your eyes died when I said I’m from kentucky
if you like me less
because I’m not from ohio,
you can fuck off
if you like me less
because I’m not from ohio,
you can fuck off
We were three girls creek bathing
in our shorts and tank tops,
barefoot along the creek bottom rocks.
Shampoo bubbles in ocean scent
mixed with murky storm runoff.
Our bodies washed clean
as our parents’ laughter faded,
rolled between the shared blunt
of their lips.
We took turns
washing one another’s hair.
Placed our hands
under the small of our backs.
We learned to float
as the dirt rinsed away.
We taught each other how to be brave
enough to jump off Drip Rock.
We taught each other when our feet hit
rock bottom, to push off strong.
And kick, and kick, and kick.
Until our faces met
the cold water’s surface.
Hot sun and breeze caught our breath,
splashed our wide, hungry mouths.
The wind carried our slim emptiness
back to Mama and Daddy, who slept
with their sunburn and alcohol.
Our six little feet
dipped into the water’s edge.
A single bag of shared chips
passed between us.
Stoneroller minnows nibbled the crumbs
between our quiet smiles.
Us girls—
we kept each other safe.
I tried this morning
to get on the site
and in so doing
in my brain
a poem, I did write.
Alas, the site was down
the ghosts in the machine-
the gremlins knocked it down.
I never thought, the rest of the day
to keep up my streak
ten poems straight.
Suddenly, like lightning
it struck me in the shower.
Like many times afore
an idea returned to flower.
Didn’t write my poem today…
I hope I can remember!
I do,
I did
have that mournful kind of love
but the light at the end of the tunnel
has made itself abundantly clear.
Now I find myself,
in the songs that were my favorite
before he sent me his
and there is no sadness to my smile.
the brainiacs
at the dictionary
would describe a eephus as
“an intentionally slow pitch thrown at a high arc”.
all the batters
who faced it
would call it
“a piece of shit, a real junk pitch”.
what they both misunderstand
is the real definition of an eephus
is this:
an eephus is a fat kid winning a 40 yard dash.
an eephus is a 1000 to 1 dog hitting, making you rich.
an eephus is your mother coming back to life,
and cooking you breakfast, and kissing you on the cheek.
an eephus is your dad finally saying he’s proud.
an eephus is your love calling you,
and saying she’s sorry, that she misses you,
and that she loves you so much,
oh baby if you would only take her back.
the eephus is the greatest underdog.
it’s every hope or dream or miracle
you’ve ever had or wanted,
put on a singular
40 mile an hour mission towards home plate,
making everyone in the stands believe
for just a second,
before it’s hit out of the park
by the cold hard bat
of reality.
First full moon in June
Driving from Bowling Green home, the first
full moon in June on Tuesday, rising,
happened when I was in the long valley toward
Marrowbone. It was not pink.
Closer to earth, it was not a thirst
that made the satellite ripe, my surmising,
for its namesake, a strawberry. I did not think
it, however, the blood moon of lore.
It was not my first sighting in my lifetime.
Not my first entcounter with the brillance of the event, and
there I was in Annie Hollow, going to dogs treed.
I wished your were beside me to view it.
I stood still, silent, for some time.
It was mysterious nonetheless, and
as well known to me as the Northern Lights, indeed,
or the moon’s quarters, but my dogs had no desire to view it,
From the sounds of their escitement, I had far, far to go
before I reached them.
My heartbeat feels
like a chore
on this late afternoon Wednesday.
blue-sky covered
by hazy-grey cotton clouds.
I want to swaddle myself
with honeysuckle and grow old
in this heat while thinking
about teen heartthrobs
from my youth.
Me and my gang,
we were marigolds and bluebells
wearing our jean shorts
and butterfly clips in hair
that did not require color-safe
or sulfate-free shampoo
we crunched chips at midnight
with scoops of French onion dip
and laughed ourselves into summer.
I love the charm of the barn at the peak of a hill,
undulating on the horse farm,
and I love the sunset, an afternoon trek
where I can collect my thoughts before the fireflies fluoresce.
