No county fair this season
for Hazel
for all the known reason, ritual broken,
heart too,
such a simple roller coaster summer,
hay bales a-gleam in the pastures,
picnics on the lawn, good time
to be in a small country town
but
no fair is no fair.
for Hazel
for all the known reason, ritual broken,
heart too,
such a simple roller coaster summer,
hay bales a-gleam in the pastures,
picnics on the lawn, good time
to be in a small country town
but
no fair is no fair.
I shed my skin today,
bared my most fetid wound to
the sun, so it might disinfect, but
all you saw were the tears
and mucus on my face, which is
nowhere near the injury site.
what I said
you didn’t hear
deafness and lost hearing aids by aides
made my words unclear
what I said
you didn’t hear
94 years swallowed cognitive abilities
what I said
you didn’t hear
because you were far away
on the day I prayed in silence
please fall into the final sleep
with nary pain or peep
every day I hope you knew
the I love you mama words
I shouted like a mute to the world
but today I hope you hear me
say thank you Mother for dying
on Independence day so I won’t forget
and before this COVID19 shit hit
I can’t imagine social distancing
from someone I love
who was going to die anyway
one of those days
who didn’t want to leave her family
without her family
were rapid waters through my mind.
The only love I’ve ever known
was simply a masquerade ball.
The only lie I’ve ever known
is everything so far.
the rains return
to quench your dried up soul
and mine
hearts parched
hardened from a winter without warmth
cracked from a spring without rain
heavy clouds darken the sky
as heat sizzles between us
lightning signals imminent danger
each year we try to break this cycle
find other relief from our droughts
but our nature can’t be defied
a raindrop falls
trickles down my face
you trace its path with your mouth
the summer storm
nourishes the barren land
returns us to one another
What a sodden wool
heart sits heavy
mid-level of
my chest. Any
other organ seems
made of styrofoam
catching drippings
like A sad bucket.
Let me seep.
Let this dense
fabric slowly release
its own weight.
I visit,
walk the long hallway
past the walkers and wheelchairs,
past the nurses bright with cheerfulness.
I bring chocolates to start off right.
Then we talk about politics, religion,
the meaning of life. We agree
to disagree about some things.
Sometimes heatedly,
but it is better, you say,
than listening to TV,
or gossip about neighbors
you no longer remember.
You do not remember much anymore,
except the past. And see little,
except what’s inside.
A lifetime of memories and some regrets.
But in the end, grace and forgiveness
and not just a little stubbornness.
corn fields remind me of graveyards.
the stalks and roots
reach deep around coffins,
biting into cured wood.
the yellow fruit distracts
from granite headstones,
bearing inscriptions
i would rather forget.
corn fields reek
of broken cherubs
cement benches
and memories
i allow to gray
in the back of my mind.
