January Again

       By Andrea Barnwell

Snow's melted from my heart

a new chill sweeps past

putting all else on hold til

sticks can be bent again

like green willow

til a flower can stand

up and stay without frost

and my eyes see smoke

not rising from my breath

but from summer sidewalks

Sliding, swaying with icy wind

a crow sits on the line

assessing time's wreckage:

just another january day

to recall or forget to remember

that we are no longer children

playing at life, but living it

like countless ancestors before the

first cold took toll for winter's folly

but spring's promise to warm

away the chips of below zero

chemistry put us on notice.

This strange poem in the cold southwest

of January's morn prattles on about what?

Note us: taking stock of the past

Looking toward the future when

time in this body will end

A new time will begin past

the pain, the toil, the tears,

the joy of life on earth and she

will Dis-Cover the secret that everyone knows:

This life is but the greatest and smallest

of deeds, honors, dreams Time leaves for

death - the portal we all must travel through

for the greatest and eternal spiritual life

awaiting us with God Jesus                                

 January 20, 1997

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To Myself: Lists

              By Andrea Barnwell

i write you notes

around silence

around children's noises

happy laughter

around the house

i write you notes-

reminders

in deadline timelines

in stress, in poverty

reminders

in loneliness, in hope

in toil, apprehension

of filing working shopping

things to do that

don't get done

or somehow

manage a half-task

reminders of the mundane

reminders

to wash, cook, shop, dry fold

and put away, sweep, mop, vacuum

call a million people

in promises to return

their needs

reminders to remember

to mend, sew, mail

to pray to sing to read

to write, to rest, to meditate

meditate?

to do hair, nails, personal hygiene

to fulfill this appointment,

that job

i remember to forget

to buy what i can't afford

i scratch out what i discard

and remember to save

your notes - my lists

carry them around

wearing their edges out

in my purse

frey the fold lines

i carry notes

not forgetting to save

those torn shreds

of tasks long accomplished

to show me my progress

and tasks yet to be done

turn up on another list

of things to do

my husband

accuses me of placing

my personal needs

with him on that level

organizing our bedroom

relationships

so listing i remember

to overlook his insinuations

that this listing is evil

evil work this listing

of things to do

as i write to you

around backyard birds

chirping and

moffit field planes

buzzing and

lowrider cars pounding

whizzing bumping through

the silence of another day

gone by

another accomplishment

another time honored

honing of

taking out trash

mowing the lawn

watering fertilizing

planting the garden

fighting the pests

washing the car

grooming the dog

with the urge to do nothing

to want everything

done

to organize others

and obey

this incessant needling

to work

to create

to dream

to help

to care

to remember

to write

another list                                                       

 written in 1981

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Rain Poem

              By Andrea Barnwell

Rain

Spilling all over

Guts

Hurting

Not purging

The gutter swirls

Green bile

Our grass

Grows long

Trees get

Strong while

Rain sheets

Pour down

Our street

Neighbors

Come

Without

Umbrellas

Rain

Makes things

Grow all over

Insides

Swell urging

Forgiveness

Stoops at the

Doorstep

Opens the

Porch planks

Rain

Washes the

Stench while

Wet earth

Smells Something

Something like

Love

August 12, 2003

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