Posts for June 17, 2023 (page 3)

moment
longer

funnily, i write this at dusk
to recognize my own absurdity

being without is so trivial,
toddler-like, but i will wail until i am fed

until my simple needs & desires are met
until i am loved

until the dawn stays
forever

mourning doves still sing in the evening,
but i always miss the dew

(as discovered in the doctor’s notes)

I heard nothing.
But he heard plenty:
heart sounds.
But they were
normal heart sounds, S1 normal and S2 normal.
No murmur was heard. (I kept my mouth shut.)
No friction rub.
No gallop.
No S3 or S4 sounds.
No wheezing or rales.
Bowel sounds are normal.  

I kept quiet but
it seems my body is rather noisy.

with your frigid ass stare

a towering inferno 

of fear

run away 
run away 
run away

Algae grows on stagnant water. 
Absentmindedly, you throw sticks into the little pond, 
And it seems as if they are the first things to disturb the surface of this water in many years.
You sit on the edge of the pond. 
A tree grows beside you. 
The sticks were once it’s branches. 
When the pieces of wood land in the water, 
They make ripples. 
The expanding circles form a picture, 
A constellation, 
And you wonder if the creatures in the pond, 
Ever wish on the stars. 

A wooden porch, painted white

Sitting criss-cross-applesauce in a creeking rocking chair

The sun is just starting to say hello

My coffee no where near cold

I watch the dogs run about

Through acres, and acres of land

Full of adventure,

The sleepy cat on the swinging bed

A mourning dove singing her song

The smell of wild flowers and dew fill the air

You step out of the screen door

Your bed head is prominent,

You stretch your arms up high

Then lean down and lay a kiss on my head

You say “good morning”

You sit down next to me

Watching the trees sway slowly back and forth

You grab my hand,

And on our little porch, it’s just us,

And nature

Like nothing else matters but here and now

Then you finally say “blueberry or chocolate pancakes?”

And I say “both”

Jedi,
Master, Teacher:
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
What exactly was the plan, man?
Just…chill?

No little league baseball games
I’m trying to attend today.
There is a tournament in Louisville
which is doable
just a commitment
I don’t have the energy for this weekend;
I’ll catch the next one.

Neither is there a maintenance check
to turn free time inside out,
not that the apartment
has gotten messy
since the last unwelcomed visit.
Tidying up today
would only take a few moments.

Haven’t had to work a Saturday in months,
a vast improvement
from last year’s
all Saturdays on deck approach
to a scary audit the warehouse needed to pass.
That same audit was last week;
no one was worried.

In fact,
any errand I can say needs running
is one more opportunity
to do something for myself.

If I get a wild hair
to go get a haircut,
I might see a barber
for the first time in years.
Sometimes you need a drastic change
to shake off yesterday;
facilitate new life chapters.

Might get myself a new outfit,
an attempt to feel fresh.
When’s the last time I shopped for me?
Then I can get a load of laundry done
(guess there is one errand that needs doing)
but there’s always Sunday,
especially if I just decide

to try out that restaurant I’ve been curious about
or order for delivery that comfort food
and never get out of my pajamas.
Beer at noon?
It happens when you work night shift;
today is no different
sitting in the cool summer air.

Anything I could do today
is all somehow for the betterment of me,
so who cares if it’s a slow start Saturday?
It’s nothing but the beginning of a self-care weekend.

reduced to writing about skid marks
no kidding
the part about 2 a.m. teens
boys with girls on their laps
bald on bald charger tires
scratching off on Shannon Creek Bridge
no one lives there
except dropped-strays and skunks

My heart pours to the sidewalk
red-sweet as granité de fraise,
spreading like sun into every scar.

Gather under a foreign tongue,
untouacable as angels, there are
angels here, surging from the woodwork.

We flood a place incomprehensibly beautiful,
made so by more than smog-kissed cathedrals
who crumble leasurly to be reborn as well.

Coming into a world more expansive than the hills
climbing before the Chateau de Caen’s turrets
where I lounge openly on a lesbian flag.

The roses de trémières guard us
as we rush the streets to the fanfare 
with palpable love, so much so that it’s terrifying.