Now I have become
The woman
I used to feel sorry for

That one
Who sits in the shadows
Of a tavern that never closes
In the back of the mind
She wears a red dress
And talks to herself
Or the jukebox

Or that one
Who drives an ancient car
Through battered dawns
To feed feral cats
In bad neighborhoods

Who doesn't buy
Jewelry or clothes
Except shoes that don't
Hurt

Sometimes I forget
I have become
Her and forget
That I am old
When I go to the
Mountains and
Run like a girl
Up the steep hill
To gather berries

Or a slide of alpenglow
On the mountain.

Karen Sykes

BIRTHDAY POEM

I want to grow old
Like that old snag
Split by lightning

Many summers ago
My face a boulder
Covered with
Lichen and moss
Or hedge-nettle
Tucked in deep woods
By a stream
That nobody knows

Why are we afraid
Of old people?
We shouldn't be

When I sat
With Grandmother
At the nursing home
The old people
Were like white snags
Drifting through fog
Beautiful
In a terrible way

We should be like this:
Like gnarled branches
With fists of moss,
Nootka roses
At our feet
Dreaming of the
First kitten we ever held
Or the last kiss
On the eve of another war

Rather than
Propped in cold
Chairs in plastic cafeterias
Where strangers
Come with pills

Karen Sykes

COWBOY POEM

(For John, August 21, 2004)

When you ride
Into the sunset
You'll be a stranger,

The shadows
Will be tall
And the flowers gone to
Seed

You'll ride through dying
Meadows
On your way
To big mountains

Where the eye
Of the raven
Is as deep as a tarn

And the heart has no bottom.

Karen Sykes

from Mike P--". . . the line in Karen's poem:
I have become the woman I used to feel sorry for...is
one wonderfully haunting way to grab a reader by the scruff of the soul.

1/27/05 shout from Charles Potts: "Karen Waring, how nice to see her work
out front again. She was always out front."