Old Protest

My father worked for a company
that made parts for rockets
and nuclear bombs
although he hesitated talking about it
sometimes he would slip up
like the time he brought home a flier
from "Grandmother's for peace"
and told me they had protested at the plant that day.

They were calm women, he said.

That stuck in my memory all these years.

Pioneer

You are not the stars
but an African drum
beating solo in the Congo
a hint of danger
of revolution
and change.

A native American chant for peace
rejoice the earths bounty
and beauty with honor.
A perfect circle
called home.

One man.

Owning Grief

Car repossessed
and behind on rent
phone shut off last month
and utilities
to follow soon
bank balance
not looking good
but we own our grief.

Can't even give it away
to the homeless guy
holding a sign by the freeway.
He says he has enough of his own.
Imagine that.

Matrimony

132 Months of Marriage
and you remain sort of a mystery
like why you still get worked up
because the clean socks do not match
or there are no towels.
And the earth shakes
while nothing else matters
but that you can't find your papers
or keys, or sunglasses
and you must have them right this moment
and you are somehow convinced
that I am hiding them from you
for my mere amusement.

Yes, you are an enigma,
a puzzle of which I believe is missing a few pieces sometimes
but a riddle nonetheless.

Quietly Humbled

You looked at me once
and I felt at ease
for the first time
lightly undone
into a better place
finally at home
in my own skin.

In your presence
I feel beautiful.

Oregon voters have an opportunity to send a message to the insurance industry as well as the medical lobby when we vote no on measure 35. There is a lot of misinformation out there about capping medical malpractice cases and even exactly what this measure will do. Here is some truth.



Getting to the Truth of Measure 35
by Vanessa Houk

Six years ago my son died at birth. His death certificate lists the cause as stillbirth, but the real cause of Dylan's death was a hospital that was short staffed and unprepared for an emergency on that night in late August. For many months after Dylan's death, I lived in a fog. It took everything I had in me just to wake up every morning and take care of our four year old daughter. I did not have the energy, strength or reserves to ask questions about what happened. Our families tried to inquire, but Jason and I simply needed more time to face up to what happened. When I thought about bringing a lawsuit against the doctor or the hospital, it made me feel sick inside. I did not want blood money, I just wanted to hold my baby son and get a chance to see him grow up. Then about fourteen months after Dylan's death we obtained a copy of his medical records and we saw that there was nearly an hour lapse between our sons struggle (and serious drop in heart rate which signaled he was in distress) and when the doctor finally began a cesarean section, a measure that might have saved his life had it happened much sooner. Instead that hour led to his death and changed our lives.

I talked to a well known attorney who specializes in medical malpractice cases and was informed that the statue of limitations had passed. We had just one year to grieve, heal and begin to ask questions. There was nothing we could do to ensure my doctor would not make the same mistakes and possibly hurt someone else. This haunted me until I learned that this same doctor retired (after an extremely short medical career) and no longer has an active license to practice in the state of Oregon. We were lucky that way. She could still be delivering babies and I would be wondering how many more were "stillborn".

We are hearing a lot about measure 35, most of it funded by the OMA and AMA and the insurance industry who are trying hard to convince us that medical malpractice lawsuits are spiraling out of control. The proponents of Measure 35 want you to believe that this is an issue about keeping quality medical care, especially in the rural areas of our state. Oregon voters are smarter than that. The truth is that this measure is more about deciding the absolute value of a life. This measure isn't just about doctors and lawyers. This is about you and me and an industry that needs to be reigned in.

The insurance industry is not regulated by the Federal government, instead each individual state has a department that oversees the insurance companies selling policies in that state. In our case, the Oregon Insurance Division in Salem is responsible for overseeing the industry. There are three consumer advocates that handle complaints related to the medical field. Three employees cover the entire state! How can we feel secure that our needs are being addressed or even being looked out for?

According to Terrie Troxel, President and CEO of the Insurance Institute of America, the insurance industry is financially healthy and profitable. The insurance industry has been profitable before, during and since the so-called insurance crises of the mid 1980s. Nationwide, the insurance industry averages profits of 18.5 percent annually. The average is over 60 percent higher in Oregon, where the average annual insurance industry profits are 30.4 percent. These numbers do not show an industry that is struggling over "jackpot awards." The truth is in the numbers.

So they want you to believe that injured people are claiming huge pay outs and we are at risk of losing good doctors who can't afford malpractice insurance and yet instead of pointing inward and acknowledging there is room for some belt tightening, they point at families like mine.

Johns Hopkins lists medical errors as being the third leading cause of death in the US. Even using a lower estimate you are more likely to die as the result of a medical error than you are to die in a car crash! We must hold doctors to a high standard and vote no on measure 35. Our own lives may depend on it.

An Evening

Start with your favorite black velvet hat
and your dress boots
that are as comfortable as sin.
Nothing else will matter
as long as you add some quick wit
and a few opinions on current politics.

Speak your mind fearlessly
so you can be living
your life without regrets.

Think that everyone else in the room
is just as full of self hatred and loathing
as you are and they do not have the black hat
nor the soft shoes.

Acceptance

I told you how I longed for Fall
and how rain made me feel better
walking on falling leaves
and the way the air smells on a cool day
like a clean life.

It's hard to get close to a clean life
if you are me anyway.
Everything is so full of drama and pain
and sometimes I just want to run away.

But where would I go?
On foot. In the rain.

So I stay here quietly breathing in the new season
knowing it is the best I can hope for.

What If

This is the last month
of our marriage
and I spend most nights
alone on the couch?

Most of our minutes
alone together
are sexual
but not very filling?

I want to tell you so many things
but even our phone conversations
are short, to the point,
without laughter?

