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Robin Dawn Hudechek

~ Poet and Writer

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Tag Archives: Southern California

For Lilith

27 Monday Feb 2017

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in historical poem, Kentucky Review, Laguna Beach, Laguna Beach Poet, mythic poetry, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California, Southern California Poetry

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Biblical poetry, Laguna Beach, mythic poetry, poetry, Southern California

They say she chases women and their bloody births
and her shadow rises above cribs
when once crying babies stop breathing.
If you ask, she will tell you:
Before the first silvery light
rose over the cold planes of a new planet
her womb was closed
and though she glories
in taking her lover’s member
between her thighs
her own vine grows outward
in delicate tendrils,
forever casting out her lover’s seed
in homage to First Man, first love
banished from the Garden.
She will never wear your chaste veils
or stand before a hot kettle
and when she meets Our Lord
it will be in an open field.
He will pluck flowers from her hair
and look upon her moon white body
and wonder that this was the wife
Adam could not hold.
These were the generous hips
that would never yield.
Let her fingers find your most private places
as your bed fills with her feathers, never yours,
dampened with flights never taken
before she tosses her head
and hair black as crows wings
spills in your face.
Her whisper is an open cavern
at the edge of the sea.
If you turn your head
and only the moon glances back,
a mere flicker of an eyelash,
remember, it was you who chose
to let go of her hand.
She never promised to follow.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Published in Kentucky Review: 2016

The Night Jesus Blew Out His Birthday Candle

24 Saturday Dec 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in Christmas Story, Christmas tradition, creative non fiction, Eunoia Review, Jesus Christ, Laguna Beach, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California, Uncategorized

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Childhood memories, Christmas Traditions, creative non fiction, Creative Writing, family, family story, grandparents, Laguna Beach, relationships, Southern California

Note about the Story:

Christmas was always a very special and magical time in my childhood, a time when we stayed awake to hear Santa’s reindeer on our roof and searched for the Star of Bethlehem, sure we could see it every Christmas Eve.  Though we were poor, my mother and my grandparents did all they could to fill this very special day with love and holiday traditions we kept, year after year.  On my seventh Christmas, my mother decided to break with tradition and bake Jesus a birthday cake, and turned our Christmas Eve dinner and gathering into a birthday party, a Christmas that became one of the most magical and memorable nights of my childhood.

The Night Jesus Blew Out His Birthday Candle

I was seven on the Christmas Eve my mother baked a birthday cake for Jesus.  When she finished whipping the cake batter, she passed the bowl to me and I lifted shining drops of chocolate, like speckled ornaments to my lips.

It occurred to me as my fingers lined the batter bowl, that we would be the only ones to eat the cake.  If he came at all to the birthday party in his honor, Jesus could only watch—and who would blow out the candle?

Christmas Eve came.  Snow sparkled on our lawn and in the street and curled against our front door like a rumpled blanket until my sister and I took a shovel and scraped the snow and ice from our steps.  My grandmother was too frail to walk up our icy stairs, and soon she and my grandfather would be here, bearing bags of presents.  We knew already we would get pajama sets with sleeves that dangled inches past our arms.  We knew there would be Barbie dolls for my sister and me, and model race cars for my brother.

Andy Williams sang “The Little Drummer Boy,” and my sister and I strained to see the brightest star flickering like a dim night light behind lazily drifting clouds—the star of Bethlehem burning thousands of years, and thousands of miles away from that first Christmas.

After dinner, we all huddled around the kitchen table as my mother lit the candle on Jesus’ birthday cake.    “Wouldn’t it be great if Jesus blew out the candle?”  I announced loudly.  My grandmother shushed me, and we all sang happy birthday to Baby Jesus, whose place in his cradle of straw in our family manger would not be filled until he was born on midnight, Christmas Day and my mother placed him in his crib. We sang and I silently prayed to Jesus to please come and blow out his birthday candle.  I promised I would be good for the whole year if he would.

The singing stopped and we all looked at each other.  My mother raised her knife to cut the cake.  Suddenly the church steeple lamp next to the kitchen table started flickering, and all eyes turned toward it.  What’s wrong with it, my mother said and her voice and the voices of the other adults seemed very far away.

A whoosh of wind burst through the living room and the Christmas garland rustled.  I thought I heard the front door opening, then slamming shut.  The church lamp stopped flickering and we all looked back at the birthday cake.  The candle was blown out, and a long plume of black smoke rose where the flame once danced, moments earlier.

“He blew it out, he blew out the candle!” we kids exclaimed.  I leaned toward the cake in awe.  “No,” Mom said, “Your grandmother did it when everyone was looking at the lamp.”  But my grandmother shook her head, looking as surprised as the rest of us.

