Posts for June 11, 2021 (page 4)

In San Diego, they built houses along the canyon ridge.
The streets splayed between deep ravines.
 
On the next block over, there is a park
where my children played on swings and slides.
A path behind it took me into the chapparal
of thorny shrubs and heather.  

There, castaways pitch tents under scrub oak,
plucking thorns from beaver tail cactus.
Napoli and prickly pears taste green
without water to rinse the slime.  

Wandering the streets above,
along the edges, it’s not hard to lose your way
circling again and again
until finally sleeping in between civilization.  

Flowers have thorns in the desert,
and canyons have dead ends.

She caresses a plump, red
raw potato in one hand.

Just like her mother used to do. 

Opposite hand clasps a
sharp, silver knife. 

Pulls blade smoothly 
through potato toward palm. 

She wonders what other
self-sabotaging techniques
she was taught.  

with crinkled paper
saved a lightning bug crawling
on laminate floor
some assembly instructions
glow releasing conduit

25+ cluster flies
sprouted gall
taking a daytrip
between the screen & door
to be rinsed in Raid
and my anxiety named
disgust & disdain

the host muted,
I grow bored on the call
and dream, that I bite
an apple great papaw grew
or might’ve, in an orchard
now unfindable
it’s crisp, with sweet tang
like fermented bread, and
my teeth pulp its flesh
until only a core remains
with coal black seeds,
even phantom apples hold seeds,
and I wonder, as they take root
whether the orchardist dreamed
one day his offspring,
his trees of fruit and family,
would still be together,
and I wonder, what would he feel
these hundred years later,
with trees toppled,
mountaintops removed,
orchards gone,
and I wonder, would he weep
at our demise,
or just plant new seeds

The truth of existence against the absurd, 
Center of the human storm. 
An island in the empty sea,
A mass of consciousness in the empty sky. 

Without a single word,
The entire universe shall form. 
Never questioning what shall be,
Only that it should never die.

Today’s Daily for the Senior Lady  

She walks as quickly as her zoftig body
allows, relies on her cane for balance or to push
her cumbersome, lumbering self, up tiny inclines
and down the almost level paved road.   

Speeding cars pass her with inches to spare,
catch her unaware, dislodge the balance machine
in her brain.  Her hands extend, fingers splay
to give her added security from falling.
She continues the daily, laborious task.  

The day is dank, humid, damp and earthy.
It’s been raining, but stopped.  She knows
she has to move or be unable to. 
Already, she suffers from atrophy
to various parts of her anatomy.   

The sky spits a bit.  She wonders
if it’s the trees shaking droplets
from their leaves. Water falls faster.
She pretends she’s young again.
She tries to skip, but trips.  

She wants to run the rest of the way home,
but can’t, her brain forgets what to tell her legs
and they forget how to move whatever way
they need to, to manage a gait she hasn’t attempted
in 20 years.  She proceeds with purpose and resolution.  

In the ten minutes it takes to make
it to her destination she plans the next steps,
where to take off wet clothes, how to not make a mess,
what to do for the rest of the rainy day
and she prays she doesn’t forget the steps.

This departure offers no ease,
no sole sense of sorrow, relief,
but a window for novel dreams,
a few seconds to at least breathe.
And minute as they may be, these
are the wonders that set me free.

And we turn
We turn we turn we turn 

Time is like the sea that slides us over and under
Rakes us up and down
Along the shores and out again to oblivion

We start with so much roaring fire smoking and choking
We end a sopping-drowned tattered rag
Along the way we leave the scratch marks 
Of our personal desperation – our outcry

The searing scream of a bird of prey
Upon the sky’s thin windways 
Is time’s reminder that it is antipathetic
And inevitable

And we turn 
We turn we turn we turn
We turn

Maybe our quite worn out days
Are the ones that leave our legacy
When the fire is tempered
And the love inside goes unseen

Maybe we learn to appreciate 
The soft cold touch
Of each saltwater spin and roll
Maybe our memories are more potent
Than the life force that acted them

And we turn 
We turn we turn we turn

Will you come back for me and pluck me out
Of the eddy at high tide?
Take my torn fabric remnants home
To keep next to your heart 
Till your life’s end

And we turn 
We turn we turn we turn
We turn

Bury my bones with your bones
When we rest

Has stone howling time come again
Or have they always howled unheard above the tumult
Do the stones only howl when blood splatters
and seeps into their cracks salted by our bitter tears

Ancestors knew that blood fed the soil
Yet salt would ruin it
Now we must discover the proper balance
of blood and salt to continue life