The orange day lilies
lining creek banks
will never know how much
I love them
or how I look to them for hope.
The way those bulbs washed
downstream and rooted
somewhere unprecedented,
so blooms emerge from
old tires, steep, rocky
juts in the bends, and are
dotted as far as I can see
in the twists and turns
where water rages after rains,
holding on tight.
I want to be like them.
Defiant and bright.
A beacon for anyone
who cares to notice.
Corroded dreams taste
of tungsten and ash.
Not broken, just burnt
by the heat and friction
of mundane details.
Each striking score
of match-flame bears names
like compounded interest
or power-of-attorney
or Jardiance.
Most adult butterflies only live 2 weeks—
sculpted wings soft laughter at our cares.
Listen close, dear child tonight
This truth is meant for you
My voice will guide you in love and light
The prayer I cried came true
The world for me was without sound
The struggle tore me apart
All of that was turned around
By the rhythm of your beating heart
I dreamed you’d grow with steady feet,
With kindness in your stride,
That even strangers you would meet
Would feel God’s love inside.
As you learned to walk and talk
I watched with clarity
You light up rooms where hope was blocked,
Showing what love should be.
You help without a second thought,
You fight through every storm
The love you spread cannot be taught
God took His time and shaped your form.
Now you shine just like a star
With every swing of the bat
I bask in awe of who you are
I couldn’t be prouder of that.
Even other parents stop and say,
“There’s something about that boy.”
They see the light you give away,
The source behind your joy.
My son, if this is just the start,
What beauty lies ahead?
Your journey has touched so many hearts,
With every word you’ve said.
So I’ll keep praying as you grow,
it’s the truest place to start.
With every breath, I hope you know
My whole world lives inside your heart.
Like someone seeking answers,
you leaned in from the downpour
to utter just one question:
Did you drive here? You asked me.
(From the hotel, I assumed.)
No, I walked, I laughed, nervous.
I can’t forget your pained face.
Marvel—
At the Irony Man, Tony Snark.
A body of armor, a mind of wit—
He is sure to deliver a bit and a quip.
With missiles of mockery and lasers of jest,
He tackles the earnest with humor at best.
Sincerity is the enemy, a horrendous beast!
Defeated by sarcasm straight from his fist.
Thank you, Irony Man, for saving the day!
The plague of authenticity is kept away.
the roses have offered a first round
it’s up to their keepers to prune now
if we’re to see another act
as of today, they’re past their prime
faded, wilted
not becoming
I empathize
as I, after hauling away a bucket of once lovely blossoms
prepare to bloom
again
I wouldn’t ask this of you
to cut off the incandescent glow
of your eyes like embryos
burning with uncanny,
yellow light
you feel like a creaky board
on an old dock
I focus on how I don’t fall through
and forget to reach out
to the handy man
the tension of a locked door
against the draw of my wrist
all of the opening I did or didn’t
a practice in greeting true ruin
with a grin
rain, heavy in clouds,
threatens soaked earth—and my soul—
already too drenched
Antifa, dressed in black, stalked along the fringes,
Seeking cracks in the cohesion of peaceful protest.
Police had learned not to strike when
Batons, firehoses and attack dogs
Fueled even greater dissent.
Fifty-five years ago we followed
Those who came before with sit-downs,
Boycotts, mass meetings, taking to the streets.
Pledges of non-violence were made,
Support groups were formed.
Marching with flowers in hand, we endured
Bullets and tear gas, jeers telling us to leave.
Refusing to wage war would not be tolerated.
Not at first. Not until too much blood was
Spilled, too many lives ruined.
Democracy has always been at stake.
Protection for those who belong as much
As those born to privilege and opportunity
Must exist for all of us to flourish.
The promise of America is ours to keep.
