Poems of Delight

1.
My friend signs his name accidentally
Henry
Henry
and writes, As a friend
I want to hold you.
Henry Henry we all want to be held.

2.
Coming home from summer school this year
I carried back; chocolate chip cookies;
a wind-up grasshopper;
two birds; a feather; a rock; a shell
and a small brass turtle to wear or hold.
What have I given?

3.
Now I take three white pills
each day instead of two.
One comes in the middle, alone.
I can pretend I am having high tea
when I swallow it with water. Something
is beginning to lift.

4.
The first September breeze fluttered
across the tops
of withered grass
and fall came tumbling in as
if someone had thrown
open a door.

5.
Last week I considered slitting my throat.
Imagined it painless and bloodless,
then pictured the mess.
Today I pick up the dirty dishes,
grumbling, and glad
to be grumbling.

6.
My husband reads from Peter Pan aloud:
a great book. I could never write
such a book. I put my jealousy away
and climb under my son’s covers
beside him, to listen.
Words, words, sing us to sleep.

7.
At the downtown audio-visual library
they have found two new James Herriot tapes.
And I can borrow both.
This means I have five—one more
than I’m allowed, and we all know it.
The librarian smiles and waves as I run out the door.

8.
My mother’s old gold watch,
newly repaired, circles
my wrist, slides loosely around
and around; and on the other wrist
a bracelet with tiny green glass beads
throws rainbows over the steering wheel!

9.
I can go to a movie tonight.
I can eat Rasinets,
and maybe the chocolate won’t make me crazy,
and if I am lucky
I’ll find something to laugh about in the movie,
or something good to cry over.

10.
I’ve been so depressed that all my clothing fits, and I look
good in everything.
Black especially.
Maybe my mother will see me while I’m still thin,
but not too bleak. You look good, she’ll tell me,
and I’ll say Ma, I feel good.