I was born early, under morning’s rays

I was born underwater
and underwater is where I stay
it’s where my body feels malleable
in the cold crisp delicious water
my joints flow through pools of water
and don’t creek, groan or burn when
I flip, turn, stretch out strong and long
my hard body moving through soft jello
I emerge refreshed, renewed and regenerated

On a mountainside in Appalachia,
The fields were pretty and green,
It was summertime on the Poor Fork,
And the reddest strawberries I’d ever seen.

I enjoyed picking strawberries
In the field above Looney Creek,
Tagging along with Grandad
Across from Pine Mountain’s rugged peaks.

We’d take the strawberries to Gran,
Whose baking was a work of art,
Everything done from scratch,
And her artistry a bit tart. 

The best taste this side of heaven,
Gran’s strawberry rhubarb pie,
The smell could linger for miles
And a taste one couldn’t deny. 

Much love went into baking
This delicious mountain treat,
With many special memories
And always something good to eat.

how I’ve come to peace
with knowing my identity
has shifted with the sand

how one girl broke my heart
and I picked up the pieces
to glue back together

how hearing “her wife” 
sends ripples of joy 
up my arms and spine

how I’ve come to want
someone and I don’t know
if they want me back

how there are so many
parts of me that she
doesn’t get to see
because she’s blinded 
by beliefs from her
upbringing

how I’m thankful 
her beliefs were not
hereditary

Sunlight arabesques
through the window
to wake the sleeping;
no alarms allowed. 

Stretch, breathe, bask.

The future will wait
while we luxuriate.

Sunday politely requests
strong chicory coffee
with a sprinkling of cinnamon
to attract abundance.

Brew, sip, savor.

The ever-patient day  
will hold itself at bay.

The birch beckons,
promising salvation,
eager to preach
a sermon on stillness.

Assemble, listen, learn.

The wisdom of the tree
takes root and grows in me.

The porch hammock
yearns for the weight
of a body to cocoon 
and rock into serenity.

Swing, repose, ruminate.

The balmy August breeze
sings a song of of ease.

Worry wanders  
through the woods
finding no path
to this door.

Rest, safe, secure.

Wasted urgency long ago fled,
here, we make no room for dread.

our first Friday night date was a high school football game in 1986

as we dated for a bit our Friday nights were pizza and a rented dvd

then we married and those Fridays nights were a movie on the big screen and dinner out

when the kids were born it was a picnic and a drive in movie on those Friday nights

then Fridays were the only night we didnt have to go to an activity so it was pizza and a disney movie

I think the Friday night dates watching our kids play in the marching band and watching a football game at the same high school we had our first date was some of my favorites

now the kids are all grown and on there own and we find ourselves still eating pizza and watching a movie on those Friday nights and its still as wonderful as it that very first Friday

Take me back to that night;

I have no idea where I am.

Not that I’m exactly lost-
apparently home and the UK Arboretum
are within walking distance-
I just don’t know the way
that gets me back
to comfort the quickest.

When I found the curious woods
deep into my morning stroll,
my explorative spirit was ensnared
by its spiderwebs of dirt paths.
Taking care not to step
on the skittering daddy-longlegs
venturing across the trodden trails,
I marveled at this so unknown slice of nature.

Soon the trees gave way into
open sunny spaces, and I was mystified;
thought, surely it couldn’t be the college
but then I saw the watchful water tower.
From new angles I approached sculptures,
flowerbeds, and butterfly gardens
I hadn’t visited in years and sat in the shade
of massive trees dotting the hills.

Not once had I ever considered
the reach of this conservatory land,
how small the world can really feel,
how far you can go with just a piece of truth.
With better preparation,
I can brave going further quicker,
spend more time appreciating nature,
the beauties of outside.

Of course, that will mean knowing my way, too.
So caught up I’ve been in wanderings and wonderings
I never marked the path that brought me here
but that only adds to the adventure.
I know, in time, I will get home
even if I have to spend another hour walking.
For today, I have no idea where I am.
Tomorrow, I will be all the better for it.

When one generation dies
The following one carries
Within
The sound of their
Voices
Which reside in their hearts
Echo in their letters
And laughter is heard jotted on cards

Yet wth each new generation
Vocal vibrations of ancestors
Lessen in intensity
Over time
With fewer vestiges left to
Remind us of them

As I gaze at these family photographs
I ask myself
How can I pass on to my
Grandsons
All that know about my
Grandparents
Without the music of their
Voices

caretaker
you give 
so much 
from the care 
you take 

caregiver 
you take 
so much 
from the care 
you give