I’m brushing fluoride on my teeth
     And thinking of my favorite hygienist who gave it to me –
     I like her because she let me escape before the dentist came
     With a TED talk about chipping out my silver fillings
     And replacing them with her new car I mean crowns 
     I don’t believe in looking for trouble and my hygienist knows
     Unless they hurt me, I will leave them alone and that’s fair

     Then I think of my grandmother and the Alzheimer’s
     And the fluoride – for a minute I consider Ramifications but
     She didn’t have anyone painting fluoride on her teeth
     And still was not spared and how again maybe
     I should not go looking for troublesome things to worry about
     And how the hygienist whose name I should know by now said
Paint it on at night and sleep. It’ll brush off in the morning. 

I believe 
for no other reason 
than knowing 
what I know 
that at one point 
in the great expanse 
a cataclysmic galactic 
white hot flash 
tore us apart 
send us spinning 
lost in the void 
and it’s taken us this long
to find our way
to this rock
to struggle against 
things that don’t matter
and finally be able
to look back up at the sky
toward the birth canal
of it all
wonder why 
anyone has the audacity 
to believe that 
anything matters 
than the moment happening 
right now

I’ve been avoiding looking at what day it is

Worried you’re almost over,

I’ve never thought about my favorite time

But I think it’s you

Orange and pink sunsets,

A few cool nights

Sunny days that last forever

Lake water that makes you never want to dry off,

Ferris wheels and funnel cakes

Writing poetry on a picnic table

Hikes through the mountains,

And day long road trips

No deadlines, no jackets,

Only a few days of rain

Your morning breeze smells like hope,

And your grass is the perfect green

You’re my Mammaw’s middle name,

And I’d like to think this is why

Maybe one day I’ll pass that on,

Wildflowers bloom like crazy

Love is all around

The mourning doves sing your songs,

And the kids are all home from school

The windows down,

And ice cream that’s never tasted so good

Lunch on a patio,

And laughter fills the air

Pride fills the town,

And concerts boom loud

You are a work of art

That I never want to put down

Thank you for being you, June

What is poetry but
breath entering my body,
then exiting in exhale?

What I am but breath and
words on the page
capturing a moment I felt alive?

What is life
but a collection of
moments?

Every time it storms or rains
I have to find a way to prevent
water from finding its way
into my garage.
It’s a new problem. 
Before, there was a tree,
a tree that created a natural
barrier, but also caused
destruction of my back
concrete patio with its roots.
I can’t decide which is worse
but I sure would love
to not have a damaged patio
or water in my garage.
Thinking about a solution
is as heavy as a tree or a flood.

KW
6/26/24

I

At the iced window
I exhale on frozen glass
the bluebird mobile
spins over your baby bed
empty of all as I am

II

The red bean bag chair
is where I would have nursed you
same as your brother
with breasts full of milk now dry
I keen with the winter wind

swift songs of voltage 
for the vigilant to hear.
be still – hear the noise
beneath the white noise machine?
Crazy-making as silence.

the people behind me
strangers though deep in conversation 
he explains his family lives in Brazil 
interesting, though I won’t share more
except he mentioned they’re 
“in the rainforest”
I once again accept the normalcy of my life
simply going to visit family 
Tulsa via Chicago 
I’ll be there for lunch 
and I congratulate myself for choosing air travel
as I, for a short time, considered driving
a man is snoring nearby 
I rarely sleep on planes

I never did mind that it rained

I figured the earth has her own sorrows she wishes to express

Pouring down in a torrent of pain and sadness

Just as any of the rest of us are allowed to do

A thunderous roar like a wolf howling, jaw cracking, the popping sound echoing into the ears forming a loud guttural scream

He’s 13 now
dyed his beautiful long blonde hair 
black
and his fingernails
black
and this year in his Christmas stocking
more nail polish–purple eggplant, sapphire blue and black.
He prefers 5B drumsticks–
better for a larger than life sound,
will use 5A if he’s not just banging away loud loud loud.
He still likes to sleep over sometimes on the couch nearby
with a light on
lets me read him his 3 favorite storybooks:
The Story of Ping, Russell the Sheep, Amos and Boris
which is about the unlikely friendship of a whale and a mouse–
He says ok Mimi you can read to me if YOU want to…
still falling asleep before I finish–
the perfect time to kiss him lightly on the forehead.