Billie Dee
    Billie Dee has not dropped off the face of the earth, as we all thought she had, but has been discovered in San Diego writing fruitfully. An old man’s memories as he tries to urinate in the middle of the night; a child punished in the cellar for painting the dog blue; a mother swallowing her grown son’s baby teeth—these and other homespun and yet transcendental moments stand out in Billie Dee’s direct and yet artful creations. I’m delighted that she has agreed to stop by, if only for an afternoon, to share her smart and moving poems.


Punished for Painting the Dog Blue

Fusty cobwebs, damp
moldering mops and rags;
I've grown used to the cellar.
The gas furnace glows
lika a dragon's mouth.
At first I was scared,

till the squeaks of the mice grew
familiar. Now I listen because
they know the way outside.

I don't miss the light much now.
My eyes have grown so pale
dreams leak through the centers

and twirl in the dark.
The old granite laundry sink drips
like a water clock.

When I get of of here,
I'll buy a new bike.
And some ice cream.

I won't share
with anyone, especially you
Mommy.


2011 Billie Dee
Billie Dee was a Featured Poet who read her poetry at the July 2011 Second Sunday Poetry Series