
at all my efforts

may as well give in
(nature always wins)
and call that weed a wildflower

© Sarah Whiteley

channeling the crazy crow woman

how must I look – this graying
Botticelli who walks with crows
in a constant spray of black cawings,
a dark-feathered wind I would not dispel

one is for Sorrow, two is for Mirth,
and the bursting laughter of those first
brought the flock that now follows glossily,
seeking tidbits from one who says “well hello”

but oh, how the superstitious must
inwardly flinch (irrational reflex!)
and it’s funny to me how a feather can
so clearly draw a divide between them and me

pshaw! and caw! to all of you fragile-minded
things – flightier even than crows –
they are a gift the same as my mad curls and I
will revel in them both for as long as life allows

© Sarah Whiteley

My mom insists that I ought to write and illustrate a children’s book about the crows that have adopted me. Truth be told, I’d already had a few half-formed thoughts about that before she mentioned it. Trouble is I’m an impatient sort of artist – I want to feel the immense satisfaction of completion before I’ve put the proper amount of effort into it I think. The result of course is sloppy art. Ha! One of these days I’ll put down a few sketches and see if I can muster the enthusiasm for such a project.

In the meantime, I do sometimes wonder what sorts of thoughts are going through the minds of the people who have given me odd (or yes, even shocked) looks when walking by the entourage that is me, two dogs, and anywhere from 2-12 crows (depending on time of year).

unforeseen complications

it’s easy enough to say
it’s complicated
and leave it at that

truth is I’ve conjured
enough complications to keep
anyone at arm’s length

a definite divide
to keep separate
your skin from mine

I never guessed
you would simply lean
over the fence

© Sarah Whiteley

thief and begger

darn crow stole my lighter
– my only one –
and tossed it into the bushes!

now bobbing head and ingratiating
croons his desire for treats
– the black-feathered cheek! –

but for the next hour, I watch
him tuck them carefully beneath stones,
treats now, treasure later

© Sarah Whiteley

I figure it’s about time for a crow update. Head on over if you’re curious about the cheeky little things…

shoes

It wasn’t me!
It was these shoes!
They dragged me
where I didn’t choose!

As soon as they
were on my feet,
off they went
on down the street.

If they weren’t
so tightly tied
I might have taken
back my stride,

but they stomped my
fingers when I tried
and yanked me up
the tallest slide.

They marched me
to the candy shop
I really could not
make them stop!

They kicked my
sister in the shin
then ran before
she saw me grin.

They raced me
to the jungle gym,
I was a victim
to their whim!

They wandered through
the tallest grass
and made me late
for science class.

It wasn’t me!
It was these shoes!
My feet were hostage –
sore abused!

Take these shoes –
these things are cursed!
But you’ll hafta
catch me first!

© Sarah Whiteley

Sometimes you just have to be silly. Although I don’t recommend shin kicking. Usually.

Hair.

I. Don’t. Cut. My. Hair.

-well, except for maybe
a little trim now and then,
but not so’s you’d notice-

It’s been two decades
since I s(h)aved it all
and (s)hoved it all
in that /hateful/ boy’s face
two days before the prom
and (it along with) my sharp-
boned shoulders (s)ticking above
that dress /bluest blue for
truest true/ made me look like
love’s refugee escaped
to the other side of the fence.

Mother took the picture anyway.

After a year of getting
my fuzz petted and patted
(feels better than you’d guess-
it’s how I learned I purred)
I donned again my Samson’s face
-now with breasts, but minus the dress-
and I. Don’t. Cut. My. Hair.

© Sarah Whiteley

Props to my mother, who really did take that picture anyway. It’s a wonder she didn’t drink.

the dangers of stargazing

this morning,
before morning really,
before the light had begun
to line the eastern sky,
I walked – feet testing
the crispness of those
first fallen leaves
(someone must, after all,
be the first to fall)
while Orion hung
so impossibly bright,
so brilliant even from beneath
the glare of the streetlight,
that I had to (truly had to)
walk along with head tilted back
ridiculously celestially absorbed
in that darned belt
everyone’s always pointing out
why? I was just wondering,
does no one point out the bow
so perfectly poised
that any arrow loosed
would pierce the heaving flesh
of the great bull before him?
when I wandered face-first
into the very earthy wonder
of a spider web
take heed, my friend –
there are dangers even
in stargazing

© Sarah Whiteley

I absolutely did do this rather recently and after I’d pulled the spider web off my face, couldn’t help but laugh at myself and wonder if this was the Universe’s ever-so-subtle way of reminding me to find ways to be more grounded.