Posts for June 6, 2026 (page 13)

The buzzin’ never used to bother me. 
I never faulted  a creature
for just trying to survive

but the baby was cryin’.

And the middle one 
knows how to take his diaper off 
and the oldest is asking me 
questions about death that 
I don’t know how to answer
especially with a washer singing 
in the background. 
So when that poor lil buzz 
became the fly to break my 
camel back 
I clapped my hands 
and caught him on the first try.

I wish I could say I felt pity. 

I wish I could say I felt like 

the little girl who thought 
she could save the world 
one misplaced bug at a time. 

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

After all, 
the baby was cryin’. 

I miss the haunting
Way you talked to me in spring  
Love’s lonely echo 

A barren land, sky and cactus, driving south from Illinois to visit grandparents, the terrain changing we enter slow motion, each town 30 miles apart, the distance the pony express could ride in a day.

No longer in a Rambler station wagon, we’re sitting in a covered wagon, squinting, savoring, searching, for the small, four room house, added onto several times— an indoor bathroom, then a large bedroom, filled with bunk beds we would lie on next to open windows and listen to summer sounds during the day, cicadas and cows mooing. During night, the howl of coyotes far off in the distance.

Further west Daddy drives past gas stations and their dirty bathrooms out back, pulls over on the side of the road. We step out watching for rattlesnakes before squatting down.

We had heard the story many times. Our mother, three years old, her daddy yelling, Grace Laverne, you stop right now! Grabs a gun and shoots a rattlesnake. The rattles remain on top the buffet to be revered every summer when we visited

A visitation starts with a sideways
glance into the rear view mirror,
the parking lot where pre-teens
have run away from the unfamiliar
body of their grandpa to play in the gravel,
the awkward shuffle past the statue
of St. Thomas Moore to the chapel
where where your cousin’s wife hugs,

hugs every visitor with the certainty 
of heaven…a place where you’ll
see everyone,

everyone that’s gone before. 

You stand with aging friends
wondering
who’ll be next

our mothers
fireflies in the night
glowing green 
saved in glass jars 
as if…
we could keep them

She discovered a small alcove of trees
hidden in the curve of the north field
tucked into thick clumps of  cedar, tall black walnut
and silver poplar with a scattering of redbud.  

It was an accidental find while searching
for the old moonshine still the locals told them
was on their land. The space opened up to her,
a secret garden, a chapel with a canopy of  cypress vine.  

Red  blooms hung low, a sanctuary lamp
dripping sweet grace, a refuge from darkness and grief.
She spent time deep inside that summer,
cushioned on cedar branches, discerning as she listened to birdsong.

I was warned about house sparrows, but
in denial when I found a ‘different’ looking
nest in the bluebird box.

Still in denial when I saw the speckled eggs.

Maybe a song sparrow
          similar eggs – native, non-invasive 

But, the Merlin app set me straight-
          House Sparrow
‘Aggressive, non-native, invasive, will kill bluebirds’

So….I removed and destroyed
the nest and eggs.
Wasn’t happy about it.
Did what I had to do.

Two days later I checked the box again.

Mommy House Sparrow had the energy to
build a new nest
and lay two eggs!

I was impressed
         so, I let her be.

Being of European descent, like
house sparrows,
honeybees, and 
plantain 

I an non-native,
possibly invasive, and
sometimes mean.

So many times I’ve lost control
Bitter, anger, I shout in rage
I look around and see no change

Nobody cares

Reminded what’s within my control
Perhaps next time I’ll maintain control

I almost lost my vision once

Looking for my mind which like my
car keys I will sometimes need to
do things customarily done that
can’t without a mind  

Okay go on look  

That’s the thing
without a mind I don’t know where to look  

Look where you were when you lost it  

That’s the thing
I don’t remember losing it  

Go to the last place you remember having it  

That’s the thing
I don’t remember having it  

Not the way you’d remember a bee sting
or the Great Flood of 1927  

Not how you’d remember your first heartbreak
the thrill of shoplifting
or chocolate pie  

I suppose I merely assume I have
a mind because sometimes I think I don’t  

Looks like you’ve got your mind back  

Hey you might be right
By the way who the heck are you  

That’s the thing
I’ll know when you do  
In the meantime                           
                              just                
                                      keep                                            
                                                looking