My 2-year-old
Learned about
Rhythms and rhymes
From a dance teacher,
A drum, and the book
“Chicka Chicka Boom Boom”.
Each syllable was on beat.
Spoken and written word
Dancing, sounding, seen, heard, felt …
Integrated into their
Little bodies and minds by
An innovative teacher.
The gifts given to that
Two-year-old
Carried her through
Life. Dancing
In her body and
With her body and
In her mind and
With her mind.
Just as they still do
In memories
In my body and mind.
Summer rain falls quiet
when storm clouds part overhead
I stand beneath the broken blue sky and ask,
“When will I hear you speak again?”
To which a tiny droplet responds–
leaping from an oak leaf,
mouthing a light tap that echoes from the muddy earth.
This brief exchange becomes a conversation with which I hope to never lose touch.
You are on your way
home. Just ahead—
your exit ramp.
Traffic has stopped,
but begins
to move slowly
forward. A vehicle
appears
on your left.
It is facing
the wrong direction.
The top half
of the car is absent—
it looks
like a convertible,
though it is not.
The movement
of your own vehicle
feels like a black
and white film
of the Kennedy
assassination.
At the front
bumper
of the wrecked
vehicle,
a door opens.
Something putrid
flows through
you. Fifty yards ahead
sits one shoe—
a sneaker. You now
believe in evil.
Cut me a piece of pecan pie
and squirt some Reddi-wip on it
and I’ll tell you why I love
Thanksgiving
so much in spite
of all the family bitterness
passed around the table
along with the gravy boat.
I love Thanksgiving
so much because
I find it remarkable
that such ill-tempered
I-need-a-drink,
resentfully jealous,
morally suspect
people can contribute
incredibly delicious
secret-ingredient
dishes to a potluck
that never fails
to satisfy.
Aunty Lee, she of the five husbands,
sets a fine table though
the silver may be hot
and she gripes
that she can’t use her best linens because
over the years they’ve been
stained beyond repair
by tobacco juice
oozed from the pores of men
and sometimes women
seated round the table.
Left-over love seeps from the food
they bring to the table.
And we, voraciously empty, eat of it
until we’ve had our fill.
That’s why I eat your pecan pie.
That’s why I love Thanksgiving.
following two days’ downpour
seedlings
washed
into
puddles
willy nilly
doggy paddle the sloppy mess
giggle
sprout
wave their tiny arms
The dead tree in the neighbor’s yard
blends with all the others in winter
Yet in full summer, dead branches bent
in the direction of the prevailing wind
it stands alone
Angular, stark, russet
against the panoply of green
Maples, oaks, locust, sweet gum, box elder,
redbud, dogwood, hemlock, pine
Sentinel to senescence
The soul of wit is a pair of tongs
Silver maybe, probably pewter
Nickel-plated
Chromium lobster clamps, a wandering appendage
Scuttling across a silent kitchen floor
The scalloped edges are the aesthetic decision of the artisan machine that thought it up and stomped it out. It’s spine is an indentation.
Runner’s stretch. Forward
fold. Seated back twist. Bound angle.
Chest stretch in doorway.
Don’t be fooled—five minutes
daily will cure you of nothing.
Daily, LIVE to STRETCH.
*Apple News, via RED, posted 22 June 2023
