Posts for June 2, 2026 (page 4)

My father found God
In a styrofoam cup
The type you find in church basements
And meeting houses
Next to a hand written sign that says

Coffee 1.00

Group hasn’t started yet
Shuffling feet and zoom meeting “can you hear me?” plays like a background 
12 step lofi beat
I’m looking at the sign
Wondering if a cup of coffee cost him a dollar in 1990

For most of my life I thought my father got sober on his own
cold turkey
A boot straps story some part of me clung to with pride
Until my brother told me
“Nah sis, he went to AA, and NA, I remember going with him”

I myself had spent time in AA rooms, not for an addiction
Helping others so I didn’t have to focus on myself
So I’d spent some time in AA rooms
Indulging my addiction

I inquired
I received
Story time turned jubilee
A retelling of how my father found brotherhood and sobriety
Slapped bag balm on generational wounds
Making amends with his father
His fathers father
“I was just working the steps” he said
I’m swollen with pride again

“Ok! Let’s get started” 

I remember where I am 

“Hi, I’m Morgan. I’m the adult child of an alcoholic.”

Now I’m working a different 12 steps
I hope to God I find something 
At the bottom of this styrofoam cup

There was a honeysuckle breeze
as night fell.
Frogs chirped
and firefly stars lit our faces
in their soft, slow way
while the Appalachian night
embraced us in her arms.

The dirt I dig in contains
The bones, blood, sweat, and tears of my ancestors
Their bones the foundation I stand on
The dirt holds the DNA of who I am

The seeds of my future
Planted by
Their hands
                     that worked the land
                     that prayed for freedom
                     that wiped tears from crying eyes
                     that waved goodbye to loved ones, never seen again
                     that placed fingers to mouths to keep silent
Secrets
Plans of escape

                    At the river’s edge
                                                    Quietly singing and swaying with the current
Baptized in the river

Chains broken and keloid scars melted away
Healing waters blessed by the ancestors 
Freedom washed

New creatures rise from the waters
Bare feet sink into the soggy shore
Footprints Preserved – a permanent record that they were here
The road to freedom

The dirt I stand in
Contains hope, promise, and new beginnings of my ancestors  

The land on the other side of the river
 
Home of the free
Land of the saved

To be tobacco hidden in your cheek
To be the sports statistics on your screen
To be the prayers that late at night you speak
To be the fingernails between your teeth

To be the dishes sitting in your sink
To be the song that you have on repeat
To be the thought that you can’t help but think
To be the wrinkles in your flannel sheets

Not to be the message you’re scared she’ll see
Not to be the secret you choose to keep
Not to be your love only quietly
Not to be, one day, only memory

To be your day to day and week to week
To be everything as you are for me

Watch my eyes 
as I avoid your gaze 
How you trace every inch of my face 
I will watch as the squirrels dance around another 
One, Two, Three 
They all appear one right after the other 
I watch with a grin as they stand upright 
Little babies with clear little minds 
I don’t like nature 
I’ve never been the type 
But once the sun sets 
and the days turn to night 
Watch as I smile bright 
As you watch me watch nature live its life 

In none of my past lives

did I wake in the night

and drift back to sleep

without waiting to listen

to the song of your breaths.

Even in your sleep, my love,

you sing.

I will never forget this holler,
and this holler will never forget me.
We belonged to one another when I was smaller.

My daddy wore a blue collar
while I wandered around, climbing trees.
I will never forget this holler

that shaped me with the adventures
of a barefoot child running free.
We belonged to one another when I was smaller,

that neighborhood on Amos Baker,
where curves and hills helped shape me.
I will never forget this holler

where I learned humility from the Appalachian Bellflower,
to dance with lightning bugs, and live simply. 
We belonged to one another when I was smaller.

Though some think it nothing but squalor, 
these Kentucky mountains, this valley.
I will never forget this holler,
We belonged to one another when I was smaller.

I wish you could see
the other 50% of me

why I drown in the sea
and love the number 3

when I sing off key
or pretend im empty

you will never see
the other 50% of me

My Daddy had big Hands, strong Hands with square fingers,
lines of the Nile River grooved atop each nail 
his palm held a secret story of a son, conceived with a first wife, yet never born

My Daddy had big strong Hands,
Hands that carried heavy Southern Pacific packages from trains to commerce,
Hands that lit candles to Our Lady and prayed to God in the light of St. Patrick’s Church
to protect his familia and insure his simple life be blessed and sustained

My Daddy had big Hands ~ Al Jolson singing “Mammy” Hands
that clapped and waved to the beat of his tap dancing feet,
Hands that could span an octave no problem as he played
“Dark Town Strutters Ball” ~ I’ll be down to get’cha in a taxi honey
Hands that clapped loud and hard to “Shave & a haircut two bits!”

These were laugh out loud Hands, creators of 1930’s caricatures
“Toon Town Extraordinaires”
Hands that sketched expressive story telling faces,
Kewpie doll eyes with long lashes ~ that seen more than their years

My Daddy had big Hands combed with lines NOLA palm readers would’ve had a field day trying to read

the first air flight and Ford’s motorized cars
His hands also pulled streetcar gears and saved metal & wires to survive 
The Great Depression