Posts for June 4, 2026 (page 16)

I won’t lie, it hurt, that “knife 
of never letting go,” but I filled my lungs
with resolve and made the first cut, 

carving the smallest piece 
from that tender organ 
with gentleness and precision

as it pounded its agreement–
this is a suitable offering
to the land that gave us ourselves.

I refused to use a shovel
to move the dirt and stone.
Only hands plunged into the earth

could prepare a proper plot
in which to sink this sliver of
glad muscle, tissue, and nerves.

I dug and dug, the dirt
driven beneath my nails 
with every scrape and pull of earth,

until I was satisfied and settled 
that yielding fragment among the soil, 
dense with minerals and time.

I felt the pang immediately–the steady,
silent sting of a heart split between
where it has been and where it is going.

It has never fully gone away–
like the ache of a phantom limb. 
Which was the point to begin with.

Today is my last day at my current job
I could go in with the attitude “I am done”
or I could go in thinking “I want to accomplish
all that I can accomplish today”
I know which one I choose, because
I make the same choice every day
and make each day a productive day,
while showing kindness to others in the process

One by one
Slowly at first
A few drops at a time
Then, a downpour

One by one
Slowly at first 
A few drops at a time
Then, a downpour

Is it the same?
Does God feel pain?
When He lets in rain?

Metal in my nose 

There is a distant look in your eyes

wistful as though you are looking into the distance

in your stillness you are holding a flower

you know the future

you have a feeling of what is to come.

A bee swirls around me

buzzing, insistent, sending a warning—

        You can do nothing but watch.

This is the concept that keeps me in the present

it implies surrender, serenity

the bee continues to haunt —

        That’s right, it’s snarls, you can do nothing

        and when danger comes, you will know

        you couldn’t have done anything different

        and when joy comes, the bee continues

        you will think you have a reprieve

        reprieves never last

        they are brief

        and tragedies are eminent.

When I gaze into your eyes

I am calmed by your 1891 resilience

you are the daughter who says—

        I understand.

I can feel the air move as the bee comes closer

and you remind me, like the bee, be still.

splattered windshield bug

wanted to be a poem

flicking wipers on

To write a poem
is to walk in faith, each word
a small provision,
sustaining scrap of manna,
part of an answered prayer.

A wizard I am not
besot by steel balls
brain knotted mere flot-
sam in the drink
getting got by the machine
fraught
in slight delays of thought
another quarter in the slot
embarrassment was bought

I have multiball
on my third ball
tracking three balls
now I can’t fall
right?

bumpers buzzers
bells blares
bright lights and bold sounds
beautifully rhythmic
but only if there’s talent

the balls band together
in triangular formation
transporting me to Galaga
kamikaze aliens

this is a moment I cannot fail at
this is where I turn the whole game around

when it’s late
and it’s just you and me
way, way beyond the time
for me to speak my heart

my little ship
overwhelmed
freezes

fumbling fingers
fling frenetic
flippers fraction-
ally too early
and I watch
so much potential
slip
one
two
three           
into oblivion

shoot again
is not highlighted

You can count on this mean old world
to hide a rattler beneath the steps 
to the hot tub on a moonless night,

vibrate the penny off the rail
just as train wheel comes along
to flatten it,

open a hole in the grocery sack with the limes,
put the winning Powerball numbers 
in your neighbor’s head,

and, the last straw, rain on lawn mowing day, 
exiling old Jim indoors, staring out the bay window, 
hands in pockets, 

cursing every rotten thing in this life,
including his wife, who’s knitting the scarf 
with which she’ll strangle him.