Clean
Lay down in a bed
Fragrant with sunlight and air
And dream of white clouds
Solstice and I shut off the news of war
and direct attention to an unsteady pair
of red headed fledglings lifting off
and circling back to the hackberry tree
in the back yard. Too late I notice
a mosquito taking a sharp sip
of blood from the nape of my neck.
The reflex to hit myself lands in vain.
I think of all the invasions that fling
body parts in various directions
for various reasons. I recall waking
last night to a recurring dream: after
death I watch my molecules ascend
into the sky while this hackberry
sticks it’s nose up to catch a whiff
I am not my body,
I am my soul
But this body is my vessel
I ought to stop giving her
Such a hard time,
Show her more love
Appreciate what she does for me,
And treat her with kindness
Like my friend
I should treat her the
Way I want to be treated
Without her, my soul would
Not be able to bloom
She changes often
But without change,
There would be no butterflies
Yesterday, we ordered a canopy for our gazebo.
Today, we installed it.
This afternoon, the gazebo is gone.
When my heart is heavy
or my mind overloaded
I reach for my creative toolbox
my violin
my poetry notebook
or my paints and canvas
I can shut out the world
open my heart
create
and soothe my soul
The thrills of our adventures
set free at summer camp.
Trail blazing, creek stone hopping,
swim badges to earn, following
clues for scavenger hunts.
Singing all the verses –
99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.
Rolling beads of creek clay.
Sack time, letters from home.
Learning to build a fire with
kindle and branch. Stone Soup,
charred dogs, Smores.
Ritual fireside ghostly tales
to invade our dreams.
Scary night sounds beyond
the tent; wee hours trek to
the outhouse by flashlight.
Waking to dew fresh luminous
air, before the sun arrives.
The seeds and bones of
independence fostered here.
-Sue Neufarth Howard
Good news,
I have herpes.
That was how she started yesterday’s conversation
along with a belyingly sweet smile
and sing-song voice
before explaining she caught it from a rumor
started as revenge from a guy she rejected.
God bless her for handling
such despicable behavior with so much grace.
I want to saw that guy’s balls off.
The revelation throws me back to a moonlit night
with a certain scared artist breaking apart
because she doesn’t know how to separate herself
from the narcissistic lover slowly killing her.
A narcissist like the soulless man
who ran me out of my last job,
no matter if I lived or died.
All this to support an honest complaint;
I’m tired of being the loser.
Of course, I know how sour I’m a nice guy has become–
I will never fault anyone
for taking that in with wary heart
since it is too often hijacked by sneaky users–
but we are out there and
(at the risk of crossing into toxic territory, sorry)
we are not the sins of past significants.
We are also not just the boys with hopeful eyes.
We are the employees regularly going above and beyond
until we run ourselves into complete exploitation.
We are the kids that get bullied in the hallways
who find power in never wanting to inflict the same pain.
We are the abused growing up and deciding
somebody needs to break the cycle.
We are the empaths who haven’t mastered our abilities,
guarded by paper boundaries made of conflict aversion.
Chances are if he feels he needs to say it,
you should be questioning it.
As much as I long to lose myself
I prefer to let my actions write my biography.
I prefer to rely on witnesses of my character,
of which I’m confident I have many.
But–and this is crucial–
this plea does not come from a search for personal victory.
Rather, let’s prune natural evil
before people make their identities out of it.
We need to promote the worthy employees,
we need to stand with our dead-beaten travelers.
We need to show the users and exploiters
that such behavior is as intolerable
as it always should have been.
We need to do this together.
This girl who now needs to fight
for clarity of her health
isn’t going to say anything.
I can’t say I don’t support her
because mercy and forgiveness are honorable gifts
but I so wish she would rake him over the coals.
I believe we need to start making examples of these men.
Where better than right at the source?
As soon as I heard the news, I turned to Twitter
and began to spit venom at my favorite target: self-
righteous liberals who (Bitter Me believes) elected Trump
and brought us, six years later, to this day. Too late
to take back this sick feeling so like that dark November
morning watching the electoral college fall. Our failure,
a country that could elect a man so ethically corrupt
a metaphor doesn’t exist to represent him.
Don’t know if I can muster the energy for more marches.
Maybe today I need to lie on the couch, contemplate
how long before they start gathering switches,
begin burning witches at the stake.
