Posts for June 28, 2019 (page 2)

To the girl I used to be,
my twin soul
sharing this body,
the one who watches behind my eyes,
the brave one who wore nail polish
everywhere fearlessly
and danced at Pride Festivals
in Tinkerbell t-shirts
and planned to kick down closet doors
that were more solid than she thought,
to the one who made me love
horrible pop music
and planned the best artist dates
and always had soothing words,
to the girl who kept Natasha Bedingfield in the first slot of the car’s CD player for years,
to my rock star,
I love you.
Thank you for all of the adventures you have accompanied me on.
Thank you for all the dancing.
Especially under the stars.
I am coming back to you,
I promise.
I am trying to find that bravery again.
That someday you may live in all your joy.
Sometimes I am sorry that you got stuck with me.
Sometimes I am afraid you will leave me for
a more worthy vessel.
I am grateful you are mine.
I wish I had more words to say I love you.

Complaining never did me any good anyway

My mole hills grow into mountains the longer I ignore them

And when I’m panicking trying to fix the mistakes I have made

I don’t blame anyone

But myself.

You can’t point fingers when there is no one to turn too

The sooner you accept that you are the only one you can depend on

The easier your journey will be

So don’t cry, cause honestly, no ones listening.

My mom taught me to pull needles 
off the spines of evergreens
and roll them between 
my fingers 
Tuck the scent of unripe guavas 
and limes
behind my ear
When the sun slumps over
and the wind brings the perfume
to my nose
she said picture her and jesus 
barefoot in a grove
talking about sweet sticky rice wrapped
in banana leaves 
tending to dragonfruit trees

the adult
is being forced back into temporary retirement
the child
is being thawed in the new environment

With it comes a reckless anticipation
for innocence to take its first breath again.
But it is fleeing 
the melting
nothing will go back to the same again.

The stands are full

People cheering

On tailgates

Smoke rings blowing

Cars banging

Mud flying

Racing in circles

Adrenaline all around

Ferris wheel lights

And a dirt track

Young ones

And old ones

Rowdy ones

And quiet ones

It keeps us alive

In this little small town

 There is a man that lives on my street. 
He walks his parrot on a leash.
They frolic about the neighborhood without acare in the world. Stopping to talk about hydrangeas and different types of wood. 

I think to myself these two cuckoos have definitely
flown over the nest. Then one day I was on my front
porch not at my best.

This old train hums along as it rolls down the track
Its wheels churn and turn
its belly burns the coal fed to the furnace by its engineer  

On a runaway train barreling down a one way track I have but one chance to make it home before it goes black.
It picks up speed and momentum  approaching the covered bridge.
So if I hope to ever see the light of day again, I’d better jump.

Now I’m in a spot cause I missed the last stop and there’s no telling when or if I’ll ever make it back

sparkling on the wall
letting everyone know
here is darkness brewing

transforming asphalt
to shimmering night water

tonight poetry will dance
from the bulbs across 
concrete and through
pint glasses and summer
evening pub gossip

There was a peppermint slowing dissolving on her tongue.
I could see it everytime she opened her mouth.
I’m 84 she said My son Bob, here, is 63.
We were standing on the spillway looking down at
the dark green water before it fell 500 feet
down the otherside to be part of the creek that snaked
through the forest like a slow snail.
Their total fish caught was over 50 blue gill,
until some turtles snapped at the basket
last night–some were lucky, some were not.
I live in Jerimiah she said as if I would know just
where that little Kentucky town sleeps.
I just listened, amazed at all the glistening blue gill
Bob yanked, one after another, his pole constantly arching its back.
His mom complaining how the rental cabins got rid of the cast iron skillets:
She’d clean’em and cook’em,
but couldn’t promise
the usual feast.

Cool cave air curls around
my face as the sun heats up
my back; blending sensations
swirling across my skin, raising
goosebumps and tempting me
to close my eyes, giving in
momentarily to reverie: my
mind drifting back to childhood
when I stood in the creek, the
chill of water a relief to summer
heat, rock paint smeared across
my face, ready for adventure.
The raucous laughter and calls
of children engaged in some
detailed game pulls me back
into the present where I sit on
my rock, still ready for adventure,
but now understanding the
constraints of time.