Lilies spread their petals into sunshine,
welcome in vermillion, amber, peach. 
Nature doesn’t linger on the mantel, 
slashed stems in a glass vase, no bees
transport seed. Flaming ovaries, waving 
anthers, ready stamen – petals wide 
celebrate their last exuberant show.

When cancer claimed my mother’s fragile body, 
sapped hope from blooming on her face, 
I brought her a lily-covered journal.  
Staring deeply into flowers’ centers,
breath could catch fragrance - a sacred place
for her to leave her unfurled self. 
Blank pages buried in her dresser drawer.
I remember when she said, 
What if someone reads it when I’m gone?
                        

The man in the gray Dart followed me
on the freeway as I drove home 
after bolting fenders onto Firebirds on swing shift
that slogged into 2 am with overtime, not many cars clogging
the road so even half melted into sleep I couldn’t help
but notice him, headlights glaring 
like stalking cats. First I figured 
it was post assembly-line delirium 
so I switched to the left lane and picked up speed 
and so did he, then back to the right
practically crawled and so did he. So no joke,
or at best the joke’s on me, long before GPS
or cell phones, Rapunzel stuck in her tower with shorn locks 
and no prince to save her – then a tiny clearing in my foggy mind 
eyes the Hill Street exit
where I can double back on the freeway 
in a flash, so I dart to the off-ramp, make the U-ey 
and lose that bewildered creep. 
I tip the rear-view mirror to double check 
my Steve McQueen car chase. Old fears flash in the dark 
then fade behind me with a rush of power as Venus 
ignites the night sky. 
                        

I disembark, barefoot 
onto the snowy platform,

place my suitcase 
beside a bench 

and return to find my shoes. 
I brush past the conductor

on roll-up steps, departure whistle 
inches from his lips,

slide open compartment doors 
to strange, startled faces. 

No racing heartbeat, 
no tears, no fist

slammed against
the train’s metal frame.

I search. I search. 

And when, still shoeless, 
I emerge from the dream, 

I wonder where 
that composure hides,

and could I coax
it into day?