Breezing

"Breezing" is the race horse's last turn
around the track
After the absolute effort of timed gallop
Before the long cooling walk.
Breezing, he sets his speed
tests his mood,
Head up, tail high, work behind him,
Oats waiting in the barn.

Today I am breezing,
judging the day with my nostrils,
Someone's baking bread,
Someone else burning oak.
But I have misunderstood the wind.
I turn for home and it slams me like
something left unlatched.
And I still have the hill.
But at the finish
My oats.

~Gail Mahr

An Oblivious Metamorphosis

When I was twelve,
I merged in the dark of the Tower Theater
with Shirley Maclaine.
Elfin rufous hair and celadon eyes, pale
perfect skin, thoroughbred legs,
were mine and hers.
We had the power to make men lust 
and cherish.
Home in the bathroom mirror,
round and mousey me.
Strangers thought I was my brother's brother.

Twenty-five years later
looking in the mirror again,
Eyes the color of winter grass stared back,
Hair sliced with gold slides across the face,
Not Shirley's face.
But
The one I deserve.

~Gail Mahr

A dear friend of mine is a gifted writer.  I find her work to be both magical and intuitive.  Graciously she has agree to allow me to share some of her work on my blog.  Consequently during the next few weeks, from time to time, you will see something written by Gail Mahr.  With that introduction I now share with you:

 "Lost Waitress Poem":

Over the Years,
Michael fell in love with this blond waitress.
He could imagine her
in one of his old shirts reading the newspaper
next to him in bed,
even as she said:  "Coffee, sir?"

One day, only dusty plants
waited in the window where the restaurant
used to be.
Michael new he lost her.
He ate every lunch out,
dinner, sometimes, too plunging ardent-eyed
into uncharted Pizza Heavens and Mac and Don's,
blurting not:  "Can I look at the menu?"
but:  "Let me see your waitresses!"

In Michael's town
there are many restaurants.
Because he hated Chinese food,
He never found her

~Gail Mahr


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