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His Father’s Funeral and My Mirror Poem

  • Posted on March 11, 2013 at 1:50 pm

beautiful-16736_640Several months after reconnecting with Biker Prez (the crazy specifics of which I’ll describe in a future post), his father became ill. Biker Prez flew back to the East Coast from California to see him. Within a couple of days, his father passed away. I attended the funeral which took place at the same cemetery where my grandmother is buried.

It’s an old cemetery.

After his father’s service, Biker Prez and I wandered around the crooked headstones looking for my grandmother’s grave. It took us a half hour to locate it, even though I had written down the section and row numbers.

A few days later, in my weekly writing group, we worked on Mirror Poems. You write 7 lines and then reverse them. Here’s mine:

She’s buried here, in this old cemetery
with its weather-worn headstones in uneven rows.
After his father’s funeral, I took off for Section Five.
She was somewhere, there, lying in peace.
But I couldn’t find her.
The ground creaked
as the ice cracked beneath my boots.

As the ice cracked beneath my boots
the ground creaked.
But I couldn’t find her.
She was somewhere, there, lying in peace.
After his father’s funeral, I took off for Section Five
with its weather-worn headstones in uneven rows.
She’s buried here, in this old cemetery.

Try writing a Mirror Poem and post it in my comments! I’d love to read yours.

I Want To Be A Motorcycle Mama

  • Posted on February 25, 2013 at 12:00 am

face-66317_640If you had the chance to act out a fantasy for a week, would you do it? I’ve got that chance and I want to take advantage of it—to spend a week pretending I’m someone else—to go from the fifty-something, divorced, suburban woman who defines me on the outside to the biker chick, motorcycle mama, badass babe I know I am on the inside (well . . . somewhere on the inside). I have a chance to act out the role of “old lady” to the President of a well-established motorcycle club in California (who, me?), the kind of club like the one on Sons of Anarchy. 

I’ve always had a thing for motorcycles (but please don’t tell my mother). And I used to have a thing for this particular Biker Prez—but that was thirty years ago, way before he started hanging out with bikers, before I moved back to the East Coast from L.A. where I met him, before I married a man who never rode a motorcycle and who I raised two kids with before divorcing after twenty years. 

I reconnected with my old flame from California last year and have plans to fly out to visit him at the end of April.

There’s always been a bit of biker girl in me, and now, in my fifties, I’m going to let her out. The only problem is my body. I’ve got two months to lose those extra pounds I put on over the holidays (you know, the ones that come in handy every year as an excuse for gaining weight).  

I know myself—if I’m not comfortable with my body, this fantasy won’t work. I mean, part of being a biker chick is dressing the part, right? Short skirts, tight jeans, little tank tops that show lots of cleavage and arms (my triceps need toning!). Everything skimpy, tight and sexy. Even a little sleazy. Everything black. 

I’ll need a new wardrobe. And a new body.