Spring-like days...

Spring-like days --
I cut hydrangeas
and think of my mother.

#SpoonieSenryu

Slogging for days
with a brain of overcooked oats,
wishing it was fresh coffee.

All orange now...

All orange now--
the ambient light
from the falling sun.

In Honor of My Friend, Steve Muller

In Memory of Steve Muller, My Friend of 18 Years

(written after his death a number of years ago; posting because I miss him.)

I knew him… 

A fellow of most infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

-- from Hamlet.

I remember well when I met Steve.  He was 15; I was 17.  The first thing I noticed was his hairdo—a New Wave-ish 80s do that reminded me of a small bird perched on the side of his head.  And all of those silver chains on top of the black tee shirt du jour!  We became immediate friends, to my recollection.  I spent many evenings and weekend days over at the Muller’s house—his parents, especially his mom, Astrid, showing me great kindness and not seeming to mind that I and other wayward but reforming teens hung out at their house after going to our little 12-Step gigs.  I had been so lonely and desperate for friends, and Steve and the other kids around didn’t care about my chequered past at the mere age of 17.  On the contrary, we were so much alike that it gave us the basis for a friendship that, even with its twists and turns, lasted until his untimely death.  When not at one of their homes, we were at Spires on Beach Boulevard or Denny’s at Main & Ellis drinking the “endless” cup of nasty coffee and smoking cigarettes and swearing—but at least we weren’t drinking, and we felt very fine about that being the best we could do.

I remember how upset I was during our fights—fights Steve always won.  I could never compete with his dissing skills.  (Could anyone?  Maybe Mike Drenchen…)  But, we always made up in the end.  My most vivid memories are of Steve’s legendary mouth in action:  in 1986, his incendiary comments to his mom over whether or not she would stop to get him a Super Big Gulp on the way to a meeting at the Civic Center which resulted his ejection from the car and Astrid driving me to the meeting as if a chauffeur, as I was in the back seat; his tirade on “liberals” and my choice of attire at Kurt & Lori’s wedding that resulted in us not speaking for 5 years (in fairness, I said he looked like Steven Seagall); his affection for the Weekly World News’ Bat Boy that offended the heck out of his girlfriend at the time but resulted in his dedication of his whole refrigerator as a monument to the monster… Steve had a knack for “bringing it on.” No one can deny that, for sure. 

Steve was known to outpour obscenity-laced invectives that made even me occasionally blush and shudder.  He loved to play pranks, usually on some unsuspecting salesperson at the mall or on a friend’s answering machine.  His conversation would often go beyond witty repartee, and sometimes his remarks to his friends and family bordered on cruelty—or even succeeded in residing there. I think most of us who were close to Steve were bit by his occasional meanness, but we all were won back into the fold by the kindness he showed on other occasions, and I am sure that none of us really felt that such insensitivity reflected his heart.  On the contrary, we all knew him to be extraordinarily caring, and, when cognizant of others’ feelings, often very solicitous of them.  The fact that Steve was very sensitive may surprise those who didn’t know him well, but most of his close friends are very funny, witty, blunt people, like himself.  That we mostly shared his fault of frequent tactlessness showed how much great minds think alike. 

In the last few years, Steve suffered terribly from headaches whose origin was never pinpointed.  Not all of us agreed with his choices regarding his illness, his recovery, or other decisions he made about his life.  Yet I am sure none of us deny that we had real and lasting love and affection for him, whatever our differences were. Being someone who suffers from a chronic illness, I well understand the temptation to check out both temporarily and permanently, and I can only feel relief and a little despair at the discovery that his death was accidental, and not the result of despair from health problems that his physicians were unable to solve. 

I think the things I want to remember most about Steve is how much we laughed when we were together, mostly because he was one of the biggest jokesters I’ve ever known.  I know he wants us to remember his smile, his laugh, his guffaw, all his witticisms and funny jokes, and, above all, not to get any stains on white carpets.  His death brings us all together and closer to him this one last time, and I hope in death he finally knows how much we all loved him in life.

--Juliet Whitted Hattersley

First Conversation with the Blackbird

Blackbird, I warn you:
those blackberries are still tart!
I check them daily.

Hot, sweaty day

Hot, sweaty day--
 smelling of too much perfume...
here come the bees.

Pulling weeds at dusk...

Pulling weeds at dusk --
a tiny lizard escapes
the next handful.


Pulling weeds at dusk --
winds blow clouds --
white crescent moon.


Pulling weeds at dusk,
I smile at small lizards
who scurry away.

The rushing of freeways

The rushing of freeways--
a small white and grey stray sneaks
past, alone. 

Don't worry, Blackbird.

Don't worry, Blackbird.
There are enough ripe berries
for both of us.

Nu Kua fashioned...

Nu Kua fashioned
some herself, others just dropped.
Which are you? Gold? Brown?
I'm pretty sure I know which
I am, which you are.

Burnt cake

Burnt cake --
the middle's still good --
sort of.

Sometimes

Sometimes
not even cake helps.
May your heart heal.

Aunt Phyllis's House

Aunt Phyllis's house--
same pink bathroom, same "firm" bed--
Am I caught in time?

Two Versions

In the shade of trees,
a cat naps, sprawled on grass.
I'm stuck inside.

--------

I'm stuck inside.
But, in the shade of trees,
a cat naps.