And the last words
I say to you
are angry,
biting and cold.
Will you know the truth?

Aftermath

First numbness and disbelief
an ancient ache
that can't be willed away
yet sits quietly
waiting for answers that never come.

Yet somehow time goes on
ever slowly
and the residual effects
are there for all to see
or not see
as it fits.

And years later there is surprise
that the pain still seeps in sometimes
and can be as raw as the beginning
as lost as hope was.

Favorite Places

Standing outside after midnight
in the shadow of the building
where the stars are free
from lightpost illumination
and other forces
the air is so rich
and the sky is
pieces of broken glass.

And I watch
and memorize
as if there is a test
any moment.

Note to Charles B

You make me look at the bums holding signs by the freeway
wondering if they are really seeing things
or if that is just me clinging to a little bit of hope?
You helped make it okay for the poor to speak out.
You who said fuck your rules
and your conformity,
it is just me and my cross eyed cat
and he knows something
that all of you are searching for.

We keep it going
but you started it.

Finding religion at a Rummage Sale

Such fever,
a dash of people
and piles of old stuff
someone else no longer wants
a hint of consumerism
and recycling
amid little old ladies
and young male booksellers alike.

The air smells like church,
old hymnals
and tiny pencils to fill out the offering envelopes with.

But back to the stuff...
Jesus could have found new shoes here
or even earlier
Mary might have fallen for the bassinet
for a mere twenty bucks.

But then who would have suffered
so the rest of us could be here
gathering piles of our new junk.

Youthfully Mature

In my head I cheat wickedly,
holding onto youth and innocence
fast and tight,
being everything I can
no longer hope to be.

For a few moments though
it is as nice as the first Fall rain.

My Madison

For a moment
there was a giant
named Scrambled Eggs
running across campus,
hiding behind trees.

And then for awhile
you grinned at the old lady
on the bus
across from us,
who smiled back
and asked your age.

"Four and a half,"
emphasis on the half.

You collected rocks,
flowers and bark
on the way home
for a potion you wanted to make
in the afternoon.

And we stopped to admire
three friendly brown dogs,
five crows,
and pick two dandelions
for wishes.

I blew mine
and silently hoped
I could capture this day.

Firefighter

Don't want to remember
how Mike tried to hide from the fire
and yet it burned most of his body
sans the rings around his socks

and I learned that nineteen year old boys could die.
Just like that.

No more hanging out at the park
talking in his soft voice
about moving away
and being someone important
or listening
because that is what he did best of all.

In those hills
near the trees he loved
he clung to life and branches

and to the bleep of a life support machine
until his parents could say goodbye.

Searching for Poems

I wander downtown
and briefly consider making a poster
"Lost: One clear idea,
that with a little urging
might become a poem."
And weave my way
past tired people
who are dining
at the sidewalk tables,
and around dogs
out walking their worn out owners.

The End

Jason wants a Viking funeral
complete with a huge boat and a fire,
but not me,
I figure my life has been dramatic enough
and I can see myself going quietly
in a simple pine box
and a few spoken words out in Tumalo.

Leave me underneath the old juniper tree
walk away quietly,
and that will be enough.

Blame

My four year old daughter's voice
coming back to me saying,
"We used to be so happy, Mom,
and then Dylan died
and now we have all been so sad.
When will we be happy again?"
And the freezing knowledge
that despite my best efforts
and attempts at pretending
that everything was still
the way it always had been,
I hadn't even been able to fool
my own kid
and the grief and pain
of failing her
was almost enough to
put me under for good.

But she and I held on
and we found our way back.
The recipe for hope
as I remember it
included hide and seek,
kite flying,
and many days that fell together
like a house of cards.

Why Bigfoot Doesn't Get Mentioned in Many Poems

Oh, those poets like to be taken seriously.
Full of pretentious and conspicuous art,
their words float with deep meaning.
An overabundance of civilizing
and making things just right,
while Bigfoot is excluded.

I saw him on Highway 97 once
on my way to Bend.
Haven't told very many people that either,
because the few I have confided in
have looked at me strangely
and changed the subject.

So I thought I should mention him here.

Hanging out with the Socialists

I fold donated clothes
that will be given to low income families
on labor day
while ninety-something year old Grace
tells me of the death of another bishop
as she oohs and aahs
over a pile of polyester shirts
I set aside for the old ladies.

Grace's weathered and wrinkled skin
tells a bit about the map of her life,
of doing without
and of fighting back.

Walking Under the September Sky

The air even feels better somehow,
almost like when you are reading a good book
and you aren't close to being done yet,
so you know you have a whole lot to look forward to.
And the stars are vivid, but still and calm.
The shadows in the alley lead to illumination
down on the corner by the Iris Inn.
And you can't help but feel better about things
as the bottoms of your shoes crunch leaves into the dirt road.

This walking,
aliveness,
as you notice small signs
that the world continues to hang on
underneath this simple radiant sky.

Notes to the Self, Past Tense

You might want to avoid men named Bruce
even if he looks like Jon Bon Jovi
but with sadder eyes,
and for god sakes, stay out of San Francisco
in the rain when your pockets are almost empty.

You think you invented sadness
and know pain
but girl, you better duck
because a big one is coming
and there is no Red Cross to arrive for clean up.

You're going to go it alone
but you will be okay.

For Carlos Arredondo

You were so alone
thinking about your dead son
soon to be wrapped in old glory.
A can of gasoline and a propane torch
and not enough time with Alex.

A poster child of the true cost of war,
we all saw your raw pain and identified.
And felt shame.

I would have your tears extinguish the fire
and lead you directly to hope.

I see you wrapped in the moon.
I see the arms of the world around you.