a sincere smile

polite greetings

chaste touch

consoling eye contact

kind words

gentle response

consistent caring

rational support

above all,

faith in God

With a sweet smile
Without a hint of guile  

In a languid hush
With a hint of a blush  

Shout it out
Like a roustabout  

Sing it sweet
Like a robin’s tweet  

Say it with a tear
But never with a sneer  

Say it now
And now
And now  

And even now  

Say it before you’re filled with dread
Because the person you’d say it to Is already dead    

The blue hydrangea
heavy in weight
dripped down the incline,
old cobblestone steps now moss covered,
forgotten by years of neglect and storm.
Planted years before by loving hands
delicately covering its roots in between
vespers and rest.
No one remembered when the blue bush
took hold of that corner of the garden,
pillowy drape wild in charm.
It grew not far from a rusty gate now loosely
leaning from rotted cedar posts.
The heaviness of the blooms rushed past 
the gate, a surging river, a tired memory
trying to gather the details of her life.
The blueness of the flowers deep in thought
wrapped around her, a long lost lover.
The scent spilled floral magic from
the hands of the aged sacristan.

I lunge through a wall
of trees. Dreaming, I float
to moonscape. I marvel

at the large blue earth
& I am suddenly an atom,
a speck of lunar

sand. I recall the silk
of river, scent of yellow
elder. How my muscles

insisted when I was rowdy
but scared like a slow-footed
terrapin. When I used to lug

my troubles around;
they were weighty as fat
wrapped Italian

hams. I’m reduced now
to moon grit,
a vibrant, imperceptible

hum.
I peruse the tumbled
rock, camp-out in a crater

under a comfortable granule.
I could get used to it here
& relax as the earth spins

far below, no worries in sight.
No control,      I’m swept back,
beginning the dream’s end.

I morph to jellyfish & sea
bream. I backstroke home,
heavy as a continent.

I wake on the wide
rim of a tuba, returning
to my body’s subatomic

keening. I toss off the sweat-
soaked twist of sheets,
naked & newly awakened.

The tall boy races
down the up escalator 
to show that he can. 

Not “he” or “she,” a label worn thin,
But the name that ignites a fire within.
Respectful ears, attuned to the sound,
A symphony of self, echoing around.

They listen, they learn, with open hearts,
The language of identity, tearing charts
Of assumptions, biases cast aside,
Embracing the truth that pronouns confide.

A simple “they,” a weight lifted free,
A sigh of relief, finally being me.
No stumbles, no slurs, a gentle refrain,
Respect woven into the everyday name.

More than politeness, a bridge they construct,
Where pronouns acknowledged, a world less corrupt.
Inclusion blooms, a garden diverse,
Respect for pronouns, a beautiful verse.

For in that respect, a message is sent,
You’re valued, you’re seen, a magnificent intent.
The world shifts a little, a ripple of change,
Acceptance’s embrace, a world to rearrange.

When eyes don’t see so good, at the end,
secret messages can sneak in.  

Holiday and hellday are almost the same.
It’s hard to hold the letters just one way.  

People and poesy manifest
by locking their opposites in the basement.  

When eyes don’t see so good, at the end,
the petticoat of apocalypse is showing.  

There once was a cricket who slept in my slipper
So as not to flatten him or be pinched by his nipper
My spouse had a knack
To bring Kilroy out back
Our luck has declined but his chirps have gone chipper

I used to get so caught up in what could’ve been

You and me dancing in the kitchen

Kisses under fairy lights

Your hand in mine

Falling asleep in your arms

I used to get caught up in what could’ve been

But not as much as I get caught up in what was

Your tears and the look in your eyes

Running away when I needed you the most

My heart being ripped into pieces

So heartbroken I was sick

Those feelings, those memories play constantly in the back of my mind

I watch them from a distance, not understanding why I felt the way I did back then

And yet I am still entangled in you

Wrapped in the cobwebs you left behind

Remnants of broken glass still buried in my skin

The lines of your poetry seared into my memory

Your fingertips branded on me like I’m cattle

Because no matter what I do

No matter where I roam

I am always yours

I will always come back to you

Ten pounds of crawfish,
Plus corn on the cob and whole potatoes,
Serves two.  

Eyebrows rise
As the great speckled pot
Is set before us,
 
Eating them takes some effort.
Rip the tail off
Crack open the shell,
Pull the meat out. 

Savor the spicey delicacy.
Then for real spice,
Suck the juice
Out of the head.  

An hour later, the pot is empty,
Hands are tired, mouth burns.
Even beer won’t cool the heat. 

The memory is vivid the next day,
When hands are too sore
To hold a glass of water.  

I’ve heard of tennis elbow,
But who knew
About crawfish hands?