Posts for June 6, 2025 (page 4)

in his toddler language “moo” means “moon,”
moreover, he wants to look at the moon,
so outside we go to see
the moon waxing gibbous,
illuminating the edges of night-velvet clouds

content, he looks longer than I had expected–
it’s late, 
and my voice stupidly breaks his silence
with a story about the moon using clouds as a blanket,
but he’s not fooled by my subliminal bedtime messaging
and doesn’t respond,
so I shut up
(
.
.
.
)
and in the quiet
emerges a reverence 
for his wonder–

it’s him, not the moon, I watch

until he blinks away
and sighs, 
sated,
and so am I

I see the vehicles with the decals that say things like “Just a regular mom trying not to raise any liberals.”

What a shame that your love is conditional,

that you only want to raise clones of yourself,

that your politics matter more than your children,

that you don’t plan to love whoever your child becomes.

Your bumper sticker says more about you

than you think it does.

Reading the Bible a lot lately
(don’t ask)
and the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled
was convincing Americans,
(well, white Americans)
that Christianity
is about being polite.

Respectful.
Conservative.

Rather than about doing the right thing

until…

Until the cops kill you for it.

The juvenile crow’s eyes are blue—
and darken as they age.
The feathers are not black,
but iridescent, purples and greens
reflecting sun. Winging upward
or careful stepping towards the corn,
every last one is unique.
I want to know how they name themselves.
Because humanity is stupid about this.  

Roles are no longer names.
Stop calling me:
Husband-Brother-Son-Lazy
Father-Teacher-Guide-Caregiver
Poet-Gamer-Libtard-Geek
Tree hugger-GenX-Bookworm-Hippie
Human labels are too easy, for the stupid.  

Whoever hung the half-moon
this morning, thank you.

When you count your blessings,
You realize that life can be beautiful 
even in the midst of pain and anquish
Since I am currently walking in the shadow of death,
I can already see beauty growing in the ashes,
even after just a few weeks,
God doesn’t promise us an easy life,
Or a life without pain and trouble,
But he does promise to be there with us 
when we are in the midst of trials.
And he has been there for me.  
Every hour of every day, which is one
of the blessings I am counting 

Storm clouds giving way

Monarchs flittering about

Auspicious omen

The truth is I missed her dearly.

She didn’t care to crack

perfection and tilt it on its side

to watch the pieces slide out.

She drives up and out

of the mountains and mixes red

bull with adderall. She spins in place.

She is before and I am after.

She wasn’t relieved to be sick.

I am relieved because I am not dying.

I am just less. Less than her

and what she was made of.

I now have no room for more.

I miss her as I wrap my knees.

As I take the pills and fill out

the maze of forms in every

waiting room.

Ticking boxes.

Dizziness.

Joint pain.

Rash.

I wish I could tell her

To enjoy her makeup

And her twenty-four year-old face

She was alive at that moment

But she was not thankful to be

Alive

Living life carefree
Going here, there, and everywhere
You’re in charge
Going and coming as you please

Cancer enters
No invitation
Takes a seat
Front and center
An uninvited guest

Chemo the bouncer
Kicks Cancer to the curb
All seems well
For a while

Cancer returns

Wearing a different costume
We’ve been keeping watch
Another round for Chemo the bouncer

It was a tough fight
It was a knockout
Victory

Living life Cancer Free

I know the words
on the tip of my tongue
ring in my ears
an earworm with a megaphone

“I can do so much better than this!”

            “Imagine all that I could be…”

   “…if I just tried…”

still I sleep in
and skip alarms
frozen in my comfort zone
I roll right over
I am not in my grave yet.

Decorate my shelves with spines of stories,
hazard strewn in idle categories,
pages fresh; spared from fingerprint oils.
Their knowledge a test were I dare toil.
Then on my walls strange trinkets beside masks
and motley canvas wear paintings and wax
for reasoning’s shaped in objects and cracks.
Art must live if I’m ever to relax.
Organized junk march into allignment
bespoke and cover with keen refinement,
yet now and then my budget uncoils.
Hunger smacks, juicy scraps on tin foil.
Takes more than allegories to fix that.