I have a house full of company
so can't be around much for a bit.

Blogger is giving me heaps of trouble.
I have tried to comment on each
and every blog I visit to wish you guys,
who have become so dear to me,
a happy and wonderful Christmas season
but couldn't, so here it is:

to all of you
Happy Holidays!!

Thin Air ~~ anna hood ~~

I’m up here alone
so high so high
above the speckled
blue bay
my tight rope wobbly
my words glass thoughts
tangled around the rivers
of my wrists.

Around my neck
an amber pendant
for luck a slice of time
a few gentle phrases
by Brahms or a lullaby
in air so thin so thin
in the blue eye of heaven.

I once heard of a man
who wore strung from his neck
small blue bottles
that clinked and clanked
as he walked in his sheet of glass
a glimpse of blue
in the eye of God.

I’m up here alone
so high so high
in unshed snow
in cheesecloth air
the man’s shimmery coat
a glimpse of blue.

Wolf ~~ anna hood ~~

Sometimes,
just before dawn
when aspens quiver
with the first breath of day
I hear them
my brothers, as they cry
their unknown names to the wind.

I leave my nest of down
leave my warm place where words gather
into clumps of futile thoughts
where Vivaldi’s notes tremble
among spider plants that line my window
where paint tubes hold unspilled portraits
of burnished suns or peonies lush
and fleshy as plump bathers
and I go out into the dawn
where the gaunt landscape shivers.
I shed my soft woman body
leave my conscience
my useless guilt and worry at the door
join them in the hunt.

They’re there, outlined
against the glowering sky
tongues lolling from smiling mouths.
Raindrops cling to their ruffs, their tails
the wild scent of them.
The pups, there are 2,
nearly grown and eager, yip with excitement.
We’re hungry, bellies tucked tight
against our ribs.
We touch noses
then we’re off, our legs tireless
strong.

We travel an ageless path
along a sharp ridge where the wind slices
slivers of pewter clouds
hangs them in spruce trees.
Rock cliffs rise in layered pastels.
The purple and gold meadow
blooms with cellophane petaled buttercups
and violets. Fox kitts play.
We drink from the spring where the river is born.
The sun comes out heat shimmers
in rainbows across the valley.
The miles pass. Our hunger grows.

And then we find them
a small herd of caribou rest in a clearing.
We crouch low, heads down
bellies scraping the earth
as we circle downwind until
until it is too much to bear and one of us
with a golden tongue starts the race.
The earth pounds
with their heartbeats, with ours.
An old cow falls behind.
In seconds we are on her.
Three of us slash her hind legs, two her throat.
It is quick; she is ready,
ready to give us this bounty
ready to meld with us and become us.
She drops to her knees as her heart bleeds
its gift into our mouths.

We stop our race
we drop our heads and eat.
Teeth tear into still warm red meat.
Blood stains our muzzles; our belly fills.
After, we the pack, roll on our backs
in the morning sun.

And I have no conscience.
And I have no guilt.
And I know I will never
be the same again.

Forests for Bernita ~ anna hood ~

Last night as I lie
all snugged up in my envelope
of down and silk, I decided
to visit the green vistas
of my mind. It’s been awhile.
I’d track down Diana
or Artemis or whatever she calls herself.
(that girl has a dozen names)
She hunts in the East quadrant;
we’d catch up on things.

Imagine my surprise
read that Dismay! or even Horror!
when I found no wild green forests
no flowing streams
or cypress. No stags, No does
just a barren place
of rock and heat and dust.

But Diana was still there racing
her 2 fleet desert hounds,
her Salukis, the pale bitch
Dawn, the dark male Dusk.
My god, those names! I used to think
use a little originality
but over the years, well
I’ve grown used to them.

Anyway I found her Diana
or Artemis
at the southernmost tip of Ursa Major
She pointed a finger at me
(she’d had time for a manicure, I noticed)
‘This is all your fault,’ said she.
‘Why mine?’ I queried, all innocence.
‘Do you think this place stays green
and lush without some upkeep?
Do some homework.
Quit reading that mystery junk
read something worthwhile
or pick up a paintbrush
for god sake.

The dogs pranced and tugged
snapping at the bear
ear leathers whipping, tail feathers flipping.
And then she was gone
just like that, never looking back
leaving me wondering
Is this the end?
But after a bit
I noticed in the cup
her heel had made
the soil had grown moist
and tiny seedlings
were stretching up
up into the light.

so maybe not.

Saturday Night ~anna hood~

His shadow, lungs near exploding
enters first. Unsteady pointed toes ballet
across the sill on a river of Scotch.

