Posts for June 9, 2025 (page 3)

After Pablo Neruda’s “A Dog Has Died”  

I don’t lie next to you on the bed,
and I don’t plan to join you now.  For me,  

it’s the stubborness of cold words
because I don’t believe in absolute
 
togetherness.  Promises droop like a giant peach,
holding a world of large insects  

who befriend a boy.  On the page,
they await us, again and again.  

Though I won’t speak of love,
it hovers around us, like the blowing wind  

or the stars that float above seagulls.
Intimacy takes many forms, and one is silence.  

Time is ours to waste, here in this pure land
sweet with chocolates and kindnesses  

and shameless daily joy. 
We are not yet gone.

I am a dreamer
I think that’s been a good thing
It’s helped me believe

I remember Grammy sitting 
at the small kitchen table, 
her back to the built-in cabinet
and drawers Grandpa built.
Her glasses on the end of her
nose, she is sipping black coffee 
while playing Solitaire.
Grampa sits across from her.
I see him stir the cream into
his coffee with the end of the
pencil he was using for the 
sketch of some project he’s making.
Even as a small child, I was
watching all the grown-ups,
how they attended to things,
what caught their attention,
how they sat silently together. 
It was their calm presence 
that gave me security,
even when I was just a quiet
observer in their world.

6/9/25
KW

they remind me when we went to mamaw’s
taking the new road, which passed the back yard
the front porch aligned with the creek, the old road
once under the arbor, down the concrete steps
we played on the aluminum glider
its screech announcing our visit, followed by
screen door whacks, plop of bucket in well,
the crunch of green apples papaw would pick by the barn
did I tell you he used to save snowballs wrapped in foil?
saved for us kids when summer came and we couldn’t remember
the cold we once held so dear
now an impossible dream

Our daily lives, punctuated by pleasure.
The w.
The feel of silk, satin, or velvet.
A baby’s soft skin.
Soft friendly whispers.
Feeling a kitten’s soft fur.
A whispered endearment.
Tinkeling wind chimes.
A song bird’s bright solo.

We take it for granted
as part of our day
not noting how special
a gift it can be
for recharging our soul.
Do what you can
toward peace for us all.

I had a grilled 
chicken sandwich 
and a fruit cup
washed down with
a diet Coke, and
I still think
I might’ve had too much.

Calories jump higher and higher
as the day goes on.  They want me
to food journal, write down everything
that goes in my body.  I don’t wanna.
Blissfully ignorant is something I want back.
No one counts calories when you’re 5.
I’m sick of my body hoarding the 
precious pounds it’s collected,
only letting them go during bouts
with stomach bugs.  I want to be

healthy without effort.
I want a body that
works right, that doesn’t 
need to be strong or svelte
enough for me, that doesn’t 
have to turn down food
like I turn down overtime,
that makes me feel comfortable 
about being in a world
where there’s so much
I want to eat.

Some days my normal tasks feel 
like five alarm fires to my brain. 
I am walking to the corner store,
or I am being hunted for sport. 

When I bravely venture out, my cheap
foam sandals thwack and suck 
the entire way, clinging in the spaces
between me, and the sweating sidewalk. 

There’s little resolution here. 
The universe guides my way,
path paved with dingy florescence,
Arizona Iced Tea, tacky seasonal
goods, and eccentric flavors of chips. 

I do make it to the Walgreens, 
but it will be something else tomorrow. 

Pounding on my skull
In an attempt to get out 
Pills can’t help me now

Little bird
Deep dark eyes
May I give you 
Courage and strength

To survive the storms
May your heart be steadfast
May you go forward
To know love and joy

we wish not to settle into the ease and rest of the upcoming chill
the upcoming death of spring, the loss of light that was summer
for fear that easing into rest, we will become more aware
of what we’ve tried to hide
of what we tried to push down
into the recesses of our souls
through action, we forget our pain
through movement, we forget our sorrow
through constant busyness of mind, we forget our grief
they tell us to settle and soften and make space to care for ourselves
we neglect those words and guidance
for fear that we will have to rehash
all that we’ve buried away
but with softness and space we learn not to fear the things
that we feel
but we allow them a momentary flicker in the fires that still burn
before the darkness of fall nights turn the sky purple
bring crisp chill to the air that allows us the time to reflect
on what we tried to let go before we were ready
what if the death of fall is the last little bit of life we give
to those experiences before we can truly let it fall from the trees
like orange leaves onto frostbitten plates of grass
taking its final rest before eventually moving
on and its own time