Atkinson Park 2024
AM radio, kids splashing,
different decade, different songs
If only sparkling blue water of youth
kept my attention longer
Twelve year-old girl at public pool
thong bathing suit, chased by older boys
AM radio, kids splashing,
different decade, different songs
If only sparkling blue water of youth
kept my attention longer
Twelve year-old girl at public pool
thong bathing suit, chased by older boys
Nobody opened up a window
My first thought when I was
Able to collect myself; it was
January, maybe too cold for
Such traditions, but it stuck
That thought lodged inside
Unable to shake it even now
Seven long years gone past
There was no clock stopped
Nobody took it off of the wall
No mirrors to be found though
One small reprieve at any rate
We don’t sit up with our dead,
Not anymore, but I wish that
We had because it was you
We did stay with you, through
Every painful moment, from
Your last breath until it was
Time for them to take you on
Washed and clean in a new
Night gown; peaceful at last
Letting you go was difficult
But it was also beautiful to
See you finally free of pain
No longer trapped inside
Your own mind as you had
Been for years by then; such
A bittersweeting ending to
Your chapter in life, but it
Isn’t the end for you and I,
Mammy, not at all, not a bit
We’ll be together again someday
In the sweet by and by as they say
I’ll be seeing you, in just a little while
I just wish we had opened the window
So I could know, in my own soul, that
Yours was a ble to go where it needed to
Beyond a shadow of a doubt
Those thigh rolls are already disappearing
The milk belly slimming down
Gummy smiles replaced with Jack-o’-lantern grins
Coos sprouted into words overnight
You can now outrun me
Please, both you and time slow down
it’s so easy to imagine the things you don’t know
because you never knew them, never will know
them you can fill in the fictitious gaps
let them spread wide & feral
since you don’t know & you can run wild in your mind
with thoughts of bedlam since not knowing
opens a void
of pathetic panic deep inside
your pretty pink heart pulsing to the beat
of his voice if you can remember it
but of course you recall the cadence
of his speech
the way he slips in & out of
mountain drawl quick
highlands sweating off him like a fever
dream he complains about yet fantasizes
behind closed doors envisioning
everything he can’t see
For me, new school in ninth grade,
dropped from urban life into a village.
She landed there in sixth grade, was still
a newby in a town that measured
belonging in generations.
Gravity quickly drew us together.
We were the smart girls, relentlessly
pursuing A’s. Good girls, singing
side by side in church choir. We let
our wild imaginations out in drama club
and writing for the literary journal.
Of course we became best friends.
Neither popular nor pariahs
we carved a path through high school,
protected by our partnership.
Love living life spontaneously.
This time last Friday contained zero plans
for watching live baseball this week,
yet I can’t seem to stay away from the stadium.
The first trip was momentous,
late, exhilarating, historic,
I won’t miss this chance.
‘Play Ball!’ is called
underneath the stadium lights.
We’re sitting in the outfield,
concessions seducing,
lifelong fans cheering
(myself included)
loud enough to wake
the dead of night,
tense, a thriller,
prayers and held breath,
then release,
the lead gained
the final outs made,
the Wildcats
on their first trip
to Omaha,
College World Series.
Players throw gloves
and hats in the air,
dogpile, bathe coach
in Gatorade,
crowd goes wild;
future zombies
of Monday’s workday.
The second trip is much more sentimental
if a no less exciting in occasion;
the high school tournament hosted in Lexington.
Dad calls two hours before gametime.
His alma mater, Owensboro Catholic, is in the quarterfinals
and my grandfather is on his way to watch it
if I have any free time to visit with him.
I won’t miss this chance.
Two hours later, I’m taking the seat next to him,
portable oxygen in the next seat over
as we’ve done for several football games
including the state championship at Kroger Field
we very nearly won. It’s midday instead of midnight, and hot
even in the shade behind the first base dugout
straight across the field from Sunday’s seats.
He’s thrilled as always to have his grandson
able and willing to give him these hours
on such short notice.
I love the opportunity
to share another experience with him,
hopefully celebrate a win this time-
texting updates to Dad after every inning,
throwing all of my loyalty into a school I’ve never gone to
simply because people that I love so much
carry so much love for the team.
It’s one of the best roles I play in life right now:
to be a representative of the Aces here in Lexington,
joining members of the family who make it into town
and standing in for those who can’t.
I know Dad appreciates the effort.
Win or lose, that alone makes it all worth it.
I don’t expect returning to the stadium anytime soon,
despite the last second nature of attending these two games.
If I’m wrong, I still won’t miss my chance
because of the variety of memories it’s given me
in a span of only six days.
Seems to be
an unparalleled superpower
of the fantastic sport of baseball.
Mark off the days spent
ripened to death. Killing
time like killing fruit flies,
these days collect around
the spoiling rind of your
misery. Be miserable,
wait. Crunch the data,
swallow the hours whole,
find that your life halts until
that number is consumed
or consumes you, until
that digit dissolves
like a fly in the mouth
of a venus fly trap. Be
hungry. Salivate over
seconds. Take seconds.
Portion your dinner
in minutes. Sweet fruitless
time. Lick the empty plate
of every day. Pass the knife,
let the reflection sever you.
You realize you are starving.
Slept in the graveyard
last night. Made friends
with the ghosts. Dined
with the demons. I never
realized how much we
actually have in common
until we shared a bottle.
maybe the best helpers
are toddlers. they love to wipe tables
back-and-forth-and-back-and-laugh.
they love to pull wet clothes
from washer-into-basket-and-giggle.
they love real-dyson-vaccuums-
at-first-steps-and-snorts. (79.99
at pottery barn kids.) (worth every dime
at 800 uses within the year, i hear.)
no do i have to-s. they don’t speak much
at all. and when their parents clap, they
just laugh-and-laugh-more. some
may ask, and sigh, when does it end?
and i would say, all slowly changes, yes.
their view, our view. into-discussion-
with-words-into-compromise.
new artists soon, displaying great
works. digging in garden. playing
at new play. new giggles. some
may state, and sigh, just don’t blink.
and i would say, yes enjoy their day,
but don’t fret. tomorrow comes next.
maybe the best helpers are glee-filled
parents. at every step-and-giggle-
and-groan along the way. . . .
My age college
bra size birth sign
# of lovers fav sex position
color of my vj
