Powell's Books might be the reason I moved to Portland. 

CARDINALS

by John L. Stanizzi

for Carol

I had seen them in the tree,

and heard they mate for life,

so I hung a bird feeder

and waited.

By the third day,

sparrows and purple finches

hovered and jockeyed

like a swarm of bees

fighting over one flower.

So I hung another feeder,

but the squabbling continued

and the seed spilled

like a shower

of tiny meteors

onto the ground

where starlings

had congregated,

and blue jays,

annoyed at the world,

disrupted everyone

except the mourning doves,

who ambled around

like plump old women

poking for the firmest

head of lettuce.

Then early one evening

they came,

the only ones--

she stood

on the periphery

of the small galaxy of seed;

he hopped

among the nuggets,

calmly chose

one seed at a time,

carried it to her,

placed it in her beak;

she, head tilted,

accepted it.

Then they fluffed,

hopped together,

did it all over again.

And filled with love,

I phoned to tell you,

over and over,

about each time

he celebrated

being there,

all alone,

with her.

My father's diary

How excited am I that the holiday season is finally over? Quite. 

It's not that I'm a scrooge, a grinch or a hater of the holidays in general. The relief simply stems from the fact that nothing is quite as depressing as spending the holidays alone. And so I did.  Crying alone underneath the Christmas tree after working all day just doesn't say Merry Christmas to me.

I'm not attempting to garner sympathy, just sharing the facts. I'm relieved the holidays are over, and I'm looking forward to whatever 2009 throws at me. I feel like it is going to be a fantastic year.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

MY FATHER'S DIARY

by Sharon Olds

When I sit on the bed, and spring the brass

scarab legs of its locks, inside

is the stacked, shy wealth of his print.

He could not write in script, so the pages

are sturdy with the beamwork of printedness,

WENT TO LOOK AT A CAR, DAD IN A

GOOD MOOD AT DINNER, LUNCH WITH MOM,

TRIED OUT SOME RACQUETS--a life of ease,

except when he spun his father's DeSoto on the 

ice, and a young tree whirled up

to the hood, throwing up her arms--until

LOIS. PLAYED TENNIS WITH LOIS, LUNCH

WITH MOM AND LOIS, DRIVING WITH LOIS,

LONG DRIVE WITH LOIS. And the,

LOIS! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! SHE IS SO

GOOD, SO SWEET, SO GENEROUS, I HAVE

NEVER, WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE

TO DESERVE SUCH A GIRL? Between the tines

of his W's, and liquid on the serifs, moonlight,

the self of the grown boy pouring

out, kneeling in pine-needle weave,

worshiping her. It was my father

good, it was my father grateful,

it was my father dead, who had left me

these small structures of his young brain--

he wanted me to know him, he wanted

someone to know him.

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.  And to make an end is to make a beginning.

T.S. Eliot

WE DID NOT MAKE OURSELVES

We did not make ourselves is one thing

I keep singing into my hands

while falling

asleep

for just a second

before I have to get up and turn on all the lights in the house, one after the

  other, like opening an Advent calendar

My brain opening

the chemical miracles in my brain

switching on

I can hear

dogs barking

some trees

last stars

You think you'll be missed

it won't last long

I promise

________

I'm not dead but I am

standing very still

in the back yard

staring at the maple

thirty years ago

a tiny kid waiting on the ground

alone in heaven

in the world

in white sneakers

I'm having a good time humming along to everything I can still remember

  back there

How we're born

Made to look up at everything we didn't make

We didn't

make grass, mosquitos

or breast cancer

We didn't make yellow jackets

or sunlight

either

_________

I didn't make my brain

but I'm helping

to finish it

Carefully stacking up everything I made next to everything I ruined in broad

  daylight in bright

  brainlight

This morning I killed a fly

and didn't lie down

next to the body

like we're supposed to

We're supposed to

Soon I'm going to wake up

Dogs

Trees

Stars

There is only this world and this world

What a relief

created

over and over.

-Michael Dickman

In the words of Tiny Tim...

Merry Christmas! Wishing you and yours a lovely laughter, family and peace filled holiday.

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