That One

I often wondered what position you'd have played if you'd been interested in football, if Brandon hadn't been the football player in the family. You've experienced some trials that many will never go through, and you've allowed them to turn you into the man you've become. I'm so proud of you. Happy Birthday. I love you.

That One

beneath the glare of the stadium lights
all eyes are on the high arc of the football
except mine
I watch him--that one
waiting, expectant, his pliable stance
anticipating exactly how far to move forward
where to place his hands
for the perfect catch
he is ready
although he always hated
being the center of attention
and never let me give him a birthday party
not for any number of Ninja Turtle figurines
but he’ll stand in the limelight now
with the same focus
for the right game

the ball falls gracefully
giving him time to think
judge where to place his body
how many steps between adolescence and manhood
moving forward
anticipating the exact second
the ‘whhhoot’ sound that only he will hear
when time, space and matter meet in his open, steady hands
he wedges the ball hard against his breast
the crook of his left arm
leans into the rush
determined, fast on his feet
like that time
north of Duschene
icicles on the sage brush
being chased over snowdrifts
not caring where he ran
navigating ravines and embankments
with those sliding-into-home moves
that had them both impressed--
how does a boy learn to run like that?
and distressed--
we better bring him back

now
he looks ahead far enough
to judge the next step
the right direction
how big the linebacker rolling toward him
how close to the goal line this time
even though it’s almost certain
he won’t make it
but the hope is worth it
a whole field of spectators cheer him on
rise to their feet
while he rushes
into the organized melee
turning left, then right
he is fast, so fast
he'll make it one day
yeah
he’s the one I watch
that one

Friend

I looked for you again
an unexpected email
one of your old friends
feeling guilty that you died
she didn’t know in time
didn’t call you back that night
oh, the sorrows and regrets
googling ‘citicow68’ and
there you are, just like that
your name, face
really just a glimpse on the internet
some personal details
almost like reading someone’s journal
your honesty, fears
trusting others to understand
I didn’t know
you wanted to die in your sleep
not something a mother and son would talk about
in everyday talk easier
to reprimand you
for watching so much ‘South Park’
and have you done your Statistics homework yet
both of us in school then
pursuing the carrots we called dreams
pushing you on, onward
never really knowing how far you could go
but what would happen to you, if I quit?
your patronizing grin
trying to rub the anxiety out of my shoulders
you didn’t need pushing, only encouragement
did I give you enough?
tell you how proud I was that you kept trying?
kept going when life knocked you down?
I didn’t realize, until after
how many times you got back up, over and over
with a smile, a kind word, a thank you
so I stare, for the thousandth time, at your picture
the one nearest to what appears when I close my eyes
see the real you just beyond the veil
your love intact
your peace assured
I get your message
return the email
tell her
no regrets, my friend
only happiness
only love
only peace

I Love You, Still

This was supposed to post on Valentine's day. I don't know what happened. 2nd in a series.

Because you’re a fighter

a wriggly wiggler

a bed-time breaker

and a soccer ball kicker

I love you because you love rock and roll

porcelain dolls

eating at the Mecca

and anything on which to climb, even me

I love you for the way you move with a destination in mind

play your music

kiss those little fingers

and belch like a sailor

for the tomatoes, the potatoes, the corn

and because after all these years

you talk about that venison steak dinner, still

I love you because you love hats

like me

and pet rats, um, not me

for late night chats

for the sharp sound of 'crack' every time you got up to bat

and I miss those days

but I have my memories

I love you because she slobbers

a lot

and you don’t mind

for that home-made macaroni and cheese

and because your lemonade is too sour

but your enthusiasm makes up the difference

I love you for saying yes

for not asking why, though I think you knew

your expressive hands

your fat toes

and your tight little butt

Ok there

I said it

I love you for allowing the anguish

to push you up, not down

for after dinner walks

for walking the talk

talking the walk

and Grammy, come see the moon!

