Posts for June 29, 2024 (page 4)

“I think I like this little life”
and a gentle guitar melody
plucks through my brain
as I scrub an ungodly layer of dirt and dust 
off of the bathroom baseboard,
we really need to update the place.  

I think I like this little life, 
and a sigh escapes my lips
as I stare at the mountain of dishes
I can’t bring myself to help my husband with.

I think I like this little life, 
as our laughter shakes the walls,
echoing in our skulls as our brains rattle
from the seismic activity
of our joy–
we wrestle and play,
acting like children
who have just discovered
The Spear and the 6-1-9.

I think I like this little life,
as we cry and fight,
our passion bubbling over,
our issues spilling into each other’s cups
until neither of can hold another drop
and we shatter.

I think I like this little life, 
and we dance in the kitchen,
dodging the dogs’ paws,
holding each other,
breathing in scents entirely our own. 
He farts. 
I burp. 
We laugh and continue to dance
‘neath a city of stars
and our music reverberates
in our neighbor’s walls. 
We’ll apologize tomorrow. 
Tonight, 
we are finding solace in,
and loving
our little life. 

Tennessee is a 
beautiful state but it is 
not my Kentucky

We are concerned with
aesthetics. Girl-corpse looks bad
on applications.

bowling, other games
currently a thunderstorm
family visit 

Oklahoma heat
rain, hopefully a break now
tomorrow rest, peace 

My husband’s eyes are something like the trees;
Forest green is more green than his eyes green
If bark be black, then his skin be brown leaves
If leaves be thick, then his head hair be lean
His lips are so full and I love his kiss 
I like to grab his perfect round buttocks
His tongue and lips lick and suck me to bliss
He pleasures me with his beautiful cock
He takes good care of me and our children
Bought my dream coop infront of the park
Cooks almost all our meals in our kitchen
Pays all our bills and a earner at work 
  And yet, I bust this man’s balls everyday
  Because I’m a woman and it’s foreplay 

Standing at the terminal window,
watching your plane roll slowly
to the runway’s end, lights twinkling,
seeing it hesitate, poised on the edge
of the world, then moving forward,
faster and faster, I lurch backward,
as if to pull you back, as when you
as a child ran ahead of me toward
danger, cliffs’ edges, busy roads,  
my shoulders would square in resistance,
instinctive hope that the invisible cord
still connecting you to me
would rein you in.

   
Detour
 for Alice Heyer Ramsey, first woman to drive from NY to SF, starting June 5, 1909

were the sudden stars a novelty after
your suitable city discarded like an apron

did turgid rivers tattered with foam
mirror mismathced doilies left behind
 
did stormclouds rise as
lumpen sheets to smother

absent pavement & signposts
vague landmarks to bypass

the lure of away called out      unscripted & free as
green-bladed oceans rippled unmown

under a bowl of downturned blue
sun-throated Sirens with feathered arms

lured you sideways to crush handfuls
of prairie    pink roses like those

once by your door but oh these   so sweet
& what of that faraway torte

made of buttes   layered hot reds   cool chocolates
that drip in the shimmer    mirage or reward

follow your polestar
unfurl the vague heat & confirm

watch the sizzle & hiss of sunmelt
in a sea at the edge      of your world

while at your back
an ordinary day

One day he discovers he can’t read a road map,

the paper kind, and all that implies 

runs over you like a ton truck;

then a week later he is able to read the map

and joy surges.  However, whatever,

you are never prepared.

Outsider status

Feels familiar and safe to

The timid stray cat

We grew up sharing a bedroom: French Street, Foxglove, Highland Drive. She wore ugly shoes and elephant leg pants. Summers she hung out at the public swimming pool with teen-aged sirens who baked themselves in Crisco and took me along. We slept until noon, then she made miniature pizzas on biscuits for lunch. If I promised to wash dishes she made oatmeal cookies. She taught me how to read the TV guide. Our feet were so dirty from walking barefoot they wouldn’t come clean. I made half the bed and wiped my snot on her side of the headboard. She gave me a final jab after I fell asleep.