“It wasn’t me!” she said, gruffly.

Then what about the wind and the sound of the garland, rustling?   I wanted to know.

“It probably fell down again,” my mother said.   We all got up from the table and went to the living room.  The garland had not fallen down.  But it had moved.   My mother had hung it over the hole in the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.  We all saw that the ends of the garland now met over the doorway, framing my mother’s ceramic Jesus, smiling down at all of us. To this day, no one could explain where the wind had come from and how the garland had moved, and if my grandmother did blow out Jesus’ candle, she would never tell.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Originally appeared in Eunoia Review

My poem, “I Was with You When You Slept” was published on Verse-Virtual today!

30 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in Biblical Poem, Laguna Beach, Mary Magdalene, poem, Uncategorized

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historical poem, Laguna Beach, Laguna Beach poet, love poem, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California, Verse-Virtual

I am so thrilled that my poem, “I Was with You When You Slept” a poem that is very close to my heart, is up at Verse-Virtual today.  Please take the time to enjoy the beautiful work in this outstanding online journal.  I am so honored to be included among so many fine writers.

On a personal note, every time I return to this poem, I think of you, Mom, Diane Robinet Hansknecht.  This one is for you.  I love you very much!  http://www.verse-virtual.com/robin-dawn-hudechek-2016-october.html

 

Mean Teacher

24 Saturday Sep 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in divorce, domestic abuse, family poem, Laguna Beach, Laguna Beach Poet, poet, poetry, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California

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Chiron Review, domestic abuse, Family Poem, Laguna Beach, Laguna Beach poet, Poem about divorce, poet, poetry, Poetry about Childhood, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California, Southern California Poet

The Mean Teacher is coming,
the babysitter warned us.
Her fingers curl like talons outside our window.

The mean teacher is coming.
My father’s belt swings in one of her hands,
a mini chalkboard, in the other.

The mean teacher is coming.
The baby sitter warned us.
She will make me learn my abcs,
Letters bright as fruit plastered our walls.
My sister can read whole sentences.
Her gold star shines on her forehead,
but I’m too slow.

The mean teacher is coming
The babysitter warned me.
My father slips his belt off his pants,
hits me hard if I cry, and hits me harder
when I can’t stop crying.

The mean teacher is coming
I don’t want to learn my letters. I’m five.
I want to watch Sesame Street.
I want a life free as Oscar,
living in a trash can.
My banana peels will smell clean and sweet
and keep intruders away from my door.

The mean teacher is here:
the babysitter floods the room with light.
Hands arc outside our windows like claws,
naked hands without sleeves or rings,
a woman’s hands.

The mean teacher is here.
She can hear the shouting and doors slamming.
My mother is crying.  My father’s fist
smashes into her face.
My sister runs from the room,
but I can’t stop watching.

The mean teacher is here
One day my father will leave.

But he comes home every night for dinner.
This night I will crawl into his lap and
and tell him about the mean teacher
and he will believe me.

The mean teacher was here.
No, that’s only the neighbor.  My father points
to a man red-headed as Archie in the comics.
It doesn’t matter that his fingers are short and stubby,
too unlovely to distend into claws.
The hands in the window are gone.
The neighbor was never told
how my father protected me that one night
before he turned the key in the door
and never returned.

By Robin Dawn Hudechek

First appeared in Chiron Review, Winter, 2015

Three Poems in Inlandia: A Literary Journey!

11 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in Inland Empire, Inlandia: A Literary Journey, nature poem, nature poetry, Southern California, Uncategorized

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Inland Empire, Inlandia: A Literary Journey, Laguna Beach poet, poetry, Poetry About Nature, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California, Southern California Poet

Inlandia, A Literary Journey is up today and I am very honored and happy to have three poems in this lovely online journal along with fiction by my friend, John Brantingham, and work by many other fine writers!  https://inlandiajournal.org/2016/05/09/robin-dawn-hudechek/

The Night Jesus Blew Out His Birthday Candle

04 Friday Mar 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in Christmas tradition, creative non fiction, family tradition, Laguna Beach, Southern California, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

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Childhood memories, Childhood story, Christmas Traditions, creative non fiction, Eunoia Review, family story, Laguna Beach, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California

I am very happy and honored that my creative non-fiction piece, “The Night Jesus Blew Out the Birthday Candle” was published this evening in Eunoia Review! This is the first time I have had a creative non-fiction piece published! 🙂

Eunoia Review

I was seven on the Christmas Eve my mother baked a birthday cake for Jesus. When she finished whipping the cake batter, she passed the bowl to me and I lifted shining drops of chocolate, like speckled ornaments, to my lips.

