evening activity
i make a list
of what we did
& didn’t do
& still,
i can’t figure out
if you loved me
We read the emails that we write
We look in the mirror everyday,
And see teeth that aren’t straight enough,
So what’s the point in brushing,
Skin that’s not smooth enough
driving down the stranded
main street hulled out by
the dangerous heat wave
that rolled down from the
tops of the pale green trees
and onto the unforgiving sidewalks
I saw a woman walking along
leaning against the humidity
the strands of her hair
wet against the back of her neck
no shadow to be seen
I thought about how
since the beginning
when we started
this whole mess
in a big explosion
that spread everything
out
we had been traveling
for so long
to the moment
of her pushing through
the thick air
and me gliding by
looking at her
knowing that we’re both
bigger than what
we’ve given ourselves
credit for
my feet touch sediment, gathering particles of disintegration,
sliding between toes, slick silt, home of freshwater mudholes,
brown cattail lake, and tree roots, cannot compare to sea-salt
blue-surf, sand in gills, Pacific glistening and iridescent green,
I feed, my teeth like ancestor spears, your land-wrapped flesh,
luau leaf-folded and steamed, or raw, onion flecked with ogo.
frozen fingers slide plastic bag back and walk away without.
Evil fire this time
spews from the bowels
of lies as sparks
that smother hopes
shatter lives.
Lies are spikes.
Malice that will boomerang back
to depths of black soul.
Loving souls scorn
black words, evil deeds.
Create storm within
fuel brain hurricanes
powering up for
combustion of evil.
The storm within
powerful power keg.
Sparks of rage that will
shatter collusion
sow seeds of peace.
-Sue Neufarth Howard
My morning ritual interrupted
By a car driving in the pedestrian lane of the park
Jolting me out of my directionless prayer for a “normal” day.
I made the holy hand signal for “U-turn”
At a young man with long, brown hair who approached, lowering his window
“This is a one-way, one-lane street; the other lane is for walking and running,”
I said, (perhaps too) cheerily,
“You’re in the wrong one; the park really needs to repaint the dividing line
And restriction symbols to avoid accidents.”
“I am turning around now,” He said (perhaps too) equally cheerily.
“I’m visiting here from California. This place is great! Hey, where are you from?”
He asked as he glanced at the Colorado plate on my rental.
“I’m from here (I sort of lied to try to wrap this up quickly), but I’m in a loaner car.”
Short pause, then he laid it on me:
“There’s something about you, something I recognize. You seem to be a kind person.
Are you a believer?”
With no hesitation, I replied “In?”
But my question was just for show; his question allowed for only one, specific answer.
“Jesus Christ,” He replied.
My mind proffered a mixture of personal experiences, Gandhi quotes, and Doobie Brothers lyrics.
“That’s a complicated question to answer, especially when we’re blocking foot- and car-traffic
At 8:43 in the morning on a Tuesday,” I said. I put the rental into Drive but remained still.
Visibly crestfallen at his missed opportunity to minister to the status of my soul,
“Have a blessed day,” He said, but the air had left his sails.
“You, too.” I returned.
Jesus is just alright with me; but this park is my church
And the trees and animals are my fellow congregants.
today was a victory day
movement, more than an inch forward
I am happy
which is strangely difficult for me
as I so often look for some alternative
“oh, I’ll be happy when…”
guilt?
anxiety which reports back to me
telling me all is definitely not well?
not sure but glumness has been my partner for a while and I’m about done
I am as capable of joy as anyone
so I celebrate
I learned to read you
as though you were
a poem e e cummings
would write
with hidden meanings
and rhymes
readers overlook
I discovered his secrets
and in doing so
I understood you
it took time
to read less
into his lines
and more into
the warmth
inside you
