Summer Heat
In this sweltering heat,
I think of cool nights
spent entwined with you.
Your sweet lips of succour,
pulling from me sweet
sighs of relief.
Now my mind surely,
swelters too.
In this sweltering heat,
I think of cool nights
spent entwined with you.
Your sweet lips of succour,
pulling from me sweet
sighs of relief.
Now my mind surely,
swelters too.
Furry forehead kissed.
Wallet, keys, phone, glasses, lunch.
You’re on watch now, bud.
A tough climb between
this noble thought and deed: not
eating after dark.
My best intent may fall to
the intense presence of one
and then just one more.
That one becomes another—
more morning regret.
For almost 100% of human beings,
we are completely forgotten
in less than five generations
Our names may still be
on a piece of paper somewhere
—an electric bill; a signed check—
but those who knew us
in the flesh will have
also Moved On
So what’s the point, then?
The point is this, at least
in terms of physics:
you are a completely unique feature
of the universe–
there has never been
someone made exactly like you
(not even if you have a twin),
nor will there ever be again
and (bonus!)
you walk a path through
spacetime that exists
only because you are
creating it
your name and likeness
is not the part of you that
changes the universe–permanently–
it is the part of you that choose to act:
to say–or not say
to do–or not do
each choice you make
may not seem to change
the entire universe,
but that is only because
we are blinded by scale:
(the ant on the sidewalk means little to us, but our descending foot means everything to the ant)
but trust me, you matter–
you will create
and you will destroy
and it is entirely up to you
where the balance point lays
I had no idea that Flamingos would become important to me
My son loved them and I loved seeing the fun, outrageous
ways that he incorporated them into his life
Like, the 5 foot metal statue in his apartment,
flamingo slippers, flamingo clothing, and sun glasses
Since his death, flamingos have made me smile because
they remind me of the fun side of his personality that
was sometimes hidden behind the illness that he battled
on a daily basis, it often overshadowed his personality
and his huge giving heart, would be raw and hurting
I try to keep the good memories flowing, but the pain
of his mental health journey keeps coming to the surface,
and flamingos were a special part of his journey, that
he chose to embrace in the midst of his illness, and they made
him smile and gave him happiness in the midst of pain
So, when I saw a huge sequin flamingo for sale yesterday,
I knew it needed to become part of my life, so I am
trying to find the perfect space for this monstrosity and other
loud, beautiful, pink reminders that my son was a fun,
special, beautiful person that I will always love, no matter what!
The clover’s come back thick around the edge of the garden,
and the wrens have returned to the same crooked gourd I strung on a wire last spring.
This morning, the breeze smelled faintly of sweetgrass
and something older—
a whisper from the dirt that didn’t ask for forgiveness because it never sinned.
I sat with my coffee, listening to the creek’s thin sermon,
and thought of Ivan Karamazov, his forehead in his hands,
rejecting a world where children suffer.
My backyard does not argue.
It grows.
It bears witness in moss and spiders and silence.
It does not rage against God or man,
but it does not forget, either.
Some days I’m Alyosha,
offering kindness like twine, hoping it holds.
Some days I am Dmitri,
wild with want, trying to outrun my own story.
And sometimes—God help me—
I am Ivan,
reading the news and walking away
from belief like it’s a burning shed.
But then a finch lands on the edge of the rain barrel.
Then a bee hums low in the mint.
Then the wind lifts a corner of last year’s leaf mulch,
revealing a single green shoot,
insisting on its right to return.
And suddenly, I am no one from a Russian novel—
just a woman in Berea,
barefoot in the grass,
trying to answer with her hands.
these days obsessed by light
the possibility to leverage is uncertain all the beautiful dawns
the days in this sun remember
the lights cast this image just right
these days of air lit up
the brightness itself a very thing
the golden ripeness the wide expanse of time the purity of pleasure
these days the hard outline softens
the shovels extended reach into
this pile of soil warm between toes silted steps
the tangled roots shaken loose
the planted seeds woken to
the colors of youth in its gleam
the sprinkler rainbow arches asking
this light to dance
these days remember there now gifts
the sights arrival takes nothing that’s not duly given
