Moving Fast

You move fast oh so fast

gum chomping hair swishing blip blip blip

grocery store items whizzing past your counter

you talk a mile a minute no room for idle time

you nudge you prod with badger eyes you deliver

a glare for pausing a moment to consider

what it would take for all of these movements to

coalesce in space replacing all our physical needs with

a single push of a button. No time for desire no time

to recall the memory of yesterday, lying sullen under

the boughs of the mulberry tree watching fat purple berries drop

onto sodden earth, a rebirth of sorts but no matter now,

how it is that we have evolved in time.

You walk faster and faster. I will never know where you

end up for I will always be all the further behind. Don’t mind

me.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt

Knowing

There is a place which harbors the unknown,

all of it gathered together in centrifugal force,

swirling like conglomerated clouds until

they meet with fierce force. I knew that

place once like the back of my hand. Felt

comfortable to my bones, with the not knowing.

Until I got to this point, where bones met

with uncertainty and began to ache. Then

I needed to know, fully. Details began to

coalesce like dreams. Skeletal people

began to appear like restaurant waitstaff and

ask me what I wanted for dessert. I wanted

pecan flavored ice cream with a burnt sugar

sauce and three raspberries for beauty. All

this I wanted so clearly. This is where I live now.

I have bid my fairwell to uncertainty.

Copyright Maia Twedt 2008

Hurry

Knuckle in the backbone.

Nothing casual about this nudge.

Twirl, catch a glare of loathing, the

neon eyes of a badger. Aware of

time, ticking time, tocking. Walking

faster and faster, urged forward. Even

in the car hear urgent repetitive

honking, like geese flocking warning

of impending slow movements. Turtle

moves behoove urgency. Pack a lunch.

Mere bread, no butter. All a flutter.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt

Priscilla

The pictures of Jesus hung cockeyed on the walls.

She sinks herself into an easy chair.

You fool. What you come here for?

Thinkin’ you know something about my life.

The cavity between us wells, enough

to swallow the silence. Stumbled intentions.

Empty handed as ice cubes.

I talk myself backwards, out the door.

At the doorjamb I stop.

A spider catches my attention.

It lowers itself quickly away from the web.

Priscilla is prickly. She knows how to

get her way. She’ll know how to get by

without my help.

I take my eye off the spider to look

pointedly at her bruises on her arms.

Take your sympathy out the door, she bristles.

I murmur something inaudible.

I leave.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt

Haughty River

It is a haughty river, moving as swiftly

as the train in places, traces

an arc through the plains. The rains

followed the rise of the bluff, enough

height surely to keep the waters at bay, they prayed

through the night, fright

unfurled, whirled

its fury over banks so high, sky

meeting the edge of current, weren’t

there enough people to curse the power, every hour

the water rising, surprising

fly fisherman to shore, more

people gathering at water gaping, escaping,

escaping, escaping.

It is a haughty river, moving as swiftly

as the train in places, traces

an arc through the plains. The rains

followed the rise of the bluff, enough

height surely to keep the waters at bay, they prayed

through the night, fright

unfurled, whirled

its fury over banks so high, sky

meeting the edge of current, weren’t

there enough people to curse the power, every hour

the water rising, surprising

fly fisherman to shore, more

people gathering at water gaping, escaping,

escaping, escaping.

It is a haughty river, moving as swiftly

as the train in places, traces

an arc through the plains. The rains

followed the rise of the bluff, enough

height surely to keep the waters at bay, they prayed

through the night, fright

unfurled, whirled

its fury over banks so high, sky

meeting the edge of current, weren’t

there enough people to curse the power, every hour

the water rising, surprising

fly fisherman to shore, more

people gathering at water gaping, escaping,

escaping, escaping.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt

Me and You

I know you to the tips of your toes,

little sprite, you spry, wiry,

conniving little imp, born to me

by laboring in the raw of the morning.

Born to me again each time you

turn your hip against me, nose in the

air, with the airs of a teenager, be you

only seven.

Little one, hair flying in all

directions, I know not only your

body but your mind as I see you

calculating just what it would take.

I know you like water knows to

turn ice when it’s cold. Like

caterpillars spinning cocoons in the

first ray of summer. Me and you,

we sometimes peanut butter and

spun honey while other times

horseradish and pistachio ice cream.

You know me too. Can catch me

in any mistake I make. Can herd me

over against any fence I build. Can

catch me at my own game time and again.

Me and you will never end although

today it may seem like it. But we

will come through this like all other

days, this day when you wish to fly

away from me like a butterfly unfolding

wet wings from its cocoon. So soon

you yearn to let go from me. So tight

I hold you fast.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt

Cat in the Sill

The cat in the sill looks at me

with disdain. I notice it only because

its stare is piercing and because I love her.

I love her for her original way of

swishing her tail in my face as she

leaves me still in the middle of stroking

her. She knows when to call it enough.

She had a sister once. I did too. The

cat sister was known for drinking

drips from the faucet. The human

sister is known for what she omits

from conversations, whole gaps in the

story. It is not that way with cats.

They don’t even begin the conversation

at all. Simply a gaze will do.

So it should maybe be with people.

They talk too much, do they not?

I know my incessant prattle has scattered

you already. I know I think too much

about cats and too little about what

really matters. But my cats do not

mind me for overlooking the obvious.

They do not need me either to stop talking

or to start. They disdain me either way.

I could stop here, but I would not have

gotten to my main point. My main

point is this: my cat closes its eyes

at just the point where the river crests

and the ivy has overgrown the kitchen.

She simply blocks it all out. Let the

sleeping cat lie, it tells me. And I do.

I would not bother it with something

so minimal. I would simply let it go.

And I do. Really, I do.

Copyright 2008 Maia Twedt