Posts for June 25, 2024 (page 2)

I belong to the mountains
Though I love to travel and
See the world, this is where 
I will always long to be, this
Sacred place that rasied me
The place that has molded
Every fiber of my being

I feel most alive here, where
I can be my truest self, the me
That is wild and feral, and has
Always been; the me who shies
Away from noise, crowds, and 
Fast paced living; those things
Are not for me, not long term

I prefer the slow quiet of home
Wind rustling the leaves of trees
Cool water winding through a
Holler creek with wild blackberry
Brambles growing heavy with 
Fruist; dewy grass and packed
Red clay earth is where I belong

One day a voice fell

as the wind chimes in rainstorms

wading through pictures

I never went down to the creek that much
I preferred walking down to the river
Watching the barges and the birds
Looking for glitter trash and pretty rocks
Smelling pizza in the evening and swinging on the swings
With my pre-K buddies 

whole reed-baskets full
uncountable peppers

wagon red, Kelly green, lemon yellow
mandarin orange, seed-pregnant

vested in limy leaves impossible
to snap off each crevasse-skinned

bulbous-shaped fruit for a taste dare:
keep a water cracker rescue near

for tame ones, raw onion to save
your tongue for the wildest burns

each first cracked-half bursts
in the shower of the kitchen sink

sudden coughs huh, huh, surprise
your throat fire-lined, vision blurred,

seeds spew like confetti, spiral
down the drain, lost garden magic

never forget they say, yet
happens often whether we want it to or not
just yesterday
you forgot to pick that, well, you know
and the whosiwhatsit on the car
nope, still three weeks and no mechanic visit
like you promised yourself, oh well
take a breath, don’t worry
there’s always tomorrow
whichever day it might turn out to be

maybe you want me to water your garden
and help you weed your plants
and maybe set some deterrents aside
to deal with the aphids and ants
and maybe you’d wonder how far you’d grow
if given enough
room
and light
and the chance
and perhaps this poem is me
wondering and wishing
that i’d planted this seed
in advance

Each day I grapple 
with the Force anew, and if
I find small succor 
in the Light, at least I do
not fall, face first, into Dark. 

And here I am again,
My hopes up high
Waiting for you to call,
To ask me to come over
To stay up all night
Catch up and laugh maybe,
And yet again, it’s silence

“In this house, it’s rubber bands,” he says,
standing at the kitchen drawer, “and rocks,” he adds.    

We could make slingshots, launch those pebbles
into space, make rain for rabbits in the yard.  Load rocks
into bike baskets to ward off vicious hounds.  Band
two rocks together, perhaps they’d reproduce, sandstone
rubbing igneous, voila! They’d morph, of course. 
Into circles of bands we could throw rocks—bullseyes! 
In our pockets, stones, in case we need to track
our journey with the witch and rubber bands to wad,
caress while she cackles.  Both can go in jars,
collectors’ items, the bands of uncertain provenance,
though some antiques survive in my mother’s button box. 
Decorate your large pet rock with bands, first paint them
many colors, the nine-banded Brazilian rock a focal point
among the hosta.  Rocky ballast for spindly schefleras,
rubber grist for the house wren set yet again on nesting
in my poor potted begonia.  Rocks to hold in place
the meditation pool, bands wriggling atop them,
artificial garter snakes.   

Rocks deconstruct, return to earth, the rubber bands
I think will last as long as roaches. At least they’re quiet
at night, no rustling wings disturb our dreams.

Middle age, a tree with brilliant leaves,
waits for storm to steal them away. 

Old age is a coal mine full of value
for those who dare its darkness.

Death of an elder leaves a picture,
someone the young will never meet.