Posts for June 6, 2025 (page 9)

tech’s infiltration plot
disintegration
isolation
planting us alone together

gone are the daze of standing in the kitchen
hanging onto the turqoise wall phone
talking on and on to a high school chum after a day together

now just a memory my light up princess phone
a teen’s lifeline
amidst a French provincial lavender canopy room

the gotta have it now urgency
of our fake emergency break-in calls to Mom
busting a busy line

most of all the untethered freedom
of being untied to a hand held device
that tracks and knows exactly where one is

the loss of a smiling hi with a perfect stranger
who becomes
a friendly passerby

most are not where they are when they’re there
instead robotically talking to someone and missing the 
someone who’s right in front of them

we’ve become a nation of
password junkies
swimming
alone together

Lattices and flowers climb my hands like fire, flickering with movement. 
Heat distorts the lines, revealing earth brown, sunset orange, and blood red. 
If the dye burns, it is because no finger nor palm has done enough. 

In the land of olives and vines, bare hands cling to their mothers’ for warmth. 
Fists curl to capture the heat needed for a different kind of fire. 
They wish to ignite the spark in the heart where a soul no longer burns.

The colors jade, pink and lavender
lacy scarfs, shawls and fans
the soft touch of velvet and silk
the sound of fog horns
love notes any time
baby’s giggles and smiles
deep red velvety roses
the kiss of soft breeze
welcoming smiles
fluffy clouds on baby blue sky
tender kisses and hugs
fancy butterflies having their meal
an old love song that once touched my heart.

So much beauty to name
so much to savor, remember
in these days of political pain.

The dandelion puff in fall

One last wish for all

I guess I should be sorry
That my dog is tearing apart your leaf pile
The one swept into a perfect brown row, waiting by the curb
I see you standing just inside your back door, mug in hand, watching with chagrin
As she plunges chest deep, snuffling and snorting with glee, kicking them here and there, again
But it makes a satisfying sound and I can’t help but laugh a little
At her joy, your discomfiture and the futility of it all as the cold wind scatters more debris across your perfectly manicured yard

What you don’t know is that this sweater-wrapped rescue usually avoids terrifying things like grass, and water, and cold weather and crunchy autumn leaves
And that apparently there is some special magic about this particular pile, because it has beckoned her each morning this week on our walk
Maybe its perfect orderliness invites her chaos
Or maybe the joy of scenting a cat or a squirrel or something equally exciting can only be properly experienced from chest deep in the frosty leaves

We drowned our days in music
Snapping fingers on the front porch
Jazzing the heat with beach waves
The four of us joyriding                                    
Doo-whopping with the top down
It was our gospel            
            Our riff of salvation                            
                         Our syncopated heart             

My guy would wander over
At the end of the day
When he got off work
And the cool came out to play
My sweet temptation            
            My funky wonder                        
                        My untamed soul   

After the sun went home
And the kids toddled off to bed
We turned up the volume
On those moonlit smoky nights
Feasting on the rhythmic intoxications            
               Those mercy mercy miracles                        
                            Those streets just made for dancing      

She used to tell me things
maybe of no significance
like on her wasy to work
she’d angle the tail 
of the mustang
on her steering wheel
up or down
to signal her mood.

Who else would know that
about her?
And why now
after all these years
do I remember this?
This tiny detail
either does or doesn’t
make a difference
but its another layer of knowledge–
the dailyness
of what we can know
of the mind of another.

For entirely too long, I watch

videos of people eating

raw frozen caribou meat.

Salivating over a bowl of pebble ice,

I wonder why I want to tap my veins

like a maple syrup spout

to slurp the erythrocytes.

I feel like a bald queer Dracula.

My doctor orders labwork.

I drool as the phlebotomist draws my hemoglobin

through a straw-like tube.

Inside I am sure I look at least rare done

and I could go for a good steak.

The #6 mine closed
You missed daddy’s drinking
You missed the knife Mama
Mean as ever threw
Clear across the kitchen
Right before daddy got sick
The doctor took a lung
Blamed the smoking
But couldn’t do a thing for him
Then they all took to leaving
For work up north
First Tootsie then J.D. and even Poochie
So many trips to the bus station
Even in my sleep I see the Greyhound
Pull away and picture me
Running to catch it
No one left to miss me
You missed me disappearing
If you ever get out of prison                    
Come and get me       
I’ll be working in the mines
Over in Jenkinjones
I’ll be a shift worker
At one of the factories
I’ll be at Tech on scholarship
I could be any of those places
                                Or
None of them
Lost as I am
Without you, brother