Dottie I hate astrology
and the way you sit there
you and Bianca
looking down on my poems
I can almost hear you thinking
how did he get so old
why did we ever pretend
we liked to listen to
his various hues of darkness
and occasional pale glows
this is projection I know
I know you are full
of true love for poetry
made not just by yourself
and for that I really do love you
also I adore your earrings
the little toy fruits and plates
and your brilliant
terrifying mind
but the way you look down
even though you do not
with the mystics on me
destroys me
Dottie you are a green jewel
a scary green jewel
that can tell the future
so much better than astrology
which is really stupid
though no birds get killed
so I guess it’s harmless
unless you let it direct you
but then again
Dottie your last book
made me afraid to be a mother
I add it to all the others
the real fears about my son
I will tell you sometime
how different he is
it causes me to marvel
even when I feel the fears
I imagine them
in some part of my mind
let us not call it the library
let us call it the door
Dottie your poems
make me want to open it
for a long time now truth
has been a ridiculous word
for what power guides
my mind half asleep
pushing me further
where I am so afraid to go
Dottie you have seen my chart
so you know I was born
on the terrible cusp
of reason and dream
and there I will always remain
waving at you as you pass
in your green craft
knowing you will return