Decided to dust off some poems I wrote and see what you think–I wrote them (get ready, you may be shocked) before home computers, on a typewriter.  Some of you probably don’t even know what that is–of course, you also may not have ever seen a corded phone.  Anyway, let me know what you think.




As babies, we were often imprisoned by
a single wooden-slatted playpen
And we shared nipple-topped coke bottles on
the back floor of the ’52 Chevy wagon
while our mothers ate cheeseburgers all-the-way at
Kibby’s Dairy Queen


We strutted into Kindergarten securely
snapped together        best friends
We already knew our phone numbers
she knew mine                        I knew hers
We ate flat rectangular
brown and white cookies from
a wax paper sack and
napped like a package of Twinkies


Together we tried to read the tiny Tonette
home perm comics but
ammonia fumes made our eyes blink and blur
Her mother yelled at me, mine at her,
forgetting we weren’t even cousins


When we were six they made us matching organdy
Easter dresses
hers pink, mine blue
with broad-brimmed streamered straw hats
When she got shiny black bow-tied tap shoes
so did I


But for five years
our classrooms were halls apart
In sixth grade we finally shared a class again and
our first real fight


In junior high we shared her boy friends
at least they talked to me


Our sixteenth summer we water-skiied the
dawn-slick and afternoon chop of the bay and
she found me a man


Our babies shared blue and green flowered strollers
brown rubber pacifiers, blender baby food
Our children shared her swimming pool


Then she was divorced
I was scared
She was dating
I was mopping
She remarried
I held her flowers and
six months later
her hand when she
left him


they reconciled
I sighed


She floats        happy-light
I’m stuck         worry-muck


                        Lynn Moreland




So much of my life I’ve
in my head
out of and away from
this body of


Away from ropes
I couldn’t jump
balls I couldn’t catch
stilts I couldn’t walk on
away from running too slow
and stumbling too often


away from being the
and away from
dance partners I could never please or impress


For much of my life
I’ve stayed in my head
because with words
I was graceful
with words
I was agile and quick
with words
I made my own music
with words
I made the images dance


Then I met Pamela
Pamela took private dance lessons
I thought
if no one’s watching
I could try


If others could learn
could I?


all I knew
was that I
wanted to dance
more than I
wanted to


I ached to
fly across the floor
to glide and spin until I
was dizzy and breathless
I wanted desperately to
trust my body
to feel the music and my partner
to move at the right time
in the right direction
with just the right shadings of
posture and sway


after fifty-three years
I wanted nothing more
than to dance myself
right out of
my head


Lynn Moreland  1/4/03