waiting
on PayPal staff
customer service call
a modern day purgatory
on hold

We drove to Texas the summer just before I started to wear make-up.

It was an 18-hour drive from Kentucky
on a road dug into the South’s red earth,
littered with dead armadillos.
They’re just like possum, my dad told me.
Polecats, we called them.
I watched the brown spots shrinking through the back window,
counting carcasses to mark time.

It would have been nice if he’d asked me to be his co-pilot,
given me the map so that I could follow along.
He did that once, when we were driving back from Aunt Ethel’s,
and the whole way, we talked about our dream house.
He let me lean forward, between the front seats,
and we planned every inch of that farm.
He was even going to let me have chickens.
On that trip, he didn’t mind that I got bar-b-q chips
all over the backseat of his new Ford Pinto.

In Texas, there were no dream houses—
only burning days of scorpions and storms.
We stayed with Aunt Naomi, Mom’s sister.
He warned me about Uncle Paul’s lesbian sister.
“Don’t go anywhere alone with her.”
And as an afterthought, “Stay away from the Mexicans, too.”

From the back seat, I could see him
staring at the road ahead;
I was subdued by his strange topography,
his face full of wrinkled biases
and notions carved deep.

Maybe it’s the buzz
of the tiny little motor
or the bright
colored balls
that dance inside it’s center
the way it picks up
bits of fluff and dust
magically from the floor  

You run it
‘til the battery dies
then rush
to find an outlet for charge
shake
from the inside
waiting
‘til it’s got enough juice to restart  

It’s all you wanted
It’s all you asked for
A two-and-a-half-year-old’s
Christmas delight
Forget the candy
all the other toys
right now, this vacuum is
EVERYTHING.

marigold’s
conversation from within
flips an internal absorber
bounces off the cups
of our ears:
words
inside out
& upside down
born like a baby slung
over her mother’s shoulder
carried recklessly yet somehow
with care

marigold’s
slow unfolding
a doubling down on the primal urge

marigold’s
surprise
an issue in the politics of living
& no matter what’s the matter
you will come when you come
and make the world new again

sights
      i wish
i could somehow share
           with you

a cloudless midnight
      on the way into work
I stroll like Gemini
           with all the constellations

the moment the tips of my forklift
      gently light upon the racks releasing
build ups of static electricity creating
           tiny stars visible only for an instant

how beautiful you are
     in the first smiles you beam
at the start of your day
           my sunrise

Forgive me if I offer only crumbs.
I save the best for the guest who never arrives.  

Hegel said proof of property is transference.
I can’t be sure I’ve secured “mine”
unless I’m able to give it to you.  

But then it’s not mine anymore.
And I’m so tired of post-partum depression.  

So, forgive me if I offer only crumbs.
I save the best for the guest who never arrives.      

I heard a pair of squirrels

“Did you hear about Dolores?”

“Well, she went and laid her eggs in Rose’s nest again…”

        “I don’t even know what to think at this point, it’s just sad, to think that she cares that             little about what might happen to her offspring.”

        “I expect better. Choosing to be better is exactly that–a CHOICE.”

        “I heard she might try to raise them as her own this time.”

        “Sounds like guilt talking. Nothing will come of this but tragedy if you ask me.”

        “What?”

        “Hey! No reason to be snotty with me, I thought we were just talking here.”

        “Alright, consider this the last time I say SHIT to you about what goes on in OUR                     neighborhood!”

        “I swear, we can’t go anywhere these days without being gawked at, chased away, or             run over. Let’s get out of here.”

Ebony  eyes. delve deep
into mine
urging, prodding,
pleading, pressing
to be fed
lap water from his bowl

For an open door
releasing him to the yard
to romp in the grass
chase a ball
bark.

Simple requests for a simple life.
No iPhone, no iPad, no internet
to snare him.
Connection comes with a tilt
of the head
through eyes
that window a soul
mirroring innocence.

Joy flits as a butterfly 
blossom to blossom 
showering loyalty and love
upon me.