I love you for your apple trees

your apple crisp

your sparkling apple cider

and the Unbelievable Apple

I love you because you’re generous

you sing with your whole soul

kiss with your mouth open

and 'do when the spirit say do'

I love you for the squeak in your laugh

the bounce in your dance

for teaching me how

and for what Jessica Rabbit said about Roger

I love you for surprises

big surprises

I mean, really—Big Surprises

and for that time

eating plums from a tree in the dark

I love you for your work ethic

your working man

your working man’s hands

and for giving me my first pair of earrings—gold, Trifari

I love you for your wild bushy hair

their buzzed heads

and mine too

1-2-3

I even love your bih

your buh, your do, your duh

and your fro

because I’m your guh

and you’re my bo

I love you for your art

drawings that fly and blast create chaos

like bombs and rocket ships and farts

and make you laugh out-loud

I love you for the raisins

the easy hugs

the way you hitch up your pants because you walk

just like him

and no one tries harder than you

I love you for your French fries

your give-it-to-me-straight philosophy

for being the slowest to anger I've ever seen

and sparklers on the fourth of July

I love you for tri-tip on the grill

June bugs

your stubborn will

for telling me the truth

even though

it made me cry

and camping in the hills above Burley

I love you because you get it

you got it

and that’s good

I love you now

I loved you then

I loved you before

and probably

I've loved you forever

I love ya

I love ya, darlin’

I love you—still

Zion

They talked about reaching Zion as a condition of the heart. Something to strive for our whole lives. The state of the world during the millennium after all the wars are over when people will dwell together in love and peace. I could have told them that yes, zion is a condition, and it is a the state of the world, but we don't have to wait for it or for the Savior to come. Zion is close by. I know because I lived there. It was right around the corner.

To Bonnie, Raedene, Marilyn, Linda, and Susan

From You I Learned

That fresh pressed cider tastes like heaven
dogs should be spayed or neutered
copying copyrighted music is wrong
and following the prophet is right
From you I learned
that it's a good thing
to make someone a birthday cake
get your other friends together
and sing happy birthday while holding the cake
and standing on the birthday girl's porch
From you I learned
that hard work makes good things happen
staying faithful to covenants is essential
elberta peaches have the best flavor
and zucchini can be canned
to become a substitute
for crushed pineapple
From you I learned
that no husband is perfect
and neither am I
but sisterhood is close
From you I learned
that raspberries need picking
or they stop bearing fruit
consistency is key
and neighbors appreciate
a regularly mowed lawn
From you I learned
that each day is a new start
no matter what happened yesterday
and God hears our prayers
even the ones we just think about saying
From you I learned
that it's ok to say no
the spirit speaks all the time
but it's we who decide
if we're listening
or not
From you I learned
that our children can bring us happiness
and squished dandelions
wet kisses
exasperation
and frustration
no matter how cute they are
even in families
that look perfect on Sundays
From you I learned
to plant a tree in the front yard
leave home once in awhile
even if it's just long enough
to go get some curly fries
exercising to music is fun
but forgiveness is vital
From you I learned
that potato bugs are a nuisance
teenagers don't always mind
direction is important
the veil is thin
and sometimes we just have to believe
From you I learned
that I could give a talk
plant a garden
teach a lesson
bottle home-made chili
and feel the promptings of the Holy Ghost
From you I learned
that I could
be a neighbor
a friend
a mother
and myself
all at the same time
From you I learned
to get up early
do it right
keep going
family is everything
and finding joy in the journey
is the goal
From you I learned
that time changes appearance
circumstances alter our course
and distance separates
but love among sisters remains in force
forever

To Nancy

I don't need to touch it to know
it's just a picture
of a painting
of him and yet
through my blur of tears
something shifts
his tender gaze
like a caress
a glance
a softening around the mouth
as though he can indeed,
speak from the page
I dare not look away
the compassion!
the understanding!
the knowledge!
that in the aftermath's anguish
while I lament the 3000 miles between me
and my friend know
with hopeless certainty
that I can do nothing
I understand
suddenly
that He
has already done
everything was at her side
from the first moment
fog rising up from the tulles like angels
to wrap her in the arms of love
binding the wounds of her broken heart
Balm of Gilead
Beautiful Savior
Healer
of us all

Buzz, buzz, buzz

Once upon a time, again

my hair began to shed
just like cats in summertime
the mess I made, oh dread!
I flew that week from East to West
to Mama's house I went
No brush or comb I used at all
and silk scarves was I lent

When I got home I couldn't wait
to have the mess removed.
My daughter turned the clippers on;
my sanity improved.

