I remember as a little girl staring up at the sky and the moon. I loved how it followed us as we were driving keep me safe.

As I got a little older I had more important things to do than notice where the moon was in the sky.

As an adult I still didnt give it much thought I was too busy and too tired to worry what the moon was up to.

Then it seemed I wasnt chasing whatever it was I was chasing in my 30’s and 40’s and the moon was just there still waiting for me to notice.

The first time I saw the moon through a telescope I cried. All the years I ignored  it but it was still there just waiting for me.

I have so many pictures of the moon, I have a moon globe so I can learn what the dark spots and craters are named that I can see. 

I know the names of the full moons like this last Strawberry Moon, I know how it got those names. I know the different phases and the illuminations.

I step out to see the moon as often as I can. I hope that others slow down to look at it too. 

Even if its blocked by clouds or trees I still know its there watching me and waiting for others to watch it too. 

Sleeping cats
laughing babies

Forest bathing
deep red roses

The feel of velvet, the color purple
a lover’s kiss

Lavender scent
Hazelnut flavor

Lacy valentines, butterflies
cherry flavored anything

Lostlost in a book
creating art

makes the sunshine
in my heart.

…and I Wonder
is the second verse
and What If the third,

but all day everywhere
in the sleepless night,
screamed and whispered,

I hear the off-key, ruined prayer
of every ugly flightless bird,
this No, No, No…

winter was the thief I blamed while I picked the lock

sweat on my brow from the furnace when I pawned joy

crunch Doritos in my bed watched by clicking clock

sink each night into a mattress and pillow void

I knew I was the villain as much as victim

slicing my own Achilles and sampling the blood

and Rolling in my self induced psycho schism

if I stood up I was rushed away by the flood

call the doctor on the phone made of thick lead

but the poison sinks in,  I fall that much further

into the prison made in my pity soaked bed

and every last step I take is laced in terror

how do I get up, exist, when my body hates me?

they’ll be so thrilled they were right, calling me crazy

In the dark, in the distance, the rag-tag black and white flags dancing around one
another, but low to the ground, in and out of the trees, rhythmic ribbons twisting
together, caught in a mid-summer night’s dream. Or no, too close to the Solstice
to be that far into the season. The heat, the reason for late-night strolls. Two such
creatures I don’t wish to encounter around the next bend on the gravel path. A fate
my senses might regret.

By the light of the strawberry moon
    a trigger warning 

Walking with my wife
at night
her phone tones
in the dark
The next sound
I hear
is my daughter
from home
crying
after trying
my phone
which was silenced
Her mind triggered
to thinkthe worst
   I was murdered
Hugging me hard
when finally home
she said she
wouldn’t know
what to do
without me
which scares me too
Me at 60
She with no siblings
What will she do
when my phone
is silenced for good

i can’t pretend to love the dead 

anymore, even though we share

the same face, i can’t tear her

phantom from me, you spoke 

her into a haunting & now she

won’t leave this familiar body

I may never grow tired of a ping pong ball’s ability
to make grown adults look like utter morons
chasing after it’s hoppity attempt at escape.

Or when that perfectly thrown cornhole bag flies
straight into the hole.

I’ll never grow tired of our motley crew;
the random adventures and ‘family’ dinners
sometimes keeping us out until three in the morning.

Tonight’s big adventure is a keg
holding enough beer for fifty-four glasses,
the only rule being we party ’til it’s empty.

We got games and activities to speed up the process
(and plenty of snacks to slow down the drunkness).
In teams, we compete at beer pong and flip cup,
then challenge each other at kegstands and chuggings,
filling ice cube trays with beer before racing;
who will be first to dry it with a straw?

We’re partying like we’re still kids in college,
most of us dressed in red white and blues.
I’m a farmer’s tan in a sleeveless shirt
and a foam front trucker’s hat that reads
It’s a bad day to be a hot dog.

The keg is starting to float in the ice now.
There’s jokes, laughter, and our signature lack
of any real kind of drama.
Everyone talks to everyone
in a real mish-mash
of personalities and experiences,
a beautiful thing for the way that most of us
haven’t even known each other for a year.

This is, and has been for a while now,
one of the best things that’s ever happened for me,
knowing that any given weekend
somebody will throw out a let’s hang out
and whoever is available shows up whenever.
These people are something I can always look forward to,
they are shelter from storms
who will always be in my heart
even as life brings about it’s sometimes cruel changings.

But for a night, nothing bad exists.
We are pure and we are full…

unlike the keg that finally runs out.
We unleash a cheer to wake the neighbors,
high-fives and hugs
because this was a team effort.
We discuss breakfast in the morning
provided anyone’s ability to function
after our first annual Beer Olympics.
Photos and videos
are soon to be shared in group texts
capturing moments
that will long be remembered
in warm recollections.

Lettuces have grown so tall and sharp 

in this recent heat.  I’m thinking 

raisons, apples, celery, dressing

and I’ll be none the wiser. 

I wrote no poem today
I made no meals
I did no chores
I ticked no boxes
I left no trail
Today I stretched my legs long  watched the bold moon stroll across the sky  heard a kettle whistle  a chorus of birds call  while the dog eagerly helped me stay in place