refrigerator magnets and homespun silk

the sun ain't up yet

when i shuffle down the hall

and get the coffee going

make sure i put

the water in the back

-----and the coffee in the filter

a dream about dinosaurs in pajamas

talking on the radio

lingers in my predawn 5:45 half mind

i stare at the refrigerator

-most of the visible surface plastered

with snapshots held by magnets:

carolyn in texas

cambodia, jerusalem, alaska,

yosemite, enumclaw, washington

at the age of twelve.

she wore a red polka dot dress

and glared at the camera

looking fierce beside her little brother

perched on a tricycle.

nieces, nephews, grandaughters,

inlaws, old friends alive and dead,

the legendary ted, who drank himself

to death in bangkok.

the refrigerator magnets

from 49 states, the national zoo

route 66, the little bighorn battlefield,

koala crossings, the '89 world series,

lyndon johnson's family home.

a calendar magnet for the giants schedule four years ago

the obama campaign image.

yeah the one with hope writ large survives.

weddings we attended in silver springs maryland

and the one at the petaluma KOA,
my kindergarten class in brisbane in 1957,
i'm the one wearing a black t-shirt and faded jeans
i still wear much the same.

a page from a desk calendar, august 23rd, 1992

with a hand written note that says

it snowed in yellowstone today

the coffee's ready and my dream is slipping

back into the attic trunk along with

all the cobwebbed memories

of other night time fabulations

i ease down on the sofa, click on the television

gaze at the burmese puppets hanging on the wall

the miniature gilded temple sitting atop a bookshelf

a group of photographs arranged in front.

in the middle a photo of my grandmother from about 1907

she's wearing a white frock and a bouquet of daisies dangles in her hand

what a happy smiling child she seems to be.

i look out the window at the driveway, the newspaper is late again

so i pick up this week's new yorker and read the same paragraph,

hell the same sentence, over and over again.

the puppets and the big embroidered elephant from burma

stare back at me, the many buddhas smile,

i need to ask about the white marble one in the glass cabinet,

everything in this apartment has a story.

the many silk weavings hanging on the walls and doors

the home spun indigo-dyed cotton sarongs

the hallway filled with photographs from floor to ceiling

what about that navajo sand painting in the entryway

across from the big photograph of her father's farewell flight:

looking down at a PanAm 747 flying in above the goldengate bridge.

right next to that a full hill tribe woman's ensemble

bright colors stitched in red,
encrusted with hundreds of pale seeds

i think i'm awake now, the paper's here,

the television blathering heads are

rambling on about the latest shootings in oakland,

who's ringing the opening bell at the stock market,

the usual foggy morning clearing in the afternoon,

the fifteen minute delay at the toll plaza.

and now my darling has arrived.

she balances a bowl of cereal on her chest

and tucks her toes under my leg to warm them.

i rub her feet and smile back at the buddhas.

the sun is up and it's almost time to go to work

just as we are about to leave, as i start to shut off the tv,

a breaking news report, a man has stopped his SUV

on the upper deck of the bridge. he claims to have a gun

and explosives. all the lanes are stopped, we won't be getting

off the island quite yet this morning.