Posts for June 21, 2026

The first time I met God,
I was small enough to fit in his oil-stained hands.
He sang Elvis songs for lullabies
and caved every time
I begged him to read one more story.

The first time I saw God cry,
he was pushing my fishhook through his thumb
because I, over-eager, tugged
on the line before he had my worm secured
and there was no way out but through.
Rest assured,
he tried to keep me from seeing.
But his tears flowed as freely then
as at my graduation.

The first time I remember asking God for directions,
I didn’t listen.
I was certain he’d tell me not to go
where I wanted, so
I ran ahead of him til
the sidewalk snagged my shoe
and I skid to a stop,
skin raw.
He was two steps behind,
not quite fast enough to catch me, but
he carried me back to the house
and tended to my tenderness.

The first time I heard metaphor and aphorism and simile
I was at God’s knee.
He was the “hand of knowledge” applied to my “seat of understanding,”
the “brick wall” I’d be slamming into if I was wrong…
that would also be backing me if I was right.
He taught me that “Gordons don’t lie”
and that excuses are like rinds around baloney:
some might chew —
no one swallows.

The first time the God in Heaven and I got on bad terms
I only found my way back
because of the God I knew first:

The God who sings.
The God who bleeds.
The God who heals.
The God who teaches.

Here. Human. Holy.

My father,
God.

You insist
I let you stay on the phone
my four hours driving

Home.

I acquiesce.
i let you be strong.
i don’t argue.
i listen

to you drift
to sleep, anyway.
i listen

to your deepening breath,
your dulcet murmurs,
a snore or two.
I listen

to your defiant
sounds of sleep
and smile
and know
and see

it is love.

Hopefully,
         
            to be continued…

What would I do without you

Eat

Drink

Sleep

None of these things I can do without you

Talk

Walk

Blink

None of these things I can do without you

Everything I have done and will do involves you

I am bound by your chains

Debt rises as I fall

Drowning in the sea that I can not see

I need you

Eat

Drink

Sleep

Talk

Walk

Blink

These things I can do because of you

I wonder what music you’ve gotten to listen to

I imagine a lot of rap
That’s what I hear from most cars that blare the speakers with the windows down

We live in the country,
maybe you’ve heard some of that

I wonder what songs you would listen too if you were still here

What lullabies your mom and dad would sing

The oddly unnerving nursery rhymes sung by your great grandmother 

The little tunes that your nana would make up for you

The little melodies that your brother brings home from school,
and your sister from dance class

I know one thing is for sure,

You’re being raised on another plane
by the inappropriately funny parodied children’s songs of your great grandfather 

And here you will still be missed greatly
but you’re with the best of who’ve we’ve lost

I do not wait
For an apology
To unfurl from his lips
He is not sorry
For the bile words
That he vomits upon me  

Again    again     and again
I ask him not to disrespect
Black women with words
That slice like the
Honeybee’s barbed blades    stinger ripping the skin  

What a bittersweet oxymoron
Friendship once built upon thick, golden, smooth honey
Now destroyed by the burning pain of his venom  

I remove the stinger   
Bottle the honey   

Each year I mark you

with the hope that this time of the year

will become less awkward

instead of less defined.

I awoke this morning

after the actual passing of the earth

nauseated with myself,

afflicted with sore muscles, throat, and tongue

from staying alive when my body wished otherwise

and the feeling that I failed you yet again. 

Telling you that the last few weeks

have tired me more than the rest of the year

does little to assuage my guilt

and does more to remind me

of my place in our dynamic.

Behind, very behind, and too behind

are words I know too well,

yet knowing the world continues clicking

through its resolute phases, on to the next,

despite forced shortcomings of humans below

does convince me that these fumbles will not derail 

the rest of the world so I can heal.

So I may stumble through the rest of summer,

but I recognize the ones who have brought me here

and hope that I will build greater bonds 

as we start the shift towards longer nights. 

We come into this world 
Born, new only of the womb
Of woman and man, unstilted
Breathing in the atmosphere 
Without the fear of death 
Never needing reassurance 
That the next breath will come 
As we grow into our own body 
Gain a sense of consciousness 
Somewhere along the way 
Just under the surface we 
Begin again into a new journey 
In this one we somehow find 
A distinct place where the world 
We once knew tends to fall away
We teach ourselves to doubt 
Deciding that second guessing 
Is somehow better than intuition 
We choose to loathe what we don’t 
Understand or don’t like or can’t comprehend 
Because somehow that’s easier than learning 
Something new or trying to become better 
Like we were born to be in the beginning 
In our very first place, in the newness of it all.
If only we were taught to love ourselves 
Maybe we wouldn’t hate others at all
For hate is only the things we fear 
We can’t understand or love inside 
Our own hearts and minds,
So we as humans project
Onto the souls of others.
If only hate weren’t taught 
At all. 

The day slips away

in headaches and naps.

David Bowie hated wasted days.

But what is a wasted day?

One without accomplishment?

Or one not worth remembering?

My precious dog lays at my feet

as I write.

I reach down to rub her belly.

This is a day without doing

but not without beauty.

I don’t count it a loss.

              I lied to you today
for the first thousandth time

about love, about
trust

Here, where the loneliness sets in
              like a rotten tooth,
eating away at your own words

              I lied to you today,
rotted and rotting, and I don’t think you noticed