The curtains are frayed, 
But the holes in the fabric, 
Let the sun light through. 

They say, “We bury our own here.” *
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

He picked up the shovel stuck in the heap
Of dirt left to cover the grave;
Eased a light shifting of sun-dried soil
Onto the casket below
Encasing his beloved
Man cousin, 
Stuck the shovel back 
Into the dirt heap, turned and plodded
With head hanging low 
Back towards home. 

I picked up the shovel in the dirt heap
Of dirt left to cover the grave;
Eased a light shiftig of sun-dried soil
Onto the silk red fur coat 
Of the dog at in the grave below,
Encasing my beloved
Golden Retriever.
Stuck the shovel back 
Back onto the dirt heap, turned and plodded
With head hanging low
Back towards home. 

*old saying in Appalachia: The first person to throw dirt in the grave of a deceased is the one who loved the deaceased the most. 

It’s like this: we show up at the restaurant,
four deep. We’re all hot. And by hot I mean
attractive. Gurls with a “u.” And by hot
I also mean we’ve been bad ass bosses
all day long. Gurlz with a “z” too.

And we order The Menu.

And we open a Tab.

And we Talk. About. Some. Shit.

And we take our shoes off. And share
plastic silverware. And too small paper
plates. Remind each other to put napkins
in our laps. And grab water halfway through
when we realize we aren’t anywhere near
hydrated. We split one snap pea four ways
and then order two more cheeseburgers
because these Gurlz be starving.
We make an inside joke out of our
entrance. And are still laughing about it
as we exit. Selfie snapped and shared, too.

This is a friendship literally built
on sharing.

We’ve shared deodorant. One peach
among six of us. Gelato samples.
One pair of pants for two of us.
A kitten between another two. Beds
among at least three of us. Car keys
daily. Each other’s cell phones as
necessary. Mom’s in the bathroom
right now! Mommmmmm!

Tinctures, solstice parties, crystals,
moss gathering, pumpkin carving,
wreath making. Too much Christmas
decorating. Dirty buckets of water.
Hot batches of dye. Risks on ladders.
Glue on our fingers. Hair in our mouths.
Smoothies in our teeth. Sun in our
eyes. Stuff on the cart. Shit in the car.

We’ve nerded out about aerial arts,
carpentry, poetry and power tools.
Holistic medicine, ayahuasca, smoking
weed and nursing kittens. Expressing
anal glands, home births, IRAs, small
business taxes and jumpsuits. Building
a bed in a RAV4, sustainable harvesting
from neighborhood yards, Latin names
for botanicals, and how to operate
a scissor lift.

We’ve gotten no sleep. And overslept.
We’ve synced our cycles and compared
notes on what our bodies do. We’ve asked
questions we’d always wanted the answers to.
And left it all up to a tiny unicorn tucked
in a secret garden.

One time, seven of us walked one dog.

One time, one of us burst out in tears
at lunch in front of everyone and
apologized. Let it out, the rest admonished.

Another time, one of us cried in the middle
of the room while prospective clients
toured the space. We made it look
like laughing.

One time, one of us started to tear up because
she was gaining weight. But, silly, she was
pregnant! We all glowed as aunties.

We’ve been married, broken up, rekindled,
new dates, hot hookups, tempestuous affairs
and tender allegiances. We’ve become mommas
and step-mommas, pet moms and garden witches.
We’ve bought houses, sold houses, rented houses
and built houses. We’ve moved out, moved in,
moved on and moved forward with our lives
that will never, ever, be just our own—
singular—lives again.

The hard part of driving a forklift
happens twenty-five feet in the air
when my left fork clips the wall of
a pallet, sliding its side off the rail.

                                                Thirty-six
                           cases of coffee beans
            now brewed into tense battle 
with gravity while while a gathering
of spectators stop to watch the show,
probable tragedy being written,
the least (or most) of which
the girl, my crush
is there.

                                              I freeze up
                          for any unintentional
          motion will challenge balance,
the teetering and the tottering, sigh,
how am I going to get out of this jam
without long holding up everybody
with the work they still 
need to do? Do I just
let it fall?

                                              Or maybe,
                         if right fork maintains
               its hold on that side, if I can       
manipulate machine, maneuvering
into the center of the pallet’s gravity
I can get enough support to gently
guide it all back into place.
Good move, someone
softly says.

