Posts for June 28, 2025 (page 4)

Visible but tightly closed –

Like an abused teenager –

I observe the flower’s presence

In the early morning.

I sit and write surrounded by the

Peace and hum of life

Awakening to the day.

The sun crests the trees and

Stabs my eyes with its

Blinding rays.

I shift into the shade

To find the blossom

Slowly unfurling. Despite the

Sunlight being indirect, it reacts.

Yellow center and long

Red stamens,

Tipped with velvety dots,

Respond to the axis of light,

Anticipating the warmth and

Brilliance of the summer day.

I feel manic today

unmotivated and strange

impending vacation glaring at my face.

I cannot wait

to be out of this place.

Out there on the beach, in the surf

in the sand and the dirt.

No agenda, no meetings,

no schedules, no deadlines.

Just me and you, and whatever we want to do.

I cannot wait.

I feel manic and strange.

Like a monkey in a cage.

Waiting for the day

when the locks will break.

My daughter says

Inspired by Maggie Smith’s first line in her poem Goldenrod, “I’m no botanist.”

I’m no meteorologist— if there’s a cloud overhead—
wispy, dense, puffy— it means rain. If I walk

outside and my glasses fog up, it’s high humidity,
and I’m meant to stay inside. I wake to happiness

or sorrow or numbness or upheaval—
sometimes more than one in a single day.

Especially here in Kentucky, every day
waking and wondering what’s to come.

Painted by the spray
Roof overhang one inch short
Tiny toes dangle

Because we’ve perfected
pretending,
we seem the same.
The subtle shifts
        sleeping arrangements, bank accounts
        divided time, formal conversation
don’t show.
It’s almost as if
we could march on in this sameness
for another 15 years.
Yet under my skin
my organs have been rearranged
my blood flows sideways
my mind catapults to places
        once unfathomable.
Different
doesn’t seem strong enough a word.

But queer as in a brick in my bag in case someone runs a red light.