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Dawn Robbins

Margaret Mooney 1921 – 2013

By Jeanne Barrett

I called myself a four letter word: Magi

I gave myself a new name; not my father’s, not my husband’s: Magi

Magi, the Biblical word for Wise Men

Did you know it means witch? Magic? That’s what I was

I was the spirited redhead in the too-tight capris, with the too loud laugh

I was a sorceress who lived as a wife and mother

Neither of which I desired to be

I yearned for a different life, a life of freedom and adventure

Marriage was the price I paid to escape my mother’s home

The man was handsome, his seed strong

We had an arrangement

I birthed his children and kept the home fires burning

My heart hungered for more, but I remained

The arrangement took its toll on me

Those last years were hard, and wore me down

He became frail and the drink made him mean

I would be free when he passed

Only I didn’t know how to be

And it wasn’t long for me

Spirits visited me in the night,

My voice was quieted

I tried to scream, but no sound came out

My children, in the bodies of old people, surrounded me

My cats stood guard

Friday the 13^th

Dawn Robbins

Off to College

By Dawn Robbins, April 1, 2021

Broke free of “we.”

Four hours, just four, from sculpting parents

And a family extending this way and that

Like the rabbit ears on a black-and-white TV

This side and that,

All at the same time

Volume high.

“Me” stuck between.

I flee.

Pause for nothing

Never find Robert Frost’s

Forked road.

Like a skewer,

I dash

Straightaway

Away from pearls and pantyhose,

Sterling silver in a felt-lined box.

Which road leads to “me?”

I poke my skewer.

To a Greek Island called Naxos, a farm near Quilcene?

I drive a bus in circles for a living.

Love a man named Alex, then a stranger named Gaby.

And there were others too.

I poke, then stay.

Then seek the next and the next.

One winter day on a mountain,

My hair matches the snow

I take off my skis, throw down my poles, gape at grey sky,

A snowflake drifts onto my tongue,

Becomes my tongue.

Tongue and snowflake blend as one like “me’ and “we,”

Twisted rivers on a single map.

Dawn Robbins

Derange Yourself

By Beverly Wong, April 1, 2021

I blink and with laser focus

I scan across miles of sky and earth

Every blade of grass, tree, knoll, rockfall

My glasses no longer needed.

Catching currents

Takes me higher in the atmosphere

Stretching my wingtips to full extension

Are these my arms?

I spot movement in the meadow

As I dive down to snatch a rabbit

My claws reach, but the lucky prey scoots off

Just in time.

These talons are my toes

Razor sharp

A nail file could not dull them.

Flap, flap, flap

I hoist my body to the sky

Gaining distance from the speckled earth

I travel a great distance in a short span

My bones light as my feathers

Where are my clothes?

Downy plumage, black and white markings

Sleek and gleaming in the sunlight

I open my beak to speak.

What happened to my mouth?

“Scree, scree, scree”

Sounds not words in flight.

Dawn Robbins

The Huntress

By Dawn Robbins, March 31, 2021

Diana, goddess of the moon,

Looks like you

Before “that man” bought you shoes.

“Pretty shoes for a pretty girl.”

Slender, strong, you run

Eyes to the future

Bow in hand.

“That man,”

That twisted imitation of a man

Kidnaps you again and again.

Even now

As you lay dying.

Your nurse slips morphine through your nose tube to help you breathe.

Labels your echoing nightmare with a four-letter word

P-T-S-D

“Should have told…”

Mother, sister, friend…

You bound that secret, bound your breasts.

Ran and ran and ran.

You can’t run anymore.

Your body won’t let you.

So tell.

Tell now.

Tell and tell and tell,

Sharpening an arrow with each telling.

Fill your quiver.

Grip your bow by the neck

Pull the string.

Back, way back.

Position the arrow between your arthritic fingers

And aim.

Hold steady.

Release.

Watch the arrow pierce the beast

that turned a child who once ran naked

Into the goddess of chastity.

Dawn Robbins

The blue shock of sky
clouds billowy
the awnings unfurled.
The day has just begun.
Pigeons and seagulls
wrest in the air.
Come follow me to the Piazza
I’ll meet some friends and
see what wares are to be had
in the marketplace.
Children unleashed from their mother’s hands
Run and tumble in the square
“Mama, Mama, I found a lost dog”
“May I keep her?”

In my breakfast room
I gaze at Piazza San Marco
as I eat a slice of challah with marionberry jam.
I have my own masterpiece.
Purchased on a half-price Sunday
I visit Venezia every day.

Dawn Robbins

Where I’m From

Storytellers in a Zoom class add one line each to create a ‘Where I’m From’ poem. Inspired by a widely used poem by poet George Ella Lyon, the exercise kicks off the Stories Upon Stories theme on Navigating Difference.

Dawn Robbins

National Poetry Writing Month

April is about more than showers–even in Oregon. For 25 years, poets, dabblers and star-gazers from around the world have celebrated National Poetry Month. This year, for the first time, Stories Upon Stories is joining the NaPoWriMo club. Find a new prompt every day at the official site. Write a poem a day. Then send them to https://storiesuponstories.com/contact/ so we can post them. Together, through cyperspace, we’ll listen with awe.