Posts for June 6, 2023 (page 12)

The dress is so far from fitting me now.
Partly because of the care I was allowed but also,
we all grow up.  

Comforting colored threads of olive green,
and gold –
woven through the cotton plaid
hand-me-down,
pulled from the discarded bag of clothes –
you once wore.   

You with your perfectly straight raven black bob
that shimmered like magic in the northwest afternoon sun. 
The polychromatic threads teased of potential beauty-
that might be mine if-
I too could make its skirt sway.  

Deanna Day, childhood playmate, fellow dancer, backyard adventurer,
Memorable,
lost with the closing of the moving van pulldown door.    

So, I wore that dress
that you once wore
as we walked the perimeter of the playground,
where we knew the enchantment
of clapping rhymes, jacks, and hopscotch. 
Miss Mary Mack;
The Sailor Went to Sea, Sea, Sea;
Say, Say Oh Playmate;
Unified chanting,
belonging,
tolerance,
acceptance, and impartiality.  

Sitting in the shade of the giant pin oak,
your skirt echoed the array of multi-colored fingers-
clapping one to another,
keeping time together,
becoming one in rhyme.  

Blending with the colors of the forest
draping your lap,
making a complete circle
around the true essence of innocence.   

Eventually the dress shortened beyond my arguments. 
And memories too shorten with passing time,
I’m afraid.
Yet, still the olive of Autumn moss
the gold of freshly harvested honeycomb
allows me to wonder who you are today.   

I used the app
instead of calling   
   like usual

It was hours ago   
   maybe days
but I’m no more famished   
   now
which may be why
the order hasn’t arrived

It’s the echoing hunger
the incessant chime of desperation
that brings my Muse   
   to chuckle   
   to whisper in my ear
You can’t do this without me,    
   can you?

Not what was left could be called deer
except for the maroon head lying 
in the passing lane, the rest an unidentifiable mass,
and a little further, off the road, 
the white minivan, its front end collapsed
accordion. 

Evolution, you said, or lack thereof, 
nothing deer encounter in nature 
moves at highway speed.
Those that learn to respect cars
will pass along those genes.

That could take awhile, we both agreed.
How can nature ever hope to survive
us?

We drive into the blazing sun,
it’s sinking like a burning ship.
Sitting straighter in our seats:
a shadow moving along the wild fringed edge.

fill the other half
stay to learn more and compare
as your body burns

In the heat today

airports are meant for 
sore backs
crying babies
greasy hair 
jet lag 
and reunions

reunions like in ‘Love Actually’
kids running to their mom or dad returning from work
two best friends crying because they haven’t seen each other in 10 years
a couple embracing after one went on a school trip
all the tears, smiles, hugs, and kisses you can imagine

I won’t burst into the living room
with a celebratory scream.
I won’t cry tears of joy
or any tears at all.

When I emerge 
from the cramped half bath
with flushed cheeks and a white stick 
marked by two pink lines, he’ll shrug,

I won’t believe it
until you get past twelve weeks,

and I will deflate
like a popped balloon.

But first, swaddled
for a moment by this tiled sanctuary,
I hold the evidence
in reverent hands.

My whisper escapes,
a premonition or a prayer.

Here we are, kid.
It’s just you and me.

It keeps me up at night;

I don’t miss his callous
misdeeds. Covert dirty
touches. Bitter & bigoted
rants. Why do I live
backwards with tattered
snapshot stuffed
shoeboxes & tawny
maps? I rummage – seeking
what? Am I happy

at 12 in my first two-piece,
a stretchy black & white
jersey with sassy fringe draped
across my bust? I don’t miss
his callous misdeeds. His glee
from live-trapping a groundhog
& watching it slowly
starve. Sophomore,

I hide my breasts under baggy
cardigans & blazers. I tie them down
with strips of cheesecloth. I don’t
miss his callous misdeeds. X-rated
shame in the bedroom & he snatches
my college fund. Now, so many
years later my life is veined
with silver. In the ICU where he

dies, I hold his translucent
hand as his final day closes. I whisper,
“you can let go,” wishing
him no harm but feeling no
sadness. No one should
die alone but I don’t miss
his callous misdeeds. I repeat
I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.

how i enter a room in a way
that can best be described as
a gunshot to a cymbal. the way
my left thumb wields more
blame than my right. my
tendency to speak with little
trajectory. how i yearn like
the dying. the salty flavor of
dishonesty each time i reply,
“yes.” how each nightmare i
have both confirms and denies
a suspicion i have toward myself.
my proximity to an uppercase B. 
the cracks, scabs, and scars 
that dance along my skin with
the grace of a foal. how grief 
prematurely burrows in skin
long before it is necessary. how
i desperately cling to the wish
of an apology that will never 
come. the sins i did not repent
for. how i find that true silence
sounds like a weeping mother. 

in response to the question,
“what about you feels hard to love?”