It occurred to me as my fingers lined the batter bowl that we would be the only ones to eat the cake. If he came at all to the birthday party in his honor, Jesus could only watch—and who would blow out the candle?

Christmas Eve came. Snow sparkled on our lawn and in the street and curled against our front door like a rumpled blanket until my sister and I took a shovel and scraped the snow and ice from our steps. My grandmother was too frail to walk up our icy stairs, and soon she and my grandfather would be here, bearing bags of presents. We knew…

View original post 555 more words

Porcupine Hair, poem by Robin Dawn Hudechek (MY MANE MEMORIES Poetry and Prose Series)

29 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in childhood poem, poetry, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

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Laguna Beach poet, poem about childhood, poetry, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Silver Birch Press, Southern California, Southern California Poet

I was so thrilled and honored to wake up this morning and find that my poem, “Porcupine Hair” was published by Silver Birch Press on their beautiful website!

Silver Birch Press

Robin Age 10Porcupine Hair
by Robin Dawn Hudechek

When my babysitter set down the shears,
I looked into the mirror,
told her I liked the haircut,
tried to sound sincere and couldn’t.

My thick hair, shiny as a blackbird’s wing
when it lay flat against my back
sprouted from my head in spiky curls,
unruly as the weeds shooting up every spring
through cracks in our sidewalk
at the edges of our lawn.

No matter what I did with my brush or comb
my hair stuck out over my ears, under my ears
and the back of my head.
I blamed myself for that awful haircut.

We couldn’t afford a salon cut,
so my babysitter volunteered.
When I tried to describe what I wanted,
waves curling at my shoulders
with a glow only the Breck girl could rival,
she tried to follow my instructions, but failed.
The kids already had enough reasons…

View original post 482 more words

Calibanonline #19 is Up and I Have Five Poems in This Issue!

16 Thursday Apr 2015

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in Caliban, poet, poetry

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Calibanonline, Laguna Beach poet, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California

Calibanonline #19 is up and I have five poems in this issue (pgs. 9 -13) and a prose poem in the Contributor’s Advice section (pg. 122)! I am so thrilled and honored to have my work published here among so many talented writers and amazing artists.  Please check out this lovely journal and enjoy! The link is calibanonline.com

Poem published today at The Camel Saloon!

15 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in domestic abuse, poem, poetry, Southern California Poetry

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Laguna Beach, Laguna Beach poet, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California

I am very happy and honored my poem, “Bruises Like Flowers” is up on The Camel Saloon today. If you would like to read it, here is the link:
http://thecamelsaloon.blogspot.com/…/bruises-like-flowers.h…

Bird Gathering

18 Sunday Jan 2015

Posted by Robin Dawn Hudechek in nature poem, poem about cats, poetry

≈ 4 Comments

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Laguna Beach poet, nature poem, poem about cats, Robin Dawn Hudechek, Southern California

As a young girl you fed birds,
imagining their beaks against the crisp bells
in your own palms.
The humming birds are the freest, dipping in sugar water
and hovering just long enough for the sun to flash on their
fat tummies, too heavy for a thing so small.

The doves drop companionably into the food dish
swinging like eager babies
until they are driven away by finches.
You watch the swallows tow a “v” across the sky
and wonder at the beating of wings.  Yesterday,
your arms were so light, boneless,
outstretched against a ripple of hills and marsh waters.

It’s not so easy keeping the neighbors away
or the gardens with four corners
or cats from prowling below the feeders.
There are fewer birds now, fewer nests
in the spidery leaves of the eucalyptus.

Bucket in hand, you watch
for the black and white cat, and think
as the water splashes his face
your hands are too heavy now, too still.

Sometimes the cat does manage to leap
and descend with flailing wings, then
curl his tail like a coat hanger
and press his sleek back against your legs,
proud of the bird on the porch, proud of the wings
folded against the body and the eyes pressed shut
against the faintest fleck of water.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

(previously published in So Luminous the Wildflowers: An Anthology of California Poets)

← Older posts

Recently Published Poems

  • "Bathtub"
  • "Forest Park"
  • "Ghost Walk"
  • "Ice Angels"
  • "Named After a Bird"
  • "Pearls Scatter on My Bed" (p.101) and Untitled (p.105)
  • "Princess June 29"
  • "The Communion Thief"
  • "The Flower Pot"
  • "The Trail"
  • "To the Artist Losing Her Sight"
  • "Uncle Johnny's Plastic Arm" and "The Chambermaid's Garden"
  • "Walking with Medusa"
  • "What My Hands Know"

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