Temptation
There is a red apple,
hanging low
and alone
on a naked branch
of an aged, diseased
William’s Pride Apple tree.
From the porch
it looks perfect,
tempting me to walk
in flip flops,
across the overgrown
tick and chigger
infested lawn.
There is a red apple,
hanging low
and alone
on a naked branch
of an aged, diseased
William’s Pride Apple tree.
From the porch
it looks perfect,
tempting me to walk
in flip flops,
across the overgrown
tick and chigger
infested lawn.
Robin eats a juicy, fat worm in the grass
Red shouldered hawk, kee-aahs as it circles above
A brown haired child laughs while swining
Life being what it is, unaware
Of danger lurking Fascism creeping,
Creeping, creeping ever closer
While humans pretend
Pretend, pretend
Until the knocking At the door
We were so close
Johnny removes the footrest
from his older brother’s wheelchair
allowing him to drop his foot to the floor
preparing to slide himself into bed.
I could taste it.
Johnny removes the armrest
slides it under the desk & reaches for
the sliding board.
That sucks, Donnie says
leaning left lifting slightly
Johnny pushing the sliding board underneath
leaving half on the wheelchair & half
on the bed already lowered as far as it
would go creating a downward movement
making it easier for sliding from wheelchair to bed.
Same thing happened to me in football my senior year
Donnie places his hands on each side of his thighs, heaves,
pushes, then slides onto the bed & quickly braces himself
while Johnny picks up his legs at the ankles & swings
them up onto the bed. Donnie leans back on his elbows.
I can’t believe we let ‘em fuckin’ score in the last two minutes
Donnie’s legs shake
becoming still he lowers himself onto his pillow
Johnny unlaces old hiking boots, scuffed
from before the accident, finds
the remote & places it beside the bed.
We were so close.
he plops down in the wheelchair
surfs a few moments
then heads to bed.
They said every piece has its place—
but I never clicked in quite right.
Edges just shy of snug,
colors a shade too light.
I watched the picture take shape
while I lingered near the lid,
not missing, not mistaken,
just… waiting to be amid.
They whispered, “Must be from another box,”
but I never took offense.
Because deep down, I believed
I held a quiet sense.
Maybe I’m not part of their scene—
a farmhouse or sky so wide.
Maybe I’m from a future frame,
a puzzle not yet tired.
Because who says wholeness
can only look one way?
I might be the start of something new—
a sunrise on its way.
So I’ll rest with patience,
not lost, just not yet placed—
a piece that doesn’t finish the picture,
but starts one full of grace.
It passed me or maybe I passed it.
A silver capsule
sliding through the mid-morning haze,
tucked into the slow lane,
shining like it remembered what we forgot.
A Streamline.
Not just a trailer, but something round and gleaming
like memory, like possibility on wheels.
I don’t camp. Not willingly.
I fear wild animals,
sweat easily,
require coffee before kindness.
I like real beds,
hot water that doesn’t involve propane,
and cookware that never knew the taste of sandy bacon grease.
I don’t belong in that trailer.
And yet—
I ached for it.
For the way it held its shape against the wind.
For how it seemed to carry a whole country’s
once-upon-a-time in its polished skin.
There is something about that curve that calls to us.
A softness made aerodynamic.
A future you can hitch to.
The promise of motion without consequence.
We all want that.
We want to go
without leaving anyone behind.
To be sleek, unburdened,
full of beans and gasoline and a clean map.
The Streamline knows this.
It’s a cathedral of chrome
for the American spirit—
hopeful, mobile, always westbound.
But I know—
we don’t fit inside as well as we once thought.
Freedom costs more now.
Gas is expensive,
the world is hotter,
and the road isn’t so open when you’re scared to break down.
Still—
when I saw it glide beside me,
I felt something rise from a part of me older than sense.
Something that said:
move,
start over,
shine anyway.
It passed me, or I passed it.
But part of me is still trailing behind—
following that glint of longing
down the middle of the country,
toward a place
that probably never was—
but still feels like home.
Diamond-hued dragonfly deftly
landed
on my steady hand
There it remained for several
minutes
Becalmed messenger from beyond
gently reminding me to be
Loved one comes from spiritual realm
says live your life with
joy and light
Listen: life is fast and fleeting
live each day like it
were your last
Dearly beloved dragonfly
dutifully draws quadruple
dynamically designed wings
darts dizzyingly
disappears
