Posts for June 26, 2016

Traveling light in California,
a checkerboard of concrete shapes
once forest and old growth domes
now bending in three dimensional space where
everything seems whiter, brighter, more bare
than flying over the soft greens of Kentucky,
sprawling rivers, and minature horse fences,
or the lushness of Hawaii’s mist dripping gifts.

In such cities, have they lost touch of the land?
No wonder everyone rushes by with sunglasses on–
to hide from the Earth’s glare of vulnerability.

Before there were rivers
there was this amniotic fluid
called the Ocean of Life.

We all came from her womb,
expressed ourselves in her wake,
like micro-plankton stretching our legs.

The thunder from a summer storm
while the baby takes a long nap
and we take a cool shower
your skin against mine
followed by
a glass of wine
a quiet dinner
then cool sheets
and a bed so soft
it pulls me down, down
until I’m sinking
into sleep

Flowers don’t grow on Golfview Drive anymore,
those sunflowers towering gold and maroon,
their tall stems and faces dancing in light,
Jumping Jacks now smothered by grass,
Dahlias in rich purple and vibrant pink,
how you prepared a paradise for me,
all memories of how much I wanted you,
how you once wanted me, fading away,
Now, sorrowful arms clasp empty air.

How I needed you then, your cool skin
next to mine, bright eyes beside languid
green Kentucky flowing, gently,
telling me, maybe, maybe, a picture of
nature’s beauty caked in boots,
mud now dried, hearts filled with love,
gone, when there was once still a chance
then, that you would take me home in
your canoe, fireflies and flowers in June.
 
June 26, 2016   

Mister Chaney was a tall man, even more so next to me, who didn’t come to his shoulder. He was strong, assured, and so very kind to everyone. So very unlike his character in the films we shared, with whom he shared only physicality. Lawrence Talbot feared the werewolf. Some say it was a fear of losing control, or being controlled. Or of Man’s dark side being set free. I almost agree. Good heavens, he feared everyone, even his fiancée, and there’s a wide world between kindness and subservience. The werewolf, on the other hand, was neither Talbot nor Chaney. There was no kindness in his strength over others, no mewling in his sensible fear of men with guns. He would never run from the man inside, even if he could. Talbot feared the wolf side, while the wolf despised the man. 

It is relaxing to sit under a leafy canopy
at the Kentucky Native Café after a hike, sipping on a draft
from Ethereal Brewing, listening to a strumming guitar,
but not as serene as the Sunday silence at Raven Run.

Under a tall sky we walked through the meadow
toward the river, hoping to glimpse some deer.
All we heard was the hammer of a single woodpecker
and a few birds trilling in the noonday sun.

Baby butterflies and moths fed at the monarch waystation.
Underfoot, a black rat snake held its ground.
We stood spellbound as it felt the air with its tongue
before returning to its nest near the trail.

(Her two teenage daughters get home from school.  Mom says…)

Awesomesauce! You’re home! This house is live now!
With my amazeballs fam comin’ home an’ all.
I got woke on your lingo today.
High key need to fix some knosh cuz I’m hangry.
Any o’ your squad savage enough to hang?
If so, I’d keep it as long as they’re not askholes.
I’d hate to have to cancel the trash and drag ’em for that.
I accidentally earjacked your convo yesterday
when you told your bae you needed some skrill
so this savage mom picked up a C-note for your good grades
Well, gotta get back to my regular badassery. Word out!

(Daughters look at each other as mom walks away and one says…)

Never wanna hear that nast again!

                              Five Generations Ago

She addressed her husband as Mr. Smith.
His first wife dead
after birthing seven children,
she about to do the same.

Their bedroom warmed by a fireplace,
her days given over to service,
making lye soap for Monday’s laundry,
ironing on Tuesday, cleaning on Wednesday,
cooking for the farm hands every day,
last to be seated at the table,
first to be sure everyone got a second helping,
never travelled more than 100 miles from home.
Someone else drove.

Five generations later:
the golden haired Barrett,
long-legged, lean and strong,
thrives on climbing mountains
back-packing in the snow
skiing black diamond runs,
loving the deep blue western sky.

She studies the environment
to make a difference
plans her diet for the least harmful impact
travels to Norway to lead expeditions,
prepares to shoot a polar bear to protect others–
her horizons and steely will
wide as the world.

Sometimes, I wonder when I lay in bed,
if everytime I hear a train whistle
I’ve died and been born again.

Hollow sound passes, driven by night
when all querulous minds are still
sharply awake, tunneling me in layers.

Only God knows where I am going.

Sometimes, I wonder when I lay in bed,
if everytime I hear a train whistle
I’ve died and been born again.

Hollow sound passes, driven by night
when all but querulous minds are still
sharply awake, tunneling me in layers.

Only God knows where I am going.