Posts for June 19, 2023


Box Stacking

I cleaned out the garage

while the rain came steady

and the neighborhood

cat found a nap in our

too small and very used

car seat

a testament that our

growing children

needed us

at one time


Guns N’ Roses played

on my phone quiet

I forgot the year

just swept out

last year’s leaves


Rain Day

Rain drip drops
on my head today,
now the ditch is a creek.
We make boats with sticks 
and leaves,
make dams and falls
with fossil filled rock.
The house overhang 
is shelter 
from where gutters gush.
We step out
tilt back our heads,
open mouthed, skyward,
happy drinking drops.


High standards?

I realized
That every time
You are dishonest
You open old wounds
Of all the times before
And I know you love me
I know you lie from fear
You’re afraid I’ll be upset
But am I giving too much credit
Was it not also out of concern for you
More than me, that you did those things?
What caused you to feel such ownership of
What’s not yours? That time that you took
From me, that t shirt, that jacket, some
Favors, some things you felt entitled
To, not because I owed you but
because the world owed you.
And I’m seeing frailty
I’m working
So hard
To see
And maybe
I am just weak
And drink up the flattery
That you thought what I had
Was somehow worth the trouble

Registration photo of Jazzy for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.

Juneteenth Freedom 

Let it be written
Let it be so
The Emancipation Proclamation was written
But, everybody didn’t know
Those who heard were free
Word of freedom spread slow
There was no Instagram
No TikTok
Facebook or hashtag
To let the enslaved know they were free
Troups with freedom news
Arrived in Galveston, Texas two and a half years
After Emancipation
Now everyone knew
It was written
It was so
All owners must let our people go


Star Child

You burn like whiskey
Your kisses like wine, Star child
We circle Devine


Little Dreams

terrarium trees
my tiny forest dream
greenhouse reverie


Pitter Patter

It’s been raining all day,
not the vengeful deluge that soaks your socks until they squish with each step,
but the gentle kind of rain

that kisses your collarbone
and sprinkles sparkling droplets in your tangled locks.
It’s been raining all day,

drops pitter pattering on window panes,
plashing wind chimes, their jingling tinkle brightening the sunless afternoon.
It’s the lulling kind of rain

that sings you to sleep
and whispers sweet nothings into your ear as you doze drooling on the sofa
because it’s been raining all day,

and you have nothing better to do than listen to the shushing
shower that hushes your hurried thoughts and bids you bask in nature’s quietude.
It’s the joyful kind of rain

that urges you to indulge in childhood folly.  On days like these, you can skip from puddle
to parking lot puddle and remember how you never used to care about soggy shoes.  
It’s been raining all day,
but it’s the most beautiful kind of rain, and I hope it comes back to visit soon.


Old Green

Before I thought I was too grown
to kiss my dad’s cheek goodbye
I’d ride with him to school
in his 53 Chevy pick up
its green paint weathered in places to brown
its cab’s warmth saturated with the coffee
he’d drink from a thick white mug
and park on the floor
next to the long gear stick
he’d shift with such skill
the coffee never spilled
& through the rusted out hole
in the floorboard by my feet
I’d watch the asphalt fly by
as though we rode a magic carpet


On The Forgiveness Of Fathers

I suppose it is easier

once they are gone

and you can tell yourself

they are in the afterlife now

and finally know the pain they caused

and have compassion where there was none,

that they may have even become some kind of

spiritual guide or guardian for you now,

tearing down the very kind of barriers they once created.


It’s easier to forgive the dead

because they are no longer actively hurting you.


And yet the old wounds still hurt.

The shame of not having become what he wanted.

The guilt of the relief I feel

for not having to spend time with him

today or any other day.

No more dragging him

to the mental ward

for everyone’s safety.

No more lonely night shifts

sleeping next to his hospital bed.

God, I’m glad it’s over.



She’s overripe fruit 
a missed opportunity
withered on the vine