My mother reclined on the sand, long legs extended
Shying away from the camera
Water droplets drying on her black one-piece bathing suit
Her cigarette held just so
While we kids splashed about in ice cold water
She was beautiful, but never knew it
No one ever told her; I believe they thought she understood
But she never did.
Peace, people
Maybe seventeen, the carhop, her pregnant belly preceding her, waddled up to the driver’s side door.
She carried two root beer floats and an order of fries on a tray that she hooked onto a window rolled halfway down. She brushed away droplets of sweat dotting her forehead.
I was pregnant, too. Barely older than the carhop. The float was a craving. The fries an after thought.
We made eye contact, the waitress and I. My place in the passenger seat somehow granting me special dispensation.
I felt superior, there with my husband. I made judgements over greasy fries and root beer soaked ice cream.
Every now and again I wonder how her story played out. A right turn here. A detour there. She’d be my age, or thereabouts.
I hope her life’s been good.
I danced one night with a cowboy
He asked; I said yes, even though my friends were whining to go
I remember the smell of him, like new leather and spice,
The feel of his crisp white shirt and my hand in his,
And the way he held me close, like I was fragile and precious.
He asked if he could take me home, but I was spoken for already, so I thanked him for the dance
And went on my way.
On this ship of fools
We tremble, gnashing our teeth
What will befall us?
Without a captain
Storm’s surge threatens to swamp us
Waves batter and bruise
Who will trim the sail?
This captain is not worthy
The task falls to us.
I rise each morning
Stretch and mumble, stumble out
Today’s a new day
Yesterday I wept
Today I sing a new song
Yet both sound the same
The tears keep falling
I’d have stopped them if I could
In another life
We hold some scars sacred
The slashes in our hearts
The cuts that never heal
Mostly, those unseen,
Those so deep that no one even knows they exist
Inside the heart
On the surface of the soul
We can’t let them go
While savoring the burn
I hear Mars is beautiful tonight in some parts of the world
The trees here where I live obstruct my view of the late summer sky, so I can only imagine.
It’s the only thing I miss from our days living on the plains, where I could look up and say,
“See, there’s Venus or Mars or Jupiter.” Once for a week the three lined up and I
Sat outside with the smell from a neighbor’s wood-burning fireplace my best companion,
That and the off again, on again lightning bugs, playing peekaboo in the bushes.
The webbed lawn chair’s plastic, scratchy against my pajama-clad legs,
A glass of Merlot, sipped slowly, once empty, the sign I should give up the watch
Leaving the celestial trio to their own devices for another night.
He thought her lovely
Yet too stubborn to be tamed
His heart seemed shuttered
She feared he’d control
But desired him at all costs
Her heart was open
One passionate night
Lovers standing on the brink