Owen helped; his little face
it bore such concentration.
When he stopped Chantel resumed.
His look of consternation
disappeared, he laughed and shrieked,

"You look like Uncle Clayton!"

I thought I did, and maybe do
look like my youngest child,

But John and I look so alike,
as he would say, "That's wild!"
(I love ya, Bo!)
And family, thanks for the buzz party!

Infusion

I wore fur and diamonds today
took extra care with my makeup my hair
practiced my lines in the mirror
then marched in
and sat in the big chair
the same one I always sit in
by the window so I can
see my reflection
in the glass
only to discover
that everyone
was cheering and clapping for the silent
hairless man with the IV
sitting just across from me
in total
peaceful
surrender

Thank you, Cancer

for showing me how precious time is

a commodity of this world

wasted often

on petty worries and frustrations

owning too many things

bickering

planning way ahead for tomorrows over which I have no control

robbing myself of todays

but no more

wiggling my feet and toes every morning

stretching this 50+ frame

jumping out of bed each day or imagining

that I still can

to see who gets there first

me

or the sun

Thank you

for giving me a love of this body

that never cared about stretch marks

or fat

looking in the mirror

how often I berated her, and for what?

when I should have been saying

Thank you! You’re amazing! I love you!

that astonishing journey of carrying another soul

within mine

three times was I granted the privilege, three!

now I see a miracle every day

would never trade perkiness for the wisdom

these sagging breasts hold

or a dancer’s dreams

for discovering the abstract beauty

of varicose veins and stretch marks

triumphant scars of motherhood

and being female

and alive!

Thank you

for helping me open my mouth

that short span when I could neither breathe

nor sing

a gentle reminder

of how much I have to say

finding new notes I’m sure weren’t there before

were they?

speaking up more easily

and I’m still practicing and you are patient

but this I know

that stuffing it,

hurts

and for that

I am sorry

adjusting the direction I was headed

why did I care what they all thought?

or worry that my truths might

be different from theirs?

Thank you

for expanding my vision

I see them now

the ones I’ve passed so often as though they were invisible

what a little fool

when I thought it was all about me

perhaps I didn’t want to see because

I would have to learn how to get

out of my own way

acknowledge my own mortality

looming

like a vacant marquee sign

when all this time

you were just waiting for me

to fill in the blanks

I found out

yesterday that Paul, a friend of Brandon's, died recently. I was devastated, especially for Paul's aunt and her family who are cherished and long-time friends. I've tried several times to write about all the feelings that emerged as a result of this news, but there's a limit to what should be shared in a blog. Sometimes life's most sacred events call for privacy and intimacy between friends and this is one of those.

I wrote this last night in the middle of the night, not as poetry, but trying to define the experience which was too real to call a dream, and too wonderful to say it wasn't.

realm skipping again
in my sleep
Brandon and Paul are laughing,
making puns of human vocabulary
suddenly archaic and unnecessary
here
in this ivory twilight between rest and dawn
more laughter between them
brown eyed boys to men and
I hold my breath,
and love this place, this interaction,
and whoever gave me permission to see it,
thank you! Oh,
if I could linger just a bit
longer pretend
I belong here too but,
too late
I have returned
to where moonlight embellishes
these periwinkle walls
and a mound of pillows cradles
this mortal frame
I will sleep now
even though more laughter,
the kind that only men can make,
deep chested and uproarious
continues to echo
my return

A Little Anectdote from my Hospital Roommate. Golly I Love Non-Fiction...

She Don’t Take It From Nobody

Lying in bed in the dark

someone with a flashlight

carving lines and circles on her walls

searching

she rolls, ducks the flashlight’s beam

closes her hand around her red tennis shoes

slips out the front door

charges the corner of the house screaming waving

a big silver blade

sees surprise sudden fear

in the eyes staring from behind the black face-mask

his retreating figure

growing smaller in her sight

while she chases him

screaming

dew grass clawing

the hem of her long nightgown

She thinks probably she would have caught him

if she hadn’t been carrying a machete.

Enough

This piece was recently published by Welter, the University of Baltimore's English department literary magazine. A publication party was held on May 13 where authors were invited to celebrate by participating in a public reading. The reading was held on the 5th floor of the Student Activities Center in a room with a glass wall that provided a fabulous view of downtown Baltimore. I went and had a great time.

