You’re a dizzy sort, aren’t you?
Casualty of boy band lute strummers
Dashing protagonists
Cucumber sandwich scandals
Tyrannical heat
Overcranked corsets
Rogues in the gazebo
Your scented Victorian lace, fanning
Not just toast and eggs…no!
There were three kinds of meat
And sop, aka red-eye gravy
If one of those meats was ham
Fried potatoes, gravy and biscuits
Something sweet you say?
Honey, sorghum, jelly or jam?
The kitchen was a flurry of activity
From cooking and kids running in
To get a drink of water
From the water bucket
It froze up in the winter ya know
Hard times maybe, I guess
But those times were the best!
I don’t know how she did it
Two or three big meals a day
And everything else required
Of a farm wife
Amazing lady Mamaw was
Best years of my life!
Cherished moments in Mamaw’s kitchen
Things are so different now
I watch the steam rise from my shower water
I think of painting purple walls
Honestly it’s hard for me to even write about
Because I know you’ll never see it
I dream of you less now
My voice rarely whispers your name
Jess
I wonder how you are
If she’s with you
I wonder if you still write about me
The point in my arm is sore
It radiates up my arm when I think of you too long
I push myself closer and closer to the edge
On your name
Jess
On my fear of falling all over again
It pulsates now
As I write
Yet another poem for you
I stare blankly into the mirror
As questions bounce in my head like pinballs
I repeat lines of my own poems
My skin sheds again and again
As if to prove a point
You’re no longer here
And yet you continue to stake your claim
And I fear, like I did then
That I’ll never be able to say no to you
Jess
we classify you as a beetle,
call you “firefly”, “lightning
bug”, “glowworm”, but
i wonder if you
have a name for yourselves–
an identity,
purpose
you seem to emit your glow
to attract a mate in the
gathering darkness of late
twilight
the fields in which you fly,
like star fields
winking in and
out of existence
when we were children,
we would gather you into
Mason jars, carry you
inside, placing you
beside our beds to act
as tiny guards against
the creeping pressure of
the night
your pale yellow light
much like that of the
sun–like miniature lighthouses
to guide us through the dark
until, together, we reach
the dawn
Summer is a break in routine for many people
with schools out, summer sports, pools open, and
nature has put out it’s welcome mat and entices
everyone to come spend time there
It’s just different from other seasons
At this point in my life, I am over being super busy
and overscheduling my life. There is something
delightful in choosing activities that are focused
on just being. Being present, being relaxed, watching
something, listening to something, exploring something
I think I will make this a goal to keep this state of mind
throughout the year, and focus on just being the person
I want to be and including things and people in my life
that bring me joy, peace, and a summer state of mind
Hornets flying low above the sea.
They’re coming in — by twos, by threes.
Where shall they shed the rage
that’s weighing on their wings?
On the narrow pier, a man appears.
He’s brought a bucket and scoops seawater inside.
Then he sinks back into his solitude
beneath an anchor-shaped cloud.
What use is that slippery water —
to pour onto the fireplace?
Its breath is dark, it weighs like mercury,
and leaves a bitter taste.
The boats are grieving, these buffaloes at noon,
their smooth flanks washed by waves in the bay,
as the sea curls up to die beneath the tetrapods
on its last summer day.
As if for one last time, I’m breathing in and out
the sharp and salty air.
Slow fish flicker in my brain,
fleeing the trawl nets they find there.
If aging gracefully is like ballet
this must be the antithesis. A dramatic
drunken stumble across the stage
limbs flailing
defiant mumbling
a performance everyone wishes would end
and yet
the show must go on
Dragonflies
know no boundaries
as they land soft on my shoulder,
touch down in my hair,
rest momentarily at my feet.
Their elegant dance
surrounds me this summer day
in the sultry heat as if they rejoice
in rising temperatures
absorbing moisture in a flutter and spin.
Iridescent wings dappled in green and blue
stretch wide across the horizon
dripping sweetness and grace
along the ridge, hover at mid-morning
summoning a procession of followers.