My mind is still, blood ice cold, I
never had a doubt in my abilities.
Turning now a confident clockwise,
I square up and complete the save…
…

…

In moments, the load is securely down
when the next hardest part happens.
She drives by without a word or glance.
No twisting maneuver saves this fall.

After driving all day
I walk out between grave markers
and sigh among the fallen heroes.
I know no one here
knows who I am.
And then I hear it:
the crackling of fireworks,
the celebratory rockets in the sky,
someone somewhere having a blast,
and I explode. I finally explode.
No one I know
knows where I am.

As the skin falls off my muscles,
and the muscles off my bones
my hollow eyes will watch you walk away.

Eventually I will sink into the earth,
forgetting you, and me, and everyone.
But for now I’ll watch you go.

Hot creosote & rocks
dark asphalt paved
over the earth’s meridians,
dragon lines absorbing aggression,
anger, machine roars and channeling
these forces into killing:
squirrels
raccoons
deer
opossum
wolves
skunks
coyotes
and each other.
Because all the best machinery
we have is born in blood.

Your garden
Thouroghly neat and tidied
All of your loves and passions
Lined up carefully in dazzling patterns

Flowers blooming line by line
Except for mine
For autumn has come
Though I am still alive and growing
My roots still firmly fixed
Just bare blooms this chilly season

I thought I was your prized flower
Your favorite plant in this massive garden
But as soon as I was no longer beautiful
With soft colorful petals
You ripped me and my roots right out of your precious soil
Thrown in the trash and never thought of

For you only loved my flowers, not my roots
So when autumn came, you didn’t know what to do

Inspired by unknown quote found on Pinterest: “You fell in love with my flowers, but not with my roots, so when autumn arrived, you didn’t know what to do”

today’s her twenty fifth
birthday and it’s incredible
the patterns of families
where we are
where we are going
all the crossroads
we have come a distance
all of us and she
she will continue long after the music to my song fades
which is how it should be
her brother compliments her and I know
I know she is loved
which is a good pattern
we have created something promising
not just the muck or sorrow
despite the setbacks and comebacks
we will march on
twenty five years since the beginning of her
so much yet to come

It’s the 13th of June, another currated cable channel news story day.  
I am minding my own business, doing what is needed, trying to stay out of the way.
And at lunch break we all converge back inside the office for a bite.
Announcement on the intercom – keep political opinions to yourself – please be polite.
And then it said, we need to remain civil even if we can’t see eye-to -eye.
Today’s emotions are raw, both sides sure the other is telling lies.  

But how can it be both sides are telling such grand and horrid lies?
Seems the moles can see better, and they hardly see the light of day.
The New Testament was ushered in a long time ago; we no longer take an eye for an eye. We all see a little short-sighted when we treat our fellow humans that way.
Don’t even start with me, I know Kindergarten taught you how to be polite.
That sandwich looks good, maybe go ahead and take another bite.  

I once trusted, stayed neutral, didn’t see the need to fight, fuss, or bite.
You were my friend and ally before; I dont’ understand why we can’t let sleeping dogs lie. My silence may have said volumes – still trying to remain polite.
Finally, we rose speaking entirely different languages on that day.
Both fearing the others language, woke and queer words got in your way.
I have become invisible to you, and it seems you shut tight your eyes.  

Business practice teaches us we do better when a team has all colors of eyes.
When we combine our clever coding singly into joint megabytes.
Contributing to the whole, learning from each other along the way.
The purpose and performance keep us focused; we don’t notice tangential lies.
I guess that is textbook theory created for a passed day.
Out of vouge ideals of synergy, ethics, communication, and just generally being polite.  

When our blind mole friend wanted to be social he evolved to remain polite.
His nose became starred, and he no longer worried about his offensive eyes.
He learned to read electric impulses; he got better at it every day.
With twenty-two retractable tentacles he felt the vibrations towards another wormy bite. He just follows the electricity in the mud or air – the insects can’t lie.
Yes, when he couldn’t see it, he just developed another way.  

Another taste of lunch and we realize we can’t evolve that way.
My opinions make me dumb, you talk down to me – it hurts and its not polite.
And that disrespect, I guess, is really the overall biggest lie. 
Because you used to hear me without hate; you looked me in the eye.
You shouldn’t have to block my ideas; politics shouldn’t change us – this all bites.
What’s the point, I guess admit we are both wrong – yah, that would be the day.   

But do we not make our own new day? And determine the best ways?
I will share with you my remaining bite for it cost nothing to be polite.
We can’t be harsh, look into my eyes – we all sometimes tell a lie.