The inspiration for this piece came from a list poem that I wrote several years ago about all the things to feel guilty for. The 'voices' are from my past--all women interestingly enough--but some are voices from our culture. I'll let you decide which are which.

Being born a little white girl who grew up in the South, a descendant of slave owners and I don’t hate them for it but maybe I should, and having a black maid who had nine children and lived in a house without running water even though my grandmother paid the bills for us and I didn’t understand until long after we left, being angry that I have to explain my history, and just be glad you were born into this family and not some other. Not cleaning my room and your mama and daddy paid good money for this house. Not cleaning my plate even though children in Africa are starving, use your bread not your fingers. Dressing well, not dressing well enough, and do you want the neighbors to see you like that. Not wearing clean underwear although I never once woke up in the hospital like they said I would, not wearing any underwear, not wearing anything, throwing away good food, throwing away bad food that was good but went bad before I could eat it, Mabel, Mabel, elbows off the table. Not saying no clearly and often enough, when they were young, and not saying no, now and you can’t live their lives for them. Saying yes when I should have said no, saying yes when I really meant no, not feeling sorry that I said yes, and I love you too, baby. Not seeing the dentist often enough, not flossing enough, not exercising enough, not having regular pap smears, having a nice car, reading trash, wasting time and if you don’t have anything better to do there’s work waiting in the kitchen. Hanging out, doing nothing, trying to do everything, going too fast, not going fast enough, sleeping in, not sleeping enough and you have to take better care of yourself you know. Being married, being able to have children, not having one more, wondering why they don’t have any and finding out that they can’t. Being divorced and what happened and who are you to ask me. Being angry, speaking up and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. Talking back and we’ll not have any back talk in this house young lady. Not speaking out, not saying anything, not doing anything about it and you should be more assertive. Not voting, voting when I wasn’t sure, pretending I was sure, pretending to be someone else and you can be anything in this world that you want to be. Losing my temper when they were little, and dumb me for not having child locks on the cabinets and not being consistent, laughing when they did something wrong because it was so funny even though they got mixed messages and I didn’t know until later, but then it was too late. Being depressed when they were young and they don’t remember, or say they don’t but I do. Pretending to be asleep when I didn’t want to, not answering the phone when I knew it was him, spending too much and do you think money grows on trees. Spending too much time, spending too much time worrying, spending too much time worrying about him and how many tears are you going to shed over that guy. Not saving, not saving enough, not starting my IRAs soon enough, not having enough, not being enough, being too much, too spiritual, too sensitive, too passionate, too emotional, having too much good and still wanting more, wanting everything and nobody gets everything they want. Everything I should have done but didn’t, every wrong choice I made, even the ones I thought were right at the time, every evil thought, every bad word to pass my lips, every time I chose me instead of someone else, crying myself to sleep, not being able to cry, slamming the door, punching the wall, slapping his face, scaring the children, swearing at God, enough already, enough and what’s the matter with you, were you raised in a barn?

