Posts for June 22, 2023 (page 8)

I slink under shelter of log rot,
leaf pile & bog. Hide my showy
red & yellow stripes under the quarter
moon. I am barely visible, a muted

skittering. Mistaken for the deadly
coral, I mock danger. I do not tote
venom. I bamboozle you, graceless
human, with the scarlet spoon

of my head. I spritz putrid
musk to make certain you keep
your distance. But hear me clumsy
human. I am generous; I care

about your collapse. While I nosh
on rattlesnake & cottonmouth
to protect you from their swift & deadly
stabs, you throw no festivals

for me, your serpent bright
& benign. Where is my jubilant scarlet
snake wingding? My non-toxic jamboree?
I swear to you my snake heart is pure.

Today I return

(for AC)

Being the grime and sand in each rainbow
of the coal stained church windows 
of the Gospel Light Free Will Baptist,
and the silence of little babies 
like those thank you cards embossed 
into politeness by Daddy’s screams, 
and owls screeching in the snow.

Being that you hunted on a grizzled road 
wet with life, a sop-rained 120 miler nearer
to Pikeville where rivers made the lake 
with help. Nature, interrupted by cash-grab 
hands looking for clean-coal. Rolling, 
a chauffeured Mercedes-Benz, where
the hills whisper your name every six years.

Addison.     Mitchell.     McConnell.

the sun tarries long
behind soft cotton clouds
reading a book
waiting to emerge
for summer solstice

In snowed all down the mountain
Pouring white flakes in late August
We left to get away from it, to get 
Ahead of the storm that was coming
We ended up eating Chinese food
And staying the night in a hotel
Instead of our tent as we’d planned

We rushed to see all of the things
That there were to see, and still,
We missed so many; the mountains
Obscured by the clouds, sun barely
Daring to show it’s face at all 

I had never seen it snow so early
The Appalachian summer heat 
Was still steeped into my bones 
From balmy to winter was a
Stunning thing; I’ve not seen
Anything quite like it since then

And I will tell you now:
I’d rather not see it snow in
August, ever again, in my life
Though I will say that it did 
Make for a good adventure

Maybe she knows I get sleepy
                                listening to her talk
about the temperature in the pool
drier balls
parking spaces 
what a new electric toothbrush                   
                               would cost divided over time.     

Even the political rants get tiresome.
Maybe for her too.   She has shifted her approach.     
               What did you do today?                      
                            What’s happening tomorrow?  

My chance to wake up
the conversation, I am thinking,
but when I try to speak, she interrupts.
              When?  How long?  How many?   
This is what she wants to know, needs to catalogue. 
Her handle on life, if you will.  

                                                                       —  thanks to Shelda Hale for the notion of catalogued days

Sans a wrong one, I suppose,
there were so many desserts that I froze,

Ice cream so cold, but sponge cake my heart chose.
A Victoria juxtaposed to macarons that were colored rose,
Too sweet a treat to oppose, with an aroma that rose all the way up to my nose.

Blueberry jam delicately exposed,
Along with whipped lemon cream unenclosed, snowy powdered sugar superimposed.

I savored each bite, my taste buds aglow,
As my love for confections surely showed.

And as I finished my last morsel with a sigh,
I knew my love for sweets would never die.