Posts for June 4, 2019 (page 7)

You might decide to wear your favorite dress
with the only pair of high heels that don’t kill your feet.  

You might decide to stop at Starbucks on the way to work
and treat your colleagues because you’re feeling so amazing.  

You might discover that the gift card you thought had $20 on it
only had $7.50.

You might be trying to tell yourself that you really did have the money 
to pay for the four overpriced, oversized drinks
you are now hauling out to your car,
and then you may say a few curse words
when you settle comfortably into the driver’s seat
and discover the car won’t start.  

You might send frantic texts to your colleagues,
begging someone to come to your rescue.  

You might see one of those selfless colleagues
attempt to manuever her oversized SUV
among the other oversized SUVs in the Starbucks parking lot,
and you might have to awkwardly shoo away
the woman who just obliviously pulled into the open space next to you,
even though your hood is open and it’s clear you are waiting for a jump.  

You and your colleague might spend five minutes
trying desperately to open her hood,
feeling more ridiculous
and stupid
with each passing minute
and judgmental stare from strangers
carrying their venti cappuccinos.  

You and your colleague might finally open the hood,
only to discover that neither one of you know
how to operate the jumper cables she retrieved from her trunk.  

You might breathe a huge sigh of relief
when an extremely handsome stranger on his cell phone
carrying a venti cappuccino
glides over and wordlessly takes the jumper cables from your hands.  

You might have to play REALLY dumb when you see him
connecting the red cable to the black port on your car battery
and say something like,
“Oh, I would have never thought to do it that way,”
to snap him out of his superhero reverie and
make him realize
he’s about to destroy your car battery
without completely humiliating him.
Because even you know that red goes on red,
not black.  

You might realize that even an extremely handsome stranger
might not have any more idea
about how to jump a car
than you do.
And still, he carries on his cell phone conversation.  

You might finally get your car started,
arrive to work very late,
and spill your Tazo Passion Iced Tea all over your boss’s carpet.  

You might.

          When she was dying

Mama please forgive me.

I never intended to be the reflection that you hate

the part of America you wish you could change 

the freedom flowing from my lips just keep shackling you 

and I do not know what to do. 

You swear you never raised me to be like this 

but you raised me to love and to care 

and I promise to stay true to that

even if it feels like you and I are on different teams 

different sides 

different planets 

you  made me who I am 

and I cannot apologize for that.

my childhood friend had a black blanket adorned with stars
on some days
we’d turn out the lights
clasp hands
lay on the blanket,
not speaking,
and pretend we were swimming through the night sky

sometimes i wonder what it would be like
to step into that star freckled darkness
and drift…

i imagine it would feel cool and damp,
like an early spring morning,
and the stars would be small spots of warmth
that would momentarily raise gooseflesh on my 
moon-pale limbs 
before i drifted past

the silence would be complete,
tranquil,
and everlasting

I zigzagged my way up the goat path to the cabin,
pushed my suitcase up the spiral stairs,
fell asleep to the buzz of cicadas.

Long past twilight, I woke to a lightning bug,
wondered how it got inside,
why in an empty room
the flashing was so insistent.

I fought sleep to admire its luminescence,
see whether the light would come closer. Dawn

revealed only the smoke alarm.

Today is Logan’s graduation.

You’ve been planning for the big day for

months.

Maybe even his whole

life.

He is your baby boy after all.

And yet, you call me crying

devastated

that you’ve had bad luck

once again.

Your car is broken.

(as usual)

Your husband is sick.

(It’s always something with him)

I feel badly for you,

I know how much it meant to you.

But I feel worse for my brother.

His whole life has been nothing but disappointments

from you.

He was too young to remember when you were

a good mother.

(If I’m being honest, I’m starting to forget too.)

He doesn’t remember the real you,

Before the drugs stole you from us.

Before you gave your life to a man who doesn’t love you.

Before you disappeared.

Of course we always hope you come back to us,

but then days like today happen

and we’re reminded how far away from us

you really are.

As strong and unstoppable as spring herself
coursing raw and relentless through our veins,
our passion to escape found its ruse in a new birth
conveniently set out of town.

     It would require an over-night.

As compelling as the next gasp of oxygen,
our need for skin against skin.
No baby gift would do for us but a tree from the nursery
to be planted in dark rich soil
fecund with new life.

Lovely irises, their long stems

breaking out of the crab grass and clover,

Soft creased lavender and violet among the

broken beer bottles, cracked sidewalks,

yelling and sour breath.

The rare flowers welcome me,

Scented gowns beckoning

with their  round droplets,

Cool sweetness relieving my

my tired mind.

Metaphors aren’t similes,
But they are like similes.
For example, a sunset is a painting in the sky,
But it’s also like a painting in the sky.
Your dog is family,
Or your dog is like family.
War is hell,
But war resembles hell.

I know what you’re thinking:
This example is silliness personified,
Or it’s like silliness personified.
Are you annoyed yet,
Or are you, like, annoyed yet?

She sang  
Those heavy days in June,
when love became an act of defiance
as she draped a million colors around her shoulders.
The song told of a utopia in her mind, in which
love was abundant, in which
love was love.
The song,
reminiscent of the French songer,
to wonder,
made me wonder about why her voice was alone,
why my wonder was caught in my chest.
So I sang,
reminiscent of the French sang,
blood,
and gave myself to every word.
I gave each syllable the flag I wore,
unto each consonant
the pride I carried.
I sang.
The people around me began to sing too,
until nothing else could be heard
except the song.