Auto-Brewery Syndrome Basorexia Clinomania Dry Socket Excessive Sweating Flat Feet Galactorrhea Hot Tub Rash Iron Overload Jumping Frenchmen of Maine
April 5 Poem
I have to leave now but
before i go you need to
hear me say: never will
we ever be here again. #loss
return we may to this
cafe to this table to
this conversation, but
not to today or to this
slice of air or to
this sense of ease. so
please hear me say
i have to leave but
before i go i want
to say: stay. … Read on…I have to leave now
Poem for April 1
Lying flat on the grass,
Crushing the blades
I am a bookmark between
The earth and all that is above.
“You are not looking UP,”
I once read. “Imagine you can
Step out into the stars. All the
Universe is in front of you.”
All the universe — the sun which is a
Star; and greater suns indeed, also stars,
And the moons which are just rocks like
Gravel scattered between the flagstones.
The landscapers moved the daffodils.
“Give them some water. They’ll perk back up.”
Just so with this grass beneath me.
Those ants I laid poison for in the living room: not so lucky.
Sometime this week, the men will come to tear out the yuccas.
The women will carve out the daisies.
A redbud tree waits at the nursery to be adopted;
Legions of utility workers attend my yard with blue and yellow spray.
I lay on the grass
My sprained ankle rests akimbo.
I gaze up and plan a shutter painting party as clouds drift by.
In the nearest slice of sun
The dog drops her head and sighs. … Read on…I am a bookmark
At the bottom of the dresser drawer
Under a twist of bras and
Ankle socks, I found the
Liner she used to protect the wood —
Or was it to protect the clothes? —
I’m not sure. Shouldn’t adults
Really know this now?
But I don’t line my drawers with
Newspaper. I don’t even receive
One anymore. How else have I
Let her down, dropped the ball on
All the better, best and bygone Ways?
Well, no more heat-and-eat Salisbury steak ovals
Floating in gravy are served, so
I’ve achieved that. That and
Lifting her onto the portable toilet when
Her legs became deadweight. And I achieved
Ordering the hospital bed, making
Small talk with the lanky boy-man who
Constructed it in the living room one day,
Then came back a few days later to
Pack it away. The damn chia seeds. Still
Behind the instant oats in Dad’s cupboard!
Why didn’t I toss them out with the
Pile of not-fine-enough-to donate t-shirts?
Ann and I had that flash of certainty,
Sure the old news in the drawer would be
Ancient, with ads for powdered penny soap and
Photos of mustachioed men. Where were you in
1999? She must have been standing right here
At the drawer on Timberline,
Laying out the paper, washing her hands before
Touching the whites, thinking her thoughts
About what’s for dinner and
Is there an afterlife and where exactly is
The Friday card group.
I was far away.
It was the El Nino year, the year
I bought my shirtwaist house, and forgot to water
The coreopsis, and for the last time
Gas was 99 cents a gallon. Then,
fear shaped itself as loneliness,
Not as a leaking bag body that takes 30 days to
Empty, that sloughs off eating,
Then walking, then speech,
And all muscle control
Like peeling skin on a
Sunburned life. … Read on…I’ve Never Believed in Heaven
one last glow-in-the-dark cling film
bat, still holding onto the
glass pane. Halloweens gone by neither
here nor there.
I’m writing “small stones” as past of Mindful Writing Challenge 2014. If you care to participate, here’s the link. Feel free to read and enjoy more wonderful mindful posts from across the world on Twitter at #smallstone. … Read on…Bat – #smallstone – Day 5
unvarnished and plain,
jagged edges at the end of my body.
I’m writing “small stones” as past of Mindful Writing Challenge 2014. If you care to participate, here’s the link. Feel free to read and enjoy more wonderful mindful posts from across the world on Twitter at #smallstone. … Read on…Nails – #smallstone – Day 4