Posts for June 26, 2022

I remember Mom in the grass
Gloved and at battle with the weeds
careful to point out the varieties of flowers
knowing common plus scientific
the kittens and I her bored companions

Today she’s a shell, pale pink and curved
asking me the name of those red ones
Bee Balm, yes, Be Balm

picking blueberries later with Isabella and Jasmine
I hear Izzy say I can see grandma’s flowers from here
white ones, and pink ones, and red ones 

Today’s garden is overgrown

After picking we pass peach colors
peering out
listen to me tell my nieces
Those are called Day Lilies.

In the middle of the morning 
I awake to the sun 
Gleaming through our windows 
Illuminating your red curls
Draped over your shoulders 
Down your back 
To expose my inked portrait 
I can trace every freckle
Connect them all 
Under the tip of my finger. 
Lingering over those 
Special places where 
The salt on your skin 
Tastes like my favorite 
Sinful potion 
I’ll drink it down 
With a smile.

Evening comes
The kids are away
You surprise me 
In my flamingo stance
While I water the plants
In the dim light
Your hands and loving, strength
Slip around my waist 
Like you’re pulling me home
Your kiss at the back of my neck
Melts me immediately 
The floor slips from under my feet 
As you glide me across the kitchen. 
Worry and weight of the world 
Disappears into the background 
Just you, me and the music 
That flows between our bodies
Like electric, neon sex
On a summer night 
A real, live 
San Junipero kinda love. 
You find me every time.

I just wished
that people acted
as I hoped
that they should

and sometimes
I wish I acted
better than
I do

but we’re not good
all the time

Fill up with splendor
wallow in beauty
ignite the fire within.

-Sue Neufarth Howard

alabaster moon
squinted through wispy cirrus
lesser lunar light

Three a.m. is for those who need to feel something 
but can’t 

for those who look to the sky full of stars for answers, something, anything, 
but are met with bitter, utter, silence. 

three a.m. is for those who are dreamers 
that only dream in black and white 
and only dream in nightmares 

three a.m. is for those who are paranoid and fear they are being watched 
but hate that no one sees them. 

three a.m. is for those who are loved 
in love 
and wished to be loved. 

but all the three a.m.’ers desire more 
much more. 

all that could be solved if only they looked within themselves 

but they can’t. 

they can’t feel anything. 

and therefore lie wide awake 
wishing, 
wanting, 
desiring, 
all that they already have. 

tonight is sliced, white
bread, always waiting
in the refrigerator,
steadfast as a palace guard
on her stardusted watch.

I twist open the bag,
cringing as it crinkles
in my hands, listening
to my father’s rhythmic snores,
thankfully uninterrupted.

A slightly squashed slice of honey wheat is my sweet reward,
soft dough and crumbly crust
soothing my midnight appetite,
tucking me into a bed of unawakened dreams.

our stars have refused 
time after eternal time 
to send ladders down
–give us the ascending light
even if we aren’t worthy

Sing for the lovers
hypnotized them,
the fallen Angels
seeking divinity.

Driving down Highway 23
mountains and road cuts,
a storm brewing in the sky,

hills busting with green
against those grey clouds.
I watch the dotted yellow line

listening to a book of Dolly’s
stories about being a song-maker
on my way back to Hindman

where peace will settle into me
where I hope it radiates to us all.