Laughter and a 2 pound bag of peanuts

Find the meaning

The butt of the joke

Unread texts and the smell of bacon

Off kilter

Itching in my feet

Christmas wrapping paper and a cat scratch

Feeling alone

In a crowded room

9:21am

As my knees ache

And my lungs constrict

I wonder

Will they ever see me?

be still, my child, and listen
to what the forest has to say
the way the wind whispers
all the secrets of the universe
the bubbling creek with its
lore and sage advice, millions
of years of stories rolling gently
over rocks speckled with moss
the songs of birds called between
tree tops, the sweetest music that
you will ever hear in your small life
what a joy it is to be still and listen

No. 

It has been said
it is
a complete sentence. 

Why then
is it
not allowed 
to stand on its own?

Why is there
a searching 
a turning 
a pushing
a luring?

Is it
because 
I said it?

or

Is it 
because
you were never 
interested
in hearing it?

why
did
you
even
ask?

You smile like you’re still growing into your face
Revealing the perfect gap between front teeth
Bright blue eyes crinkled shut
Blinded by your own inner light  

When you run you do it with every inch of your body 
Your body still fluid and amorphous 
A butterfly recently emerged from a chrysalis 
A deer two hours out of the womb

So new this all must be 
So magical 
So incredible sweet 
The sensation of simply being fully alive

            Terry’s email
             came in a few weeks.
             “Sorry I took so long to write.
            The Italians left this place in a mess.
            I’ve finally got it in better shape.
            Their junk cluttered the whole base.
            but I pushed everything up in piles
            around this compound.
            I sent you a picture with signs
            to warn all these guys.”

            I  opened his attachment.
            It was a picture of a blue Portajohn
            with two red- lettered signs,
            one on each side warning:
            absolutely no dumping.

The first days of my June have gone like this.
Day one included a perspective shift.
Day two—summer fun with my little buddy.
Day three’s highlight was Bible Study.

6-1-26
Divinely protected.
Now operating within a fuller cup perspective.
Sipping this with half and half.
Though halfway out, still halfway in.
Nope, don’t have to give in.
Yes, forgive, but don’t have to forget.

6-2-26
Summer library kickoff adventure;
joy and wonder with a dash of overstimulation.
Animals,
bubbles,
popsicles…
of course, books, too.
Beloved characters to meet and greet,
kids on top of kids,
but oh, so much fun!  

6-3-26
A royal priesthood.
A holy nation.
One with borders,
not everyone can go over.
Only the sweet fruit bearers—
in covenant— shall occupy the land.
The way to unite is to get out of our way,
be in His will,
and stay in the Word.

smile with bubbles stuck between gleaming teeth,
tendrils of cheap wig floating
as they wave at me
from behind the glass, but tail or not, they
remind me of the old woman who carried her tank
of air on a walker, every week told me how much I’d grown.
I look away while the mermaids take a hit of oxygen.

the point of creating is the effort

let your brain percolate like weak coffee 
on the diner counter. buzz like a stuck fly 
against the closed windows of your ideas. 

yank a thought from the stream like a prized
monster fish. release it once, give chase, and drag it
back into the boat, flailing triumphant against persistence. 

people with expensive cars will sell you efficiency 

it will be efficient for them to forget your name

dig a pair of cufflinks from your junk drawer
and become the oddest bird at the bicycle rack.

choose a pen name just to change it. write 
cantos and haiku and sonnets and shopping lists.

recite and pontificate and gesticulate your way 
across the long bridge back to ourselves. 

Crystal ashtrays stuffed full.

April showers filled them with

Carcinogenic soup

Ran through a pack sitting next to you

Crying as things ended