Say mile. Feel the long-i sound slide
out your mouth, so unlike the clipped distance
between yourself and anyone else.
Donne said no man is an island,
but what about the rest of us?
Unmoored by days, by yards,
grass building against our separate
little homes like an ocean’s waves.
I’m not so sure. So I
say acre. Feel the ache of it.
I don’t know why I keep returning
to the sameold words,
the sameold longing.
Food is the purveyor of the soul
providing what is needed to feel whole.
Tastes that instill warmth and bring you home
even when you are miles away
and feel displaced in a space unknown.
It is the life-blood of the world,
for sharing a meal, mends all wounds,
even those you thought would never heal.
Each tasteful explosion restoring a piece
of what you thought was incomplete,
and lost forever.
The table outside is covered with chips
Pop and grilled-out food
My Nanny scurries
And my Paw-paw keeps going to the outbuilding to get more ice cream sandwiches
The day is hot and everybody is there
This was probably the last outing I remember where everyone was there
I ride my chunky plastic motorcycle around the house a few times
It’s loud, then it’s quiet
It’s loud, then quiet
The transition is cool, I ride faster
Sudden loudness
Sudden quietness
I throw it in the yard
Go inside
I head into the sew room
There’s a bunch of old toys in a tote in there
I look through
I feel a heaviness in the house, I run out
It was always so heavy in there
Something was always chasing me
I’m still little enough where i’m referenced quite a bit
And I have chocolate all over me
My cousins are here, I love that I swing with them
I’m back on my plastic cycle
I’m behind the outbuildings
I hear the creek running
And see it move over the rocks
I carry my vehicle up the hill and back behind the house
I hear the buzz of that weird building in the yard
That I imagine has a chipboard and a control man
On the inside
It’s loud to me
Very loud
I go to the front porch
No one ever uses
And sit in the muffled silence of loud family noises
The fake grass is scratchy and the bees surrounding the flowers become worrisome
I don’t remember eating anything
I don’t remember leaving
I probably fell asleep
I want to go outside and play.
It’s raining.
Why can’t I play outside?
It’s raining!
Should I go or wait for another day?
I want to run, jump, and play.
Why must I wait for another day?
It’s raining!
Rain is fun.
No need for sun.
Splash in puddles.
Dance in rain.
Water drips from face.
Splat! Splat! Splat!
It’s raining!
Raindrops sparkle and fall like diamonds from heaven.
Sun rays break through dark gray clouds.
Welcome beautiful rainbow.
It’s raining.
I’m glad I played in the rain.
Today was a treasure worth more than a pot of gold.
Rain, rain it’s okay.
No need to wait for another day.
We call it a first chance, but maybe it’s just a trial run,
After all, we are not always prepared when an opportunity presents itself,
But we take that shot anyway,
And we often miss.
It could also be something else,
For example, we try to create an opportunity,
And it seems like a good idea,
But we don’t think it through.
Which do we regret more,
Taking a chance and failing,
Or not doing anything
And then wishing we had at least tried?
But then there is the opportunity for a second chance,
And we know a little more this time,
Perhaps what we call a second chance
Is really the first.
Corn
Tomatoes
Beets
Lettuce
Grown with love.
Apples
Peaches
Plums
Lemons
Picked with Love.
Cows
Sheep
Goats
Pigs
Serve with love.
Rice
Wheat
Hops
Corn
Distilled with love.
Table
Chair
Family
Food
Gather with love.
Big agri says use GMOs
And antibiotics too
But you know that greed
Won’t spout one seed
With the one thing that is true
No it ain’t got love.
What do you call a woman sitting at an airport bar
heelspantsbeltblazer sitting up straight;
at-ease?
I used to think becoming her
was a matter of perception.
ie. manipulation of the viewer’s thinking, and
what their seeing…
A fake it until you make it.
Tonight, I read Joan Didion’s essay,
“On Self Respect”,
and it makes me think about dating.
How many of us have chosen partners who perceive us
well yet
do not fully see us?
I know it’s moreso a matter of internal position.
How do I feel about I?
But how seamlessly do the flaws come out overtime without prodding?
How much must I know about myself to
put forth the true version?
I don’t write for the public eye
