Start with your pointer finger on
String five Fret two.  

No, that’s the second string.  

You count the strings from bottom up,
The one closest to the floor is string one.

  Yes, the fifth string, that’s it.  

Fifth string, fret two.  

No, fifth string, not fifth fret.
 
Yeah, there ya’ go.  That’s it.  No worries.
I do this all day. It doesn’t bother me a bit.  
The joy is in the doing, not the completion.  

So, fifth string, fret two with your index finger.  

Your index finger.  

Your index.  

Index.  

No, your index finger Is your pointer, that is your ring finger.  

OK, good, there you go, play two times, then fret four, string five.  

Two times, not seven.  

I understand.  Let’s read what’s written on the page.  

You sound great.  You didn’t practice this week? 
Really?  You must be a natural.  Some people come to
This with intuitively correct technique.  

You must be one of those people.  

Now fifth string, fret four, ring finger.   

Don’t use your pinkie on the fifth fret, use your ring finger.  

Ring finger.  

Ring finger.  

Ring finger.  

Ri- YES! that’s the one.   

Just once, not six times.  
Try to watch the page when you play, only play what’s written.  

Good!  Remember, fifth string.  

Almost!  

You’re on string six with your picking hand.  

No, your other hand.   

Look at your right hand.  

Your right hand.  That’s your left hand. 

Look at your right hand.  

There you go.  See?  You’re striking string six.  

Really?  I’m left handed too. 

It takes two hands to play. No worries. 
Jimi Hendrix played left handed.  Elizabeth Cotten…  

OK, take a breath. 
Let’s try again from the beginning, shall we?
Shake the tension out of your hands.  

Good. Now where were we?   Oh yes, String five, fret two with your index finger.   

Your index finger.  

Your index.  

Index.  

No, your index finger Is your pointer….

I Read
A book about a Minute Bat
Who lived in a Shed
Content
A home he loved more than the Desert

The owner never thought he’d Desert
He chased the new occupant
Swinging his Louisville Slugger Bat

Minute Bat – 1
Owner – Zip 
Record those stats

Content of the Shed
Hair Shed by dogs and cats
No owner
Just a Content Minute Bat
Is the official Record

His story is a good Read
It only takes a Minute
Read it  

when I am stuck at work
and in the back room the air
conditioner coos like pigeons

ways to remind me of the outdoors
their feathers whirring
in the Caribbean sun back home

in the hospital my father
relearns how to breathe
his lungs floating in fluid

as his heart slowly fails
and the time here passes so slowly
the sun over the parking lot

what can be done
except to rediscover my life
and pray for mercy over his

grab the poetry by the throat
and hold it like God to the scalpel
sliced open just to find

all i have ever said is please
please
please

Magic in the sky
The sun and moon
At the same time
One rising one falling
Brightness behind me
Darkness still ahead of me
The world to turn 
On its axis
To flip my perspective 

The lonely wooden door,

tucked in the corner of the second floor,

opened up to the storylands

as far as the mind can ideate.

I would pick a book off the shelf,

like an apple off the tree,

bite into its delicious prose,

savor every word.

Leafing through pages,

sounds would fly up,

soar through the 

the deafening silence of the room:

murmurs, grumbles, and mumbles,

whines and sighs,

oohs and ahhs.

Then, the scents and sounds would intertwine:

Chocolate,
charcoal, and
chuckles.

Entranced,

I danced through new worlds

with new friends —

in seventh heaven.

Day 1: Walking down SoCo to see the bats fly out
from under the bridge (which you can’t actually see
because they’re black against dark water, but still),
we accidentally walk right into a sweet couple’s
engagement photo shoot. We apologize.
The photographer smiles, puts his hand on his chest,
“You are just fine. OMG, I have all your albums. Aahh-mazing.”
Mom turns to me, perplexed, but I am laughing
too hard to breathe or explain
what I understand that Mom does not:
He thinks she is Carole King.

Day 2: The Continental Club, watching live music,
Mom has earplugs in because everything’s loud.
She leans in and says, “What are they singing?”
I say, “Tennessee Whiskey, like the Chris Stapleton song.”
“Ohhh… I was thinking it was Tennessee Landscape.
That makes more sense. Who’s Chris Stapleton- is he playing tonight?”

Day 3: The Broken Spoke
We go early for a group dance lesson
so we can, you know, fit in with the regulars.
The teacher is an aging line dance Barbie,
this is her domain, she leads the class
with the same attitude I imagine Celine Dion
might deejay karaoke at your local bar.
We are lost, but because Mom doesn’t care,
I don’t care either. She makes three new friends
before we leave for our Air B’n’b. It would not surprise me
if they all still email to this day, six years later.

Day 4: Shopping at local thrift stores
I am stuck in a vintage boot. You read that correctly. Stuck.
It is patent leather and I am sweaty because it’s Texas
and even at times when I am thin, I am still out of shape.
I reach the point of asking a stranger for help,
she enlists another lady, who gets a salesgirl,
three of them are trying to yank this off my damned leg,
there is talk of cutting it off (the boot, not the leg),
I am giggling and snorting but also
panic screaming cuz toe cramps, and finally say,
“Can someone find my mom? She looks like Carole King in a ballcap!”
She comes. Waits to laugh until after the emergency.
Gives me deep calming eye contact. Yanks and twists. I am free.

i know the decay before death
a rotting from the inside out
an aching of bone, teeth, and flesh
a blade to the chest you can’t pull out

lock me alone in my mausoleum
leave me alone for just three days
when jesus did it they believed him
blood still trickles warm in my veins

not stone cold to the touch
but stone cold to the feel
there is no adrenaline rush
no reality that feels truly “real”

see, i’m not quite yet dead
but also not still quite alive
caught somewhere in-between
stuck in the “i can’t decide”

i’m searching for the right word
to describe what i’m feeling now
and i have a steady heartbeat
that feels more like a countdown
kind of like a phantom touch
without the falling through
kind of like cursed persephone
after she bit the forbidden fruit

I was 5 or 6
We were driving to visit family on an otherwise deserted highway
Mom called me up front
To show me that the back of the semi we were following was a giant painting of the devil sitting on a toilet
And we all laughed
Until darkness fell – with a fog so thick that we couldn’t see anything at all
Except his fiery red eyes
And we had no choice but to follow them
To safety or oblivion