This post consists of a chapbook of five poems.The first two are about two different dogs we had. The second two are about being with Jim, and the last one is a contemplation on ironing.
FIVE POEMS
by
Marilyn C. O’Leary
copyright 2018
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE OLD DOG
LULU
ANNIVERSARY
50 YEARS OF MARRIAGE: COFFEE
IRONING
THE OLD DOG
The old blind dog
picks up one foot at a time
like a trained horse
before reaching the stairs
up, up, up until he finds
a step and climbs to me.
The sweetness of it,
the faith, break my heart.
LULU
They had such faith in the world . . . Mary Oliver
Today I’m going to have faith
in the world
the universe
love
yes, faith in love.
Such faith as to be able to be me
–to go about my business
–to live life and be happy.
I remember the stages
my rescue dog went through.
I knew
I should have known
she was going to be trouble –
not trouble like bad
but trouble like a handful.
She was afraid–barking, startling
could she see? could she hear?
Stitches on her head
most teeth removed.
But no matter what–
those dark eyes, perfect round nose
curly white fur
the way she jumped through doorways
as if knowing
that the next thing
would be wonderful.
ANNIVERSARY
There is not one thing to say about it —
it’s been long
but we can’t think of it ending.
There were the times in Taos with the students,
picking apples, making pies.
There were the kayaks, the bikes, the skis
and the Volkswagen buses.
The dogs, the books, the candles in the patio
with dinners, friends and wine.
Mexico, Italy, Hawaii.
Babies, teenagers, grandparents.
Laughing, eating, being afraid, retreating.
And a time for everything—
the biggest surprise of all—
all that time.
50 YEARS OF MARRIAGE: COFFEE
What if you never died
and every morning
every morning
every morning
you got up and I put on the coffee or sometimes you did
and we each got our coffee cups
and sat in the living room to watch the sun rise,
read, write.
What if we did this every day,
every day.
When the boys were in high school
and I worried about them leaving home
I comforted myself by saying
What if they never left home,
like the brilliant cousin of mine.
Never left home. Never left home.
Died in his bedroom in his mother’s house in his forties.
Then I think – it’s the nature of things.
They have to go –
I don’t really want them to stay.
Not forever.
But would it be so bad
to have coffee with you every day
for all eternity? It was heaven,
those daily rituals, the luxury of it
the extravagance –
coffee with cream, with you,
every day.
IRONING
In the midst of an economic downturn and
an upcoming presidential election when
things are unsettled and life feels
askew I have a yen to iron
a white broadcloth shirt to smell the clean
fabric, starch, and steam.
My mother had a mangle in our basement
and used to iron sheets, tablecloths, flour
sack dishtowels. She was skilled
on the big roller with the heavy metal plate,
even ironing shirts on it,
first the back, then each side, then each sleeve
and cuff and finally the collar.
The stacks of folded clothes
gave respite to a life that included
an alcoholic father, a miscarriage,
the ups and down of business,
a social system that didn’t fully
admit her despite her clean,
well-decorated home, ability to play golf,
excellent martinis, and elegant
dinner parties.
I set up the ironing board,
heat the iron, and take out
the white, wrinkled shirt.