She’s crouched
behind the door
plastic sacs bulging, horns
hidden inside pink foam
rolls of hair. Yards of chenille
cover legs that end
in cloven hooves.

Clutching shoes, he weasels in
peering ‘round corners
ears straining, nostrils
flared, sniffing through furniture
polish, onions, cat box odours
for wifely scents.
Claps, silently. Grins. Safe
thinks he, the old bag sleeps.
This, is when she springs

from behind her door.
Pretending innocence.
‘What time is it anyway?
Is it late? Just woke,’
lies she, grinding pointed teeth.
‘I just got up to warm
some milk.’ O acid sweet.
Pupils a slit
in yellow eyes.

Fuzzled brain still doing the mambo
with Johnny Walker
rocks and rolls, reels
from cerebrum to cerebellum
hop scotches with answers
thinks a good offence
et cetera et cetera, says in a macho
slur, ‘I am the man here
and will goddamn well do
as I please.’

The Chenille Mountain erupts
spewing shirts, pants
shoes, ties, words
and him into a tumble
in the yard
Bang! goes the door.

Then weeps
as she watches him slow dance
in his closet on the lawn.

Teachers ~~ anna hood ~~

He taught her his language.
She learned his words
her mouth full
of them breaking
her teeth as she swallowed.

Later, choking shame
them clicking
pictures a blood shot
bullseye right between
her legs
her shattered battered head
combing – my God!
swabbing scraping
not even whispering
‘a few tests for venereal disease
HIV.'

‘I’d have fought;
why didn’t you fight?
her mother.
Her friend,
‘I’d have screamed
Did you scream?’
as he held the knife at her throat.
Then the police: ‘well how?
and did you?
are you sure?
have you ever?'

Her man couldn’t touch her.
He’d pat her thin shaky self
like an old hound or brush
her cheek with a cold
hard mouth.
One day he left
‘Can’t deal with it.’ Him
whole as he could be left her
tipping off balance.
Transparent.
Invisible.
Alone.

Chained days turn
into weeks into months
shackled between walls of
whys without answers.
A trembling branch
against a three o’clock window
can shake her world, race
her heart, flood
her face, her nightgown
with salt, her skin
pale as wet tissues.

He still thinks of her.

She knows.

Walking on Water ~~ anna hood

I float roses on the snow.
The wind catches them
tosses them onto the bed
where Oriental poppies sleep
like you.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I whisper,
‘it is only the wind.’
It lifts my skirt
the poplar trees shiver.
‘Shall I sing for you
as I scatter petals on your grave?’

This morning I sat
in your chair. You’d look
out the window when you’d write
watch the birds. They still wait for you
with your bucket of seed.
You knew their names, their calls;
you could read the map of the sky
painted on their wings.

In my wallet – photos
a lock of hair – a wish.
My hair is short now
some grey, the colour of a nuthatch,
mixed into the blonde.
You’d like it, I think.

Do you know
there are eight million Shinto deities,
That sometimes now I walk on water?
Do you know I miss you?

The Sock Monkey and The Ballerina ~ anna hood ~


The sock monkey had been asleep
for a long long time.
He didn’t know exactly how long
but he knew it was very, very long.
But he hadn’t been alone. Oh no.
Miss Minette the most beautiful ballerina
in the whole wide world was sleeping
right there beside him.
The sock monkey loved Miss Minette!
He didn’t mind that she was nearly bald
and that her tutu was raggedy.
She was kind and sweet
and she always made him laugh.

And Miss Minette didn’t care
that he was missing an eye.
She often told him he was her knight
in shining armour. The sock monkey
didn’t know what shining armour was;
he only knew it was something good.

One day, so very long ago, Emily
had hugged him and wrapped him
in a fluffy blanket and gently
put him into the box beside Miss Minette.
“Go to sleep now.”

Before they went to sleep they talked
about Emily, how they loved her
long silky blonde hair and
how her giggle made them happy.
They said, “There is nobody
in the whole wide world
who smells as sweet as Emily.”

One morning, after so very long,
the Sock-Monkey felt himself moving.
“It's time. Miss Minette, wake up!”

Then, the box-top was lifted
and the darkness disappeared.
Emily was there; she was all grown up!
“I have somebody I want you to meet, but first
we must get you ready.”
And she sewed shiny black button-eyes
on the Sock-Monkey and dressed Miss Minette
in a frilly new pink tutu.

This is Katherine,” she said, and she put them
into a cradle with a brand new baby.

“She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
asked the Sock-Monkey.

Miss Minette agreed, “Yes. She smells sweeter
than anybody in the whole wide world and her hair
is just like mine.”