Posts for 2020 (page 32)

low grey clouds,
pulled down from the Great Blue,
press upon the passing buffalo
and the young warrior.

the cool rain, biting his skin,
the bow in his hand,
fitted with a small arrow–
enough to anger the beast, so that it might run, pushing the others
toward the high cliff,
where his father waited,
watching to see if his son was ready for the hunt.

the boy thought of his mother,
of what she would think of him
—the man, eager for the kill,
the boy, dreaming of bright stars that speak secrets in the night—

father had taught him an ancient Apache word,
little more than air,
the word he must speak
when he loosed his arrow.

the boy drew back the string,
took careful aim,
pulled in air,
fought tears–
breathed the word.

in the dark dusty closet
a shoebox with 90’s photos
outside afternoon rain
sheets the windows
and you shuffle through
the first marriage, the first house,
potlucks, denim jumpers, navy flats,
your plastered smile  

you rocket back
to these moments
when every morning
was a contract you’d signed
and ‘make do’
was the needlepoint halo
on your head 

the photos in old orangy grain
the backgrounds, treasures
you once loved
hot glue decoupage crafts
pictures hanging above iron bed frames,
green cups and saucers on a shelf,
a silver tinseled tree,
a scarf tied around a lamp shade
you once thought so pretty
your young face, blistered
with shoulds and musts

How can you advise the young
to know more than they should
as early as they can
to avoid the kind of life
that requires throwing away
all the photos
from the first half of it?

2000 miles I would swim or crawl
if 2000 miles were all, between.
Distance is a trifle thing.
To go home, I would also need
a time machine, unravel tangled
history, interrupt chronology,
offer long apology for errors
I would most likely make again.
Along this odyssey I sail, greed
or malice have not haunted me,
nor lust of power or envy,
only certainty of love has been
my sin. I have been rash
and unsatisfied, also scared
to hide behind the costume
of the customs of my culture
and my kin. Then you came
close to understanding me.
Saw me from underneath
deep leagues, looked up
from the sea of Psyche,
as if to be my oldest memory.
Over the rail I lean, to see,
but all too quickly fades
into the waves, your beauty
and your gaze.

Millenials do stuff.
They book
their next trip while traveling
to the airport.

Boomers reflect on stuff.
They take notes
instead of going to the gym.
Their bank accounts lie dormant.
Grave plots loom.

I used to let fear govern my life,
I stayed indoors out of fear of being judged,
I didn’t speak because I was terrified of being yelled at,
I wanted to go on walks but feared what people would think,
Fear kept me anchored,
Then a little bunny entered my life,
The bunny calmed me when I was stressed,
Comforted when I was scared,
Slowly all those fears started to become meaningless,
Slowly I started to become more adventurous and talkative,
I used to be a creature governed by fear,
Someone half emerged from a cocoon,
Desperately wanting to fly,
Now I have spread my wings and soar across the sky,
Fear no longer shackles me to the ground I was once trapped on,
Sometimes all we need to become butterflies is a little help from someone we love,
For me that came in the form of a bunny

I’m still here to remember
their special day,  the day
when at 16 green years
she moved into the home
of his parents, a white frame
farm house in rural Kentucky.
I picture them shushing each
other, struggling to be quiet
with so many beating hearts
in one place, so many listening
ears.  My father, round-faced
handsome with a sweet smile,
had a vision of rising above,
transcending.  She believed
in him, his dream.  From these
roots, I’ve grown.

1

I think of Jessie & how easily she paints
the tossed away or just plain
flattened. Blue plastic
swimming pool, cry-baby
doll, right arm
missing, eyes stuck half
open, a deflated K-Mart
beach ball. In watercolors
& oils, she renders them lovely.

2

Lightning split the telephone pole on Sweetbriar
the same morning I collapsed in Jessie’s studio. I wept
torrents because I figured it out. I love
her but not like a wife or flame. No flirtation
or affair, but with a potency that shoots up
& down my spine like a cliff
swallow flying to earth’s inner core & sailing
with her own wings to the habitable zone
of Andromeda. Thunder moans
as the storm inches
toward the eastern plateau.

3

Today a Trump rally — hateful & crammed
with race insults — has replaced the weather
report & I feel dragged
down. The weatherwoman at least
wanted us safe. Jessie, my friend,
we are endangered, the peril is behemothic & I’m lost
in my smartphone. I am desperate Jessie;
I am choking; I am buckling. The country’s mood
is toxic & mind poison trickles
through me. I’m like a babydoll
at the landfill. Jessie, with your bright wet
palette, your brushes of ox
& badger, can you find my goodness
& paint it with glint & luster?

It must be Saturn pushing
Jupiter through the cornucopia of Capricorn
Here you say come here look at the garden

Sometimes I think you must be
An Impossible Being for it is not
possible for one woman to bring forth

What you bring forth: produce by the bushel full
Magical corn African squash leggy legumes
Plants whose names I do not know.  You flow

like a slither of silver snake through your horny
sign, plugging questionable stalks into stony
ground to restore the breath back to land

Caught in a choke hold.  I love to watch your hoe
Handle fly like a crow from the cherry tree
In your hand the handle will caw

And caw at all passing spirits to come
And give birth to the food for the people
who’ve run away for lesser things    

Be Someone

I drink coffee
while I get dressed.
I brush my hair and
Put on black clothes and

I think about
the nature of life
and that interview
I read once.

Ann Curry
Puts a little bit of cream
And a single sugar cube
In her morning coffee.

She likes it that way.
She looks forward to 
Just a little bit
of sweetness.

I think about Johnny and
his love for June and
how he joked and played and
Wrote and

Fought his own demons and
Instead of putting on makeup,
Or wiping down the counter,
I write haikus.

                *

To be Ann Curry
Satisfied with the sweetness
Of a sugar cube.

                *

Johnny Cash and I
We just want to laugh and cry
With our breaking hearts.

“Jim Crow”
a song in our fourth grade
music book
we thought it was about a bird

history hung
over us

Juneteenth
fireworks light the night

“freedom” 

is a hologram