Iced caramel latte with almond milk,
please
A tall glass of espresso, caramel peering through
sweet but strong
A wooden corner table for two
overflowing with love
We sit and write
gigging throughout
A coffee date for two
We may part
but we know there is always another cup
Four and half months
of seemingly endless bursts
of brisk midnight air,
after hours of studying that only
end in nausea
and a miserable drive home.
Four and a half months
post op
blantently shoving
a quite necessary hip recovery
to the back burner,
a priority at the bottom
of the list.
Four and a half months
of processing a death
that has unknowingly
flipped my mind
to a brand new axis.
A death
that has given
the phrase
“I don’t have a dad”
a whole new meaning.
My grandsons beg me
to drive around
their old neighborhood
when they visit
It’s mostly Jujutsu Kaizen
with them these days
So here’s a moment
their heads are up
their eyes are open
their hands still
That one house where the roof leaked
That apartment where the dog died
The field beside their last house
where sister broke her arm
Passed the derelict pool with weeds
the shuttered Frosty Freeze
the tobacco warehouse flea market
Passed their old elementary
out for the summer
We stop and run,
hearts open, pumping
to the swings
Remembering that time
we opened our mouths
and words came out
Virgin of the vine, hear our prayer.
Black hour in which I buried Battus philenor
at base of Dutchman’s pipe.
Black hour in which zipper tooth
caught black cuticle.
Black hour in which I snapped at my father
as he slept in his chair
(if only in my mind).
Black hour in which I remembered
the other woman
and her multivitamin pyramid scheme.
The comma’s wings open, silver script
on a haint-blue field,
a question asked in scales:
what prayer belongs in the margins?
Caterpillar, chrysalis,
Christ have mercy.
Dear doctor,
Like a steppingstone laid down
along a perilous path,
across an even more treacherous river,
this poem exists only to get to the next one.
Or so I thought, until
my Muse began to chant:
Forget the peril!
Forget the path!
Come, dear one! Come!
Step into the stone-free spaces and
let yourself fall
down
and
down
to the place where You truly reside,
in between.
Meadow, meadow, ancient coil
Textured illusions, hues brown and green
Skyward, earthward, warping swirls
Encompassed canopy, sponge-earthed feet
Sheltered shadows, clinging leaves
Awestruck, inspired ‘neath stretched, wrought seams
On this day, a chapter ends
Yet somehow something sweeter bends.
The nature of time plays quite a trick:
One minute slow, the next too quick.
It feels like yesterday we’d only stare,
At tiny fingers and subtle hair
A little cry, a fragile grin,
A brand new world you stumbled in.
From careful steps and scraped-up knees,
To slick, hot slides and climbing trees
From picture books and cartoon days,
To growing in a thousand ways.
We watched you learn to tie your shoes,
Then win your games and sometimes lose,
Laughing out loud, you’d test the rules,
Only to learn your parents aren’t fools.
Then school arrived, your backpack and all
Next to your peers, you seemed a bit tall.
A nervous smile, a wave goodbye,
While Mom and Dad fought tears nearby.
But somewhere in those classroom halls,
Something occurred that I’ll always recall
A quiet spark began to grow
A mind determined to learn the unknown.
Especially math…oh, what a sight,
When numbers and equations felt just right.
While some just sat and scratched their head,
You solved the puzzle quickly instead.
Equations obeyed the pen in your hand,
Like numbers answered your every command.
At times I swear your parents knew
The calculator learned something from you.
And then came baseball…dust and sun,
A glove, a dream, this life had begun.
Long practices, the swings, the throws,
The dirt your mother fought off your clothes.
The cheers, the nerves, the wins, the grind,
The lessons tucked so deep inside.
For baseball teaches more than a score
To rise from defeat and try this once more.
You’ve been a true boy, no denying this truth
Like how you ate snacks that vanished through
No doubt, this was part of your growing phase…
You’ve surely eaten half our house some days.
Yet, somehow…within the blink of our eyes,
You stretched a little further toward the skies.
A deeper voice, a stronger stride,
A growing fire you cannot hide.
Eleven years…what wondrous grace,
To watch determination put doubt in its place.
Steadily thriving through all you do,
And slowly shaping the man in you.
Your mother beams with obvious pride,
Her love too deep for words to hide.
And me..? Well I hope you now see
How proud your dad will always be.
Not just for grades or games you’ve won,
Or all the things you have become,
But for your kindness, your heart, and your soul
The boy we’ve had the privilege to know.
Elementary school fades today,
Yet brighter roads now call your way.
Whatever comes next, wherever you go,
You’ll always be our pride, Ryno.
The last stop at the end of the road
where the asphalt disappears into the forest
as it climbs to the top of Sunshine Ridge
People don’t move on from here as
much as they die or their trailers burn
to ashes amid the piles of junk and trash
Life is not easy for those who have
so little to lose but a car that runs and
a roof over them until those too are gone
Rackety trucks peel down the road
on the way to town or at least out
of here, back and forth, sometimes hourly
fueled by a drug commerce or
odd jobs here and there sustaining
dogs who don’t know enough to move
out of the road and kids who know
more than they should about how
life leaves most of them behind
The girl runs up and down the stairs with ease.
Her granny says do this, do that for me.
The girl brings folded laundry up the stairs,
returns with orders for the broom and pan.
Now don’t forget the corners and the nooks,
her ancient voice a slither down the stairs,
be sure to clean that closet out real good
and when you finish that there’s more up here—
her voice— a craggy marker for the girl,
a stone she cannot move but always hears.
