Posts for June 1, 2026 (page 17)

YOU GOT A POEM INSTEAD

And it rained

I took pictures

Of trees

Scouted

All Central Park

Costume Designed

Hair Designer

Conceived a Theme

You got in pattern

I went in retreat

Now I got a dream

It’s a scene

Need artists that see

My artistry and want to

Work with me

I need a team

my true love gave to me
nothing  because  well  what’s true love exactly anyway
give me substance
give me raw material
give me what is coming today 
a load of gravel dumped down my driveway
a gift  your brow furrows
well yes  I respond

ever the creative bug this more so than anything else
a gift I can embrace 
no bright bouquet or a pretty wrapped box
on any given day  give me gravel
give me soil
give me something with which to get my hands dirty

on this first day of LexPoMo give me life  alive

Those who soar off mountain cliff
argue through aggressive tattoos and winged suits
that one can play it too safe. 

Aspire to be the mole who lives his life 
below grade, the best one can hope for 
is a feast of grubs.

There’s got to be a middle ground,
buffered from both complacency and desperation,
the slice of heirloom tomato sandwiched between butt ends.

Hello June, thanks for coming. I’m glad you’re here.
You brought changes in your suitcase and I am not referring to clothing.
Oh, some I anticipated. The start of summer. School’s out, let’s shout and all that.
Others though, not so much and I’m left uncertain. Unsure as to what is to come.
Next autumn will not look like it has in the past.
I have learned I allow too much. The infiltration of work, which I mask as loyalty.
I plan to spend some time on that fact.
Figure out how I got here or at least how not to return.
Meanwhile, I listen closely. Wait for answers from the voices I value.
Those whose very hands usher beauty into the world. People firmly placed.
Without a need for avoidance. Again, valued voices, I remind myself.
I witness life’s interjections. Timing mixed with interruptions.
The load might not be too heavy but it’s time to put it down, nonetheless.
Usher in the yellow sky of morning. A beginning which follows this noncelebratory, end.

third week in new apartment
third month at new job
thirty-ninth week pregnant

In honor of the grand opening following the January 9th, 2026 fire

1.
Daddy never bought anything for himself
except the necessities:
folgers coffee, Kentucky’s Best tobacco,
and that blue Honda Shadow one tax season
when he made his common-law wife mad. 
I was the youngest of the bunch,
which meant I was the only one brave enough
to climb on the back. My helmet too big
as I clung to my blue-collar father.
Daddy drove me to Mama’s side of town,
parked his saddle bags by The Frosty-Ette.
We didn’t know how to talk to one another back then, 
and we never learned. He ate a banana split.
I topped it with the cherry from my hot fudge sundae. 

2. 
Papaw picked me up 
from the bank parking lot 
where us kids with our weekend bags
gathered at 6pm every other Friday. 
Mama busy with her white nose,
Papaw with his billfold.
His silence drove me
to that crickety picnic table.
My mouth sticky and hungry
foamed with whipped cream and nuts.
Mama still in our cigarette hole burnt home,
her mouth dry and wide,
too sleepy to be sorry she forgot the time. 

3.
Mama, with her darkened eyes, hushes, and bags
would grab me and sissy 
before the sun touched the earth 
waking the man of the house.
Our breath quietly fogging up the car windows
’cause we knew the starting of the engine
would be followed by the man of the house
running out the front door, his chest bare,
shouting after us, his fists grabbing at the door handles. 
Mama only ran him over once
and none of us ever learned our lessons.
I learned those early mornings always meant
lunch from the shack with the kind smiles.
Mama hid us in the graveyard where
we got our bellies full on her favorite order,
“One large hot fudge sundae with extra hot fudge
and some cheese fries, please.” 

4.
My sister and I are laughing 
with the sunroof open
as we pull into that familiar gravel parking lot. 
We sit on the hood of my Toyota Camry
eating our favorite ice cream. 
We watch as people gather ’round
that small, screened window, cash in hand.
The cashier knocks on the window to get someone’s attention. 
Cigarette smoke circles us. Somewhere a boot stomps into the gravel. 
A white paper bag is placed on the ordering ledge,
“Honey, your food’s ready.”

5.
I take the man I love 
to that weathering shack.
We order a plain vanilla cone
and a hot fudge sundae with whipped cream, nuts,
and a cherry on top. 
“Do you like cherries? Here have mine.”
I tell him, “I know it doesn’t look like much,
but this is home.”

The days have lengthened to
the point where you can see
the tips of sunrise on our

dark sojourn to the job in the early
hours, the sky still sleepy-tinged,
groggy. The parking lot at work

is surprisingly lit, peppered
with headlights of cars idling.
The denial that the day is

already started, a few more
minutes of fitful sleep,
reclined in the driver’s seat.

How fortunate I am
for Lady Fate to have returned
us to each other

one more chance encounter for
your body to reunite with mine

The title implies the existence of lands past flat –
as if, if one turned a corner,
one might perceive
incomprehensible directions.

In the bookstore, I turn to tell you 
of Mandeville’s travels,
try not to see
the shape of you leaving.

We are multidimensional,
sometimes solid,
angles and angels
masquerading as points.