Posts for June 15, 2022 (page 8)

the old seminary was
completely remodeled with
atriums and a nurses’ station where
an old woman shared her lunch with
a puppy but keeping the brick walls
of course it was Good Friday and I
had to be in the chapel at three
but couldn’t find my corridor
my room to change clothes
even with a guide ‘cause
the signage was useless
hallways changing like Hogwarts
and why were there women
seminarians especially
the one who sat next to me
with legs touching
so that we would
inevitably
kiss?  

This is the way democracy dies
not with a shout but a simper  

This is the way democracy dies
with a nation blind to the truth  

This is the way democracy dies
with a mark in a voting booth  

This is the way democracy dies
not with a brick but a splinter  

This is the way democracy lives
not with a gun but with hearts  

This is the way democracy lives
with a nation alive to the truth  

This is the way democracy lives
with a mark in a voting booth  

This is the way democracy lives
not with a cage but with arts

Long ago

I’m in there somewhere,
beneath the yellow original
the avocado green cover up
the red of one wild summer,

beneath the white
and the white and the white
layers it took to cover the brown
paint peeling off the old

metal chair on my great-grandparent’s
front porch at the family reunion –
the one that burns from the sun
and leaves diamonds and flecks on my legs,

each layer peeled back by humidity
and time and the prying
of little fingers
until the next one shows through.

ever easy
always hard
hay fever sneezy
overgrown yard

achy knees
ingrown nail
turbulent seas
torn top sail

deep clean cut
gushing blood
primitive hut
made from mud

receding galaxy
red shifting from sight
distant soliloquy
alone in the night

Walking through the tall grass
My path winding behind me 
I watch my footsteps fade as the grass rises 
Rebounding against my weight 
Erasing me from its memory
I leave no trace as I wonder
Each step becoming another confusing reminder 
I don’t know where I am 
Where I’m going 
Or where I have been 

an entertaining show
love on the marquee
of the Kentucky Theatre

Sitting in the same bar

New singer
Different chair

And still I wondered if our paths would cross again.
I would recognize you in an instant
Would you still buy me a drink and encourage me to get up and sing?
Would we trade more tattoo stories since we both got new ink in the interim?

Or would we decide it better to add ice to our drinks and walk away……

I’m going to tell you something
That I’ve never ever shared.
It’s partly ’cause it’s personal
But mostly no one cares.
It’s the way I deal with underwear
When it comes from the dryer.
And I am being serious:
Drawers aren’t topics for satire.
Each boxer brief is just the same
They’re all the Kirkland brand.
Except for color difference
Each boxer brief is bland.
See, some are gray and some are black
And washed in different loads.
When I stack them, though, I alternate
And each day’s a crossroads.
One day the pair that sits on top
Is black as deep, dark night.
While the next day’s gray’s
A subtle blend of colors black and white.
I know it’s rather silly
To arrange them in this way
But it’s just this special stacking
That adds nuance to my day.