Posts for 2020 (page 136)

i collect them
i gather them
like a young, prairie girl
with her hair braided
as she plucks flowers from a field
and stores them in a wicker basket

i worship this ritual
of culling makeshift mothers
in an attempt
to fill the void
your death
carved out in my soul
so i seek you out in others:

the ones who coddle me
as they apply sunscreen
to the back of my neck
and explain the day’s plans
in a childlike simplicity
down to the smallest of details
though only the ones they know
i’ll care about
like the snacks that’ll be carried
in the backpack we share

the one who whipped out a knife
late at night in the drive-thru
where we were buying milkshakes
and sawed away at her hair
to gift me a few strands
that i twirled in my fingers
and played with in my mouth
for hours, and hours

the ones who caringly scold me
wrap their arms around me
in the soft, warm, gentle embrace of a hug
after giving me softer clothes for my skin
and rubbing lotion on my injuries
before teaching me yet another new thing
like how to worship the stream
and love wholly and uniquely

i bless all of these caregivers
knowing that losing them hurts
just as deep as your grave
so i hold on to them in my heart
long after they’re gone
like the girl
who goes home
and presses the flowers
in her great-grandmother’s Bible
and stores it on a top shelf
almost out of sight

There’s an ache in the long summer night,
a wish for time to slow or stop here,
still air close against our skin.
Insect song pulses through the quiet.
We breathe to its rhythm,
chests rising and falling, tiny
gestures under a vast sky.
The grass is a living, 
breathing carpet below us,
the stars, a promise that we are 
part of something bigger,
though we can’t grasp what.
Your thoughts fill up the air 
around me like electricity.
To simply exist beside you
is my nightly devotional.

A bird flew into the window
today; my heart sank
at the unmistakable thud.

On the deck I found our dog,
visibly distressed, and an unfamiliar
bird. The dog inside, her restraint

amply praised, I watched
the bird through the sliding
door. The mocha-colored body

pulsed with rapid breath —
it was alive. The head turned —
its neck wasn’t broken. A wing

stretched then retracted —
a hopeful sign. Satisfied
I could only make things worse

by interfering, I looked
for field markings: curved
black bill with yellow; creamy

throat-chest-belly; long tail
edged in white; rufous patch
on wing. By the time I found

Roger Tory Peterson, my Bird Doe
had gone, but I had a name:
yellow-billed cuckoo.

Sun paints
across
cloud bottoms
as deep purple
reaches
over the top,
darkness
setting in as the
sun sinks lower.
I contemplate the
tree frog on our
bedroom window
who serenades
us each night;
the whippoorwill
out calling
by the campfire;
the turtles
we found along
our path
in the woods;
the bat who
dips down
from the sky
to eat insects
in late evening;
the birds
who sing us
awake each
morning and
share part
of their day
visiting our
feeders.
And I pause
amid
the catastrophe
underway
out in the world
just to be
grateful.

Severe winds came through yesterday evening
I just put the cheese ravioli on the stove
And immediately had to turn it off 
The electric came on and off
Rain slapped so hard on the windows 
I couldn’t see anything
I heard thumps and the speed of Mother Nature
In a short five minutes
Our yard
Was full of sticks
The two front trees, their old limbs,
Broken
The road near our house was blocked
Old men and their tractors showed up from every corner
Honks and phone calls
We picked up the mess today
But I haven’t put the hammock back together yet
I miss the sound of the chain hitting the metal poles at night
Reminding me of summer naps and popsicles

Today we walk into
late Springtime sun,
grab ephemeral delights
and return to our quiet home.
Thank you for everything.
Wish you were here.

I shook someone’s hand.
He was on a date and, I guess,
tried to impress her with high-
octane Bird scooter tricks.

I didn’t see him fall, only found
him fallen and tangled. I saw
in his eyes the mental checklist,
what still worked, what didn’t. 

At first I stayed in the car,
watched another person help
him stand up. A few other
bystanders checked him out.

I was only there to pick up pizza.
I waited in the sidewalk’s open air. 
I asked if he was okay. We bonded
over our acquaintances with concrete. 

Nobody had found him a bandaid.
So I ordered a pizza and got bandaids
for free. That’s when it happened:
he said, “Thanks, man,” held out his hand.

I ran into an old friend last week. We
punched the air between us. But there
I stood, firmly gripping this stranger,
looking into his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

I waited for them to drive away before
I pulled out my hand sanitizer. I wanted
the infection of human touch, but that
only goes so far. Plus, pizza was ready.

Under the hostas
I sit waiting,
Snail keeps me 
company.

To kill time
I gather flowers,
make a crown
for your beautiful head.

On this moss covered rock
I think of your feathery fur,
lux golden mane,
eyes dancing with delight
at the approach
of you.

Effie

Effie, the schoolmarm,
cared for her mom
all her life.

Effie wore
eight to ten
dresses.

Effie peeled
them off
one by one

and sat down
to eat
with people.

Effie always
had dirty hands
when she ate.

Effie had
a sawed off shotgun
under  her dresses.

Effie pick
her nose
when she took food.

Effie courted
a fat man
and

stood
in the middle
of roads,

stopping cars.
Local legends never
had her shoot anyone.