A silent reading space
Fake grass, steps, a view so wide
You are not here, too.
Devil incarnate
in one man’s propensity
to squander progress
Eviscerating
America’s foundations
while sycophants kneel
Social net be damned
as felon urges Congress
Pass beautiful bill!
The Trumpian Way
augers the decline and fall
of the U.S.A
Little green star
that dictates how she thinks of me
off
on
off
on
I dim the lights to dull the flickering.
She loves me,
she loves me not.
Her pulse is erratic.
She does not notice mine has stopped.
I didn’t think pearl clutching
was still a thing–until
a neighbor, I know only slightly,
dressed in her Sunday best,
click clack click clacked down my sidewalk,
clutching her ocean treasures,
in tears because the big orange cat–
who lives next door to me, who honors me
by making sure the moles and voles
don’t create a mass transit system
in my front and backyard, who prevents mice
from finding the tiny hole in back of my oven,
and scurrying all over the blue kitchen countertop,
who keeps the catnip in the garden from spreading–
has raided the rabbit nest under her river birches,
in broad daylight,
pranced proudly down the street,
a sleepy baby bunny hanging from its mouth,
which the cat then tosses into a row of hostas,
in order to begin a game of hide and seek
on only the cat’s terms and. now
there are only 2 tiny vulnerable bunnies left–
and on Easter Sunday, no less–
I am speechless,
continue to water the azaleas,
hot pink and white popping up all over.
I have no sympathy.
Until–
she says:
First thing Monday morning I am calling the city!
The skeletons in my closet
They have all danced around
Solo and together
With and without my demons
That have lived under the beds
I’ve slept in over the years
Came peepin’ out
Disguised as best friends
Lovers, new found religion
And things of the like
I’ve tried padlocks on the door
All to find those skeletons
Are damn good locksmiths
That’s fine too
These days I leave my closet door open
We’re all friends here
I have no shame to bear
There might be holes in my garments
But there’s no smoke in the air
Clear skies and clear hearts
Thats what resides here now
A car door held,
The clinking of teeth-
you spoke only a few words,
while you contemplated my shirt and what was underneath.
A year has passed,
and we’ve done all the things-
family celebrations, first fights,
and yet I’m still looking forward to all that it brings.
A hateful papaw-
criticizing all of the things that you know are me-
railing against the establishment,
joking that I’m blind, without knowing just how much I see.
My eyes are clear to the way you approach fatherhood with patience,
how you hover over when I turn the food in the pan-
I’ve caught all your glances,
in knowing the person that I am.
There’s a softness that sits just below your surface,
reserved for how you address the family pets-
how you cradle the children and even me,
in the way there’s understanding in how you’re brow sets.
I love how the hands that have busted knuckles
turn the pages of books,
How your brown judgemental eyes
can give the most loving of looks…
I hope that you’re always excited
for any adventure we can sneak in-
I hope that you keep exploring
every piece of my skin.
Is this how it goes?
I haven’t been here before.
First year in, then another-
I hope this first year turns into so many more.
the world felt tender
underneath the arch
of me. the heel and toe
which weight crested
on, pressed the Floridian
sandy soil into a surface
to balance and bend
my body now bridge
holds my heart to the air
pretending a sinkhole
has opened its mouth
right underneath me
the nervous deep air
beading at my back
until I’m cooled calm
to let go, release.
