Posts for June 15, 2024

Drooping clothes, heavy on the line, are still wet.
Doves hunch under the eaves gossiping, soft throated
coos inhale sunlight, exhale hesitant commentary.
     “Did you tease…the dog?”
    “In this rain?…Who could?”
    “Stinky `dog…poor thing, poor thing.”
    “She eats…too much.”
    “And you…eat her crumbs.”
Scolding Cardinal…tik tik tik tik tok!
    “She’s one…of them.”
    “Lost gen…eration.”
    “If I could…I would.”
     “I would…if I could.”
    “Good day…to you.”
    “Good day…to you.”
Whoosh, flutter, flap
Time to get up.

it’s blackberry season
when we drink brambles
and dance in the drizzle 
by the pond
until I have to lie down
in the wet grass
and when I can stand
you wrap me snug with a towel
in your arms
and your voice thrums in my ear
under thoughts of how much I love you
because you love how sometimes
I just need to lie down in the rain

If you ever needed living proof that
Slow and steady
Eventually wins the race
Ask yourself how many times
You’ve driven on the interstate
And passed by the crushed shells of turtles
Drying in the hot June sun
How many do you remember

Let this be your reminder that
Just because they never saw you get there
Doesn’t mean you never did

Romance is the song of love
it is the lyric
the melody
the refrain 
chorus
and the
hook

Honey-

when it is good
it is definitely
and always

the hook

keep pace with an old crow’s shadow through the grass / stir up dust enough for it to linger / keep my composure / mind my training when i must / trace circles along one end of a rope / bond with humans and other animals / pull a cart / pull a plow / go blind and crazy without my companion / crush wild apples / trace a narrow stream down to its source / take shelter where i can / lie down to rest

wringing welts into hands
thinking it might
wipe the guilt away

i wish 

you would take the daring plunge
to self forgiveness
the fault isn’t yours to carry

god’s love is softer
than the whispers 
that tell you 
it amounted to nothing

My throat catches when I enter—such familiar
everything. My brother’s quiet kitchen. Home,
not mine but nearly. No matter how long
I’m gone, it still feels right. I drop my bags
and follow the voices, through the dining
room, up the stairs, and down the hall.
Brown bear, brown bear, what do you see?
My entrance. I see an Aunt Em looking at me!
And I see three Withenburys in a row:
my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew—
now finally old enough to turn the pages,
to squawk an approximation of “Em!”,
to swill water from a water bottle like he
means business. He remains a perfect
mystery, a mysterious perfection. I squish in,
it’s my turn to read the next page. (Good thing
I got here when I did.) We’re sardines in a tin,
peas in a pod, cards in a deck, like no time has
passed. But the lump in my throat says otherwise.

Oh, how I hated you
when you first came out.
The hype surrounding you
soured my stomach,
made me want to shout.
However, my sister was entranced
dazzled by your mediocre story,
and jazzy (scratchy to my ears) bops.
She couldn’t stop singing them
over and over and over,
played the DvD on repeat
until they were scratched
and couldn’t play the movie
smoothly, the bumps on its track
gone skewed, wack.

You would always be gifted back to her,
though, one way or another.
Mom and Dad buying another DvD,
watching it on the Disney Channel
on a boxy TV,
Nana buying you all the merch,
And Granny buying Disney Plus
so that you can continue to watch it
in your older age.

My sister is now 32
and she still finds enjoyment
in those High School Musical tunes,
for while the years pass,
her mind remains
at a young, innocent age.
Extra chromosome 21,
causing her mind to remain pure
but her heart to become poor.
With each passing day, we can’t help
but wonder, how long until the end
and will she outlive, even my father?

So, while I used to hate you,
your Bops to the Tops,
your all things Fabulous,
your I Don’t Dances, and
your Bet On Its.
Your Boys Are Back,
your Screams,
your All In This Togethers…
you’ve brought my sister immense joy
and many a storm you’ve helped us to weather.
You’ve better connected us
in more ways than you could know.
So thank you, too something that seems insignificant,
but has made my sister a world of difference.

she asked if I was with him,
you mean when he died?
hell no I said
he was with who he wanted to be

put Clarence Gatemouth Brown
on the Bose speaker
born in Louisiana
grew up on the Texas side
of the Cajun slide

VFW hostess, the ugliest woman
in the most beautiful way
I mean from the inside out
I wanted to take her out of there
right then…some place nice,

asked if we wanted to push
the tables back and dance,
god-damn with the ashes
right there on the counter
but we did

*****

bearing his crosses
stopped going to Saint Rose
of Lima Bean, stopped living
with his wife is what the priest
said but I was the one bearing 

five genius grandchildren
from another state
not knowing how weird 
weird can be with mourners 
mostly drunks from

the backroom bar and buffet
of cooked cabbage,
the hostess pressed her flat
chest against my back,
the priest never showed

after dinner, romantically,
at a wedding, with family and/or friends,
expression, shapes and form,
emotions, joy,
story,
connection, hearts and hands,
history and nature,
socializing, meeting new people, building with old,
culture, celebration,

to seduce.

I can’t do that.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Let someone behold you.

I’m ugly!…
I look ugly when I dance.

some people dance to look beautiful,
but I don’t have to do that.
I can find my own reason.

I want to be beautiful.

That is okay. You are not less than for wanting that,
or for feeling less than.

I am less than.

It is okay. States, not traits. Come home, where it’s safe.

I want to dance.

I won’t stop you. I hope you won’t either. <3
Hugs. Swaying. Still.