complicated
family history
the slapdash years
the hopes
baked into the pasta
the worries
on our sleeves
until the rains came

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rain in my hair
hanging in my face
reading the new gravestone
next to hers
20 years
feels like yesterday

endurance

the speed bumps were hell–every movement forward a vertical climb–each sodden word meant to comfort and encourage pulling her down hard–magnets in her shoes, sticking her feet solid to the road

tripping on cookie crumbles and gravy-laden track, she would never be Secretariat and not turn back, but hell if the memo-rees didn’t sprain her right ankle just as she was pulling ahead of the others

she saw the impact on their faces–after 2 decades of tsunami and degradation–lipstick and powder trying to pull it off–oh, the meanness–how they looked away, then back, then away

God’s provision, the hope in her pockets, kept her looking straight ahead, never at her feet, where even the mice were against her, the skunks conspiring, the rattlesnakes ever loud and insistent–she was not alone

Precious

She cried during Star Wars
and he laughed at her
which made her cry more
turning to lay her cheek
against the cool glass
raindrops on the window
like diamonds

‘Isn’t it precious,’ she thought
lighting a cigarette
and hearing him cough
from across the room
but he’d never tell her to stop
crazy about her grumpy moods
in love with how she exhaled

“Maybe we should get away,” he said
getting up and walking over
kneeling at her feet, and
wrapping his arms about her legs
hearing her reply how she liked
things the way they were, and
feeling her fingers in his hair

 

how do you teach poetry
shall you instruct
how to have a soul
in chairs, facing front
apple on the table
will you tell me how to feel
in alphabetical order
you would do well
to hold class
at the edge of the volcano
the center of the storm

Monday Random: Easter Sunday

  • Good morning
  • Easter was to be a small affair, just the two of us
  • The menu was simple: chicken parmesan, garlic bread, a big salad, and my famous cheesecake for dessert
  • Saturday I had been so sick, I lay around all day, in and out of sleep. Nothing serious, just a virus that’s been around our town and finally found me
  • Hubby had been sick already 3 days
  • By Sunday a.m. we knew neither of us were going to church
  • Dinner was a maybe, the day’s fare consisting mostly of tea and toast, and diet soda
  • Somewhere mid-day while watching movies, he got hungry and I made salads. That gave us some energy to think about the delicious chicken, but that meant being on my feet
  • What’s a girl to do?
  • The cheesecake finally made it into the oven, but had to refrigerate a minimum of four hours
  • The chicken was finished cooking mid-evening, declared delicious, and gobbled up, sans bread or veg or anything else
  • Then I passed out during the next movie
  • When I woke up, I was sad that it was bedtime and he hadn’t had any Easter cheesecake. I cut him a slice and he declared one bite delicious, saving the rest for Monday
  • I opted out of that or toast or anything, laying down again and waking up to the t.v. another hour later, past midnight
  • We finally had the good sense to find our bed, then talked more into the night before we both passed out to our fever dreams
  • I dreamed about Barry White. He was hanging out with me in a black, glittery suit, a whale of a man. I said, “That suit just glitters, it really shines.”
  • He said, “You shine, in everything you do.”
  • Damn, I have an endorsement from Barry White. I woke up feeling a little better and more confident than ever to continue on the path I have chosen. What a guy.

Happy Monday! We are all still here, and glad to be. If we ever get re-married to renew our vows as we’ve discussed, I want this song to be part of it. Allbest as we start out this week together. Thanks for reading. You know,  I never take that for granted–

Sleeping with the television on

Did I sleep?
I remember moments
when colors flew by
kaleidoscope
and merry-go-round
and you–-smiling
that must have been a dream

our fingers
formed a web between us
and you lifted your hand
to
brush hair off my forehead–-
shivering with the notion
of one hundred nights

I trampled you
and you asked for more
assumptions. predictions. affirmations.
and a storm
of peppermint schnapps
the tip of your tongue
lazy–
saying–
come on

each day
a new destination
to reach that sunset
with you still seeing me–-
and I was drawing you
into every waking hour
the way I saw you

Jesus, you are not a building

A good Friday psalm

You are not a building.
You are not songs, millennia old.
I am yours and you are mine
and that is my joy

Please don’t let me take that for granted
Or stop thanking you–
for you are not a building
or angry mobs, but you are there

You are not this hate-filled debate
but you see it–hear it–and know
what is true–not this circular argument
that breaks our hearts

You are not my race.
You are not my gender.
You are not my house.
But my body is your temple

I beg you to open my eyes
so I see all of the truth.
Is it enough to know that I need you?
I know myself

I am no better or worse
than anyone on my screen, or
on my street, or in that building
that you are not