Entice
The longer I know you, the harder it is to keep my distance.
Drawn ever closer by your magnetic presence
like a planet in orbit
forever circling its oblivious star.
Helpless to break free even if it wanted to.
We were so close
Johnny removes the footrest
from his older brother’s wheelchair
allowing him to drop his foot to the floor
preparing to slide himself into bed.
I could taste it.
Johnny removes the armrest
slides it under the desk & reaches for
the sliding board.
That sucks, Donnie says
leaning left lifting slightly
Johnny pushing the sliding board underneath
leaving half on the wheelchair & half
on the bed already lowered as far as it
would go creating a downward movement
making it easier for sliding from wheelchair to bed.
Same thing happened to me in football my senior year
Donnie places his hands on each side of his thighs, heaves,
pushes, then slides onto the bed & quickly braces himself
while Johnny picks up his legs at the ankles & swings
them up onto the bed. Donnie leans back on his elbows.
I can’t believe we let ‘em fuckin’ score in the last two minutes
Donnie’s legs shake
becoming still he lowers himself onto his pillow
Johnny unlaces old hiking boots, scuffed
from before the accident, finds
the remote & places it beside the bed.
We were so close.
he plops down in the wheelchair
surfs a few moments
then heads to bed.
They said every piece has its place—
but I never clicked in quite right.
Edges just shy of snug,
colors a shade too light.
I watched the picture take shape
while I lingered near the lid,
not missing, not mistaken,
just… waiting to be amid.
They whispered, “Must be from another box,”
but I never took offense.
Because deep down, I believed
I held a quiet sense.
Maybe I’m not part of their scene—
a farmhouse or sky so wide.
Maybe I’m from a future frame,
a puzzle not yet tired.
Because who says wholeness
can only look one way?
I might be the start of something new—
a sunrise on its way.
So I’ll rest with patience,
not lost, just not yet placed—
a piece that doesn’t finish the picture,
but starts one full of grace.
It passed me or maybe I passed it.
A silver capsule
sliding through the mid-morning haze,
tucked into the slow lane,
shining like it remembered what we forgot.
A Streamline.
Not just a trailer, but something round and gleaming
like memory, like possibility on wheels.
I don’t camp. Not willingly.
I fear wild animals,
sweat easily,
require coffee before kindness.
I like real beds,
hot water that doesn’t involve propane,
and cookware that never knew the taste of sandy bacon grease.
I don’t belong in that trailer.
And yet—
I ached for it.
For the way it held its shape against the wind.
For how it seemed to carry a whole country’s
once-upon-a-time in its polished skin.
There is something about that curve that calls to us.
A softness made aerodynamic.
A future you can hitch to.
The promise of motion without consequence.
We all want that.
We want to go
without leaving anyone behind.
To be sleek, unburdened,
full of beans and gasoline and a clean map.
The Streamline knows this.
It’s a cathedral of chrome
for the American spirit—
hopeful, mobile, always westbound.
But I know—
we don’t fit inside as well as we once thought.
Freedom costs more now.
Gas is expensive,
the world is hotter,
and the road isn’t so open when you’re scared to break down.
Still—
when I saw it glide beside me,
I felt something rise from a part of me older than sense.
Something that said:
move,
start over,
shine anyway.
It passed me, or I passed it.
But part of me is still trailing behind—
following that glint of longing
down the middle of the country,
toward a place
that probably never was—
but still feels like home.
Diamond-hued dragonfly deftly
landed
on my steady hand
There it remained for several
minutes
Becalmed messenger from beyond
gently reminding me to be
Loved one comes from spiritual realm
says live your life with
joy and light
Listen: life is fast and fleeting
live each day like it
were your last
Dearly beloved dragonfly
dutifully draws quadruple
dynamically designed wings
darts dizzyingly
disappears
It’s sure a sight how things have changed,
From when I was a boy,
But remembering the things we did,
Bring me so much joy.
Why, I was just a thinkin’,
In a lazy, mindful way,
Of things in youth that we did,
On this kind of day.
Back then things were different,
One difference I will share,
We hadn’t yet been softened,
With all this conditioned air.
Sure, it’s mighty hot out there,
As anyone can tell,
When I ‘s a lad we used to say,
“Hotter ‘n the gates o’ hell!”
But we didn’t let that stop us,
We just took the heat in stride,
And we could all be found,
Down by the creek’s side.
In cut off jeans we waded,
Or swam where it was deep,
In those days the best entertainment,
Was found on the cheap.
We hadn’t money for a cooler,
Had we even known the price,
But a nearby pool of spring fed water,
Seemed as cold as ice.
Glass bottles of soda,
And maybe a melon “borrowed” from the field,
Were laid in the cooling waters,
While we had time to kill.
After the wading and the swimming,
In the mountain glade,
We picnicked in solitude,
By the creek side neath the shade.
Braggin’ and a boastin’,
As we loitered by the creek,
Us boys never imaged,
This would become a memory we would seek.
Today it seems almost mythical,
Those days seem so sublime,
The days of youthful innocence,
Another world, another time.
Even after all this tragedy
Hunger, death, and worse
A spark of something rare
Through it all
This remains
They won’t take this from us
Pride in who we are
Hope in our heart
Being in community
They can’t take this from us
Because this is love
And love is stronger than any hate
The kind of love
They want to make it seem rare
But it’s not
It’s everywhere
In the bass of the music at our bars
In kisses shared between lovers and strangers
In our stories we pass down
And in every step
Our very existence
Is what love is
And love, my dear
Is what they fear most