I Love You

for the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh
for obligatory dance parties
for how cute you looked in braces
I love you for a laugh that's all yours
I love you for the face you make when something sounds gross
and for all the recipes you gave me that start with 'one stick of butter'
I love you for the compassion you have for the down and out
for eating my spinach
watering my plants
and feeding my cat
I love you for teaching me how to lead music
for your tender heart
for your bizarre sense of humor
and because you understand mine
I love you because you keep getting back up
I love you for the way you snuggle with your children
and love palm trees
and burritos
and chocolate
and traveling
I love you for sitting with me in silence day after day
and because you love hydrangeas
and gardenia bushes
and the smooth sound of a car's perfect engine
I love you for forgiving me when I stayed out of your life for awhile
and for loving me when I came back
I love you for the way you balance your checking account,
even though I do mine just the opposite
they still come out the same
I love you for teaching me to love puzzles
to play star wars and deep sea creatures and Settlers of Catan
I love you for the way you giggle
and squeal
and run with your feet crossing over each other
because you just can't help the happiness
I love you for your freckles
your long eye-lashes
your piggy toes
your dimples
and even your moles
I love you for all those times you washed my car
and took out the garbage
and helped weed the flower beds
and sent me funny cards that made me laugh
I love you for going with me to the ballet when you didn't really want to
and I even love you for laughing out loud when you weren't supposed to
I love you for the way you looked at me then
and the way you look at me now
I love you for teaching me how to laugh at the most absurd
pray for the most awful, and believe in the unbelievable
I love you for introducing me to Thai cuisine
for all those long walks and long talks
for girls' nights out and the mcbc
I love you for the way you fell in love with parenthood
for the way he adores you
the way you love him
and listening while I cried
I love you for calling me Sis
for calling me Mom
for calling me Baby
for calling me Poose, and Guh, and Monkey Mama
and just for calling
I love you for the first time we met
and for the next time we meet
for your resilience in the face of adversity
for all the pies and homemade bread and beet pickles
and because you love Jesus
I love you because you send me funny emails and serious ones
and some in between
I love you because you sat with me when I was going through chemo
I love you because you drove me to the hospital in the middle of the night
I love you for your beauty that spills out in your writing and in song
for the sound of your voice when you say, 'Hey, Buddy!'
and because you know just where to scratch when I say 'hairy patch'
I love you for our shared experiences
for going first at the Senior Thesis Event
for the things we could tell about Justin and Tina and Kate
I love you for building me a garden when I could only watch
because you dance even though sometimes, you can't
for knowing I'd still love you even after you told me about waking up inside a bass drum
I love you because you made sure that I had snow chains in my car
you believe I can do anything and that makes me try harder
you forgave me, more than once
and the look in your eyes tells me that I hang the moon

I love you for every minute and every hour and every day we've shared
for hanging in and holding on and never letting up or letting go
I love you for adding your own special color to the fabric of my life
I, simply, love you
Happy Valentine's Day!

Whirlwind or My Life the Last 10 Days

waiting, crying, driving, snowing, stopping, sleeping, missing, kissing, eating, greeting, weeping, reading, watching, walking, washing, praying, packing, bending, writing, speaking, sitting, lifting, laughing, hoping, closing, taping, talking, stretching, thinking, thanking, hugging, snapping, singing, rocking, shopping, fasting, climbing, playing, yelling, loving, living.

Older and Bolder

The following is meant to be read out loud with a straight face to at least one other person. The first time an older relative read this she said, "Oh, isn't this the cutest thing?" while my sister laughed silently at me beneath arched eyebrows.

Sing Ping Dong Ding Pong

I ‘ll ping a sing

you pong a ding-dong song

ping-pong, ping-pong

little white round balls, and

just our smiles—that’s all

ding a pong-ping sing

ping song-a-dong-song

asingalong!

I’m coming over now

ding-dong ding-dong

Ping Pong?

The Lesson

we morphed through adolescence and sex ed in 45 minutes vaj-eye-na ee-jack-u-late pee-nis and got it when she told us the origin of her name “Twinkle” a metaphor, and laughed out-loud behind our hands don’t tell the boys skipping toward home I remembered I am grown up now and stopped tried to walk like Doris Day in “The Thrill of It All” ur-in-ate (not tt) in-ter-course and, it’s not a doodle testing the new syllables outloud with each step Imusttellmymothereverything always pulling the heavy worn dictionary from the shelf because how could she have known those words my mother having learned them from her mother and her mother before her? I rush in and vocabulary spills like sugar cookies bursting in the vanilla scented kitchen but she turns heat rising slams the oven door and the sound bangs against the window above the lilies in full bloom while she white knuckles the black receiver to call the school no I try not to fall into the chasm in the linoleum take a deep breath will myself to appear to her what I must have been before lunch a vein in her neck bulges beneath the strand of silk pearls my heart thuds against my training bra and finally she replaces the receiver smoothes her apron her face proud that I am such a bright little girl and every day—after that—I walk home and pause at the front door to change my face fold the new one carefully between the clean pages of the crisp black and white text how was school today? she asks fine I answer and bite into a warm oatmeal cookie while she hands me a tall cold glass, of milk

Cruella Deville

For Julie who said that I should stop playing it safe with my writing. That was when she found out that I actually do more poetry writing than non-fiction or fiction. So just for you Jules, here's one based on a childhood event in Memphis:

