TASK OR ART by Billie Barbara Masten who will give message to Billie Barbara I am the working man’s daughter. Builder - cement contractor I married the man I wanted to become Artist - poet The circle inside the spiral splits Betrayal of my father Not being all that I can be Betrayal of myself *** HOUSEWIFE - 1978 Jealousy and hate That big bad wolf Gobbled up my eyes And a gruff Daddy voice In my head Continually said, “It’s not nice for women To go out to work.” I stayed in the house No quiet, peaceful hilltop, I was a faucet, an endless drip I cried, whined, As I swept, mopped, ironed I saw only the clothes, the outer man. Got caught in the tie Served my hands on a platter Along with my head To the man “For the children’s sake,” I said. But I let the house eat me. *** BE STRONG - April 1999 Over the phone The cancer growing in your husband is uncurable.” The feeling starts to shoots the shock through me When my oldest daughter says: “Be strong mother!” I thought I was strong but my heart stopped beat irregular going mad with rage I don’t want change “Arrhythmia” our family doctor said “Give up caffeine, chocolate Most of all avoid stress.” *** ZEN Temporary art lasts only until she destroys it. Or till the wind and rain come to erase it Mother Peace *** I rake the hard ground Making waves I walk on water Be still - be still - be still *** COFFEE TRAIL Every morning he makes my coffee Brings it to my side of the bed To get to our kitchen You must go down the outside stairs Under the house Coffee made he would leave the kitchen Cross the tiny porch Back up the stairs into the living room Down the hall Past bathrooms, bedrooms, his office Then up the tower stairs As soon as i smell the coffee coming I yell: Don’t spill on my white rug. Be careful!” We’ve been doing this For over forty years He knows I like coffee in bed Coffee tatoos the rug Like time freckled the backs of my hands These historical love markers Will not wash off *** TASK AS ART To turn utilitarian work into art You must have eyes with hands And hands with eyes *** APPLE PIE Abundance! Gold - yellows - rubies - emerald globs Fell in the Palo Colorado Up on Green Ridge My daughter brought some From Grandma’s Goetz trees Pareing the fruit Not wanting the pie to fail I try to keep the peal The thread of live unbroken Quartered I cut away their centers Uncovering their innermost secrets The seeds With promise of new life Wash the slices Mix sugar with a pinch of salt And cinnamon Set aside to let the apples weep for the joy of becoming human or the pain of being baked My recipe for pie crust based on duality never fails Use 1/4 C. boiling water To melt 1/2 C. of butter Mix in 1 C. flour Put into freezer By the time the dough is removed and thawed The apples swim in the sacred nectar Rolling the dough With this glass rolling pin Generations of women stand behind me Great Aunt Sadie Grandma Ollie Mamma Minnie and now me Grandma Billie Fluting the edge to finish the pie I add the A for apple I’m told What every woman wants to hear That a slice of my pie Can induce a trance like state Bring great joy - cure the comon cold Cause warts to drop off Make some sing and dance Cause men folk to laugh out loud And all ask for more In learning the art of cooking Like most women I have learned to eat my mistakes *** DREAM “Without art we parish from the truth.” Oliver Sacks a bit ashamed of my father I once asked him What did he accomplish with his life He showed me houses he built Sidewalks he finished Curbs and gutters he poured All made with his hands He walked through my dream Last night I recognized his working man’s uniform The brown carrtigan sweater The shoes called “Romeos” And the snap brim hat This morning I know it was my husband Wearing my fathers clothes