Cruella Deville

always parked her long menacing car sideways on the un-mown scorch in her yard until the night she lurched into our driveway, rode over my bicycle, the headlights two crazed eyes staring through the walls of our house, pounding her drunken fists against the door, ‘Let me in my house!’ When my father opened the door a shaft of light fell, broke into a thousand tiny pieces on the porch.
That’s when I saw the cracked ochre teeth, the red mercurochrome eyes like the time I skinned both knees, smelled grape vinegar leaking from the ends of her wild, sizzling hair. We huddled in our pajamas against our pure cotton mother who always smelled of lilac and yellow, while my dad stepped easily over the broken shards into the darkness, his voice warm music just like the minister’s on Sundays, to gentle Mrs.Deville across the imaginary line between our yards, the one my brothers dared to cross, press their virgin freckles against the big dirty window, see if Satan owned a color television. After my dad fixed my bike I slid onto the seat, closed my hands around the rubber grips and pushed off, picking up speed the pink and white plastic tassels and long flying hair streaking the sun but it never rode straight after that.

The front tire always wobbled just a little.

Bald is Beautiful!

Debutant

dark hairs criss-cross my pillow like abstract art
handfuls of it come out in the shower
the dreaded time fills the bathroom covers the walls and mirrors with steam like a menacing spirit
You will look old and sick without any hair

the three-time cancer survivor at the wig shop places her cool hands on the top of my sore head
like her voice, they are soothing and strong
she looks at me in the mirror at my tear-filled eyes my face that says
I do not want to be here
“Do not cry. You are going to be just fine.”
the buzz of the clippers begins right in the front
wait!
I pass my camera to my sister
the little teeth saw away at the illusion of beauty and suddenly I realize
the darkness lied
there is no loss no reason to cry
my eyes gleam from the mirror larger and browner than before
I feel a freedom, a rebelliousness, a sense of spontaneity
my sister cries and laughs with me
takes photos for my blog
then we hug the woman goodbye and walk out into the sun

I have choices that others do not
the wig is adorable
hats and turbans and scarves and endless fabrics await
but my bald head loved its debut
I can’t wait to show my family
I am more beautiful than ever

I wasn't exactly jumping for joy here
Revealed
This is getting fun

How Do I Love Thee?

Early dawn stillness, waking up softly to the sound of birdsong. Peace filling my periwinkle room with gentleness and light. My favorite time of day. My hope for heaven--perpetual morning.

Honorable Mention

This year I won an honorable mention for poetry from the Mills English Dept writing contest. That, was cool. Here's one of the poems I entered:

Cruella Deville
always lurched her long gray car, parking sideways on the un-mown scorch in her yard, until the night she ran over my bicycle, the long wrinkled car a menacing finger pointing, the headlights two crazed eyes staring through the walls, pounding her drunken fists and scream-crying, ‘Let me in my house!’ We huddled in our pajamas against our pure cotton mother who always smelled of lilacs and yellow, and when my father opened the door, a shaft of light tumbled out and broke into a hundred tiny pieces on the porch.

I saw her cracked, ochre teeth, the red mercurochrome eyes like the time I skinned both knees, smelled grape vinegar leaking from the ends of her wild, sizzling hair. My dad stepped easily over the broken shards into the darkness, his voice warm music just like Pastor Shane’s on Sundays, to gentle Mrs.Deville across the imaginary line between our yards, the one my brothers dared to cross, press their virgin freckles against the dirty plate glass window, see if Satan owned a color television.

Morning and I slide onto the banana seat, ‘good as new’ my dad says, close my hands around the rubber grips and push off, picking up speed, the pink and white plastic tassels and long flying hair, but it never rode straight after that.

The front tire always wobbled
just a little.

Happy Birthday Soren

Darling Chunky Monkey,
How I wish I could be with you on your very first birthday. I miss holding you and feeling those sweet kisses. Happy birthday, Sweetheart. You are precious and Grammy loves you more than words can say.

I wrote this Feb 3, 2006, 11:30 pm

Oh, sleep celestial state divine
tranquil rest refreshing
refrain from lingering this one time
Please grant this dear sought blessing

When daylight gently cracks the night
paints morning dawn with wonder
the baby born, the world so right--
Oh sun! Oh clouds! Oh thunder!

Then hear my gratitude, delight--
familial love expanded
The newborn soon within my sight
I pray this wish be granted

Cotton shades of tender blue
will swaddle sweetest joy
Owen's happy declaration:
Grammy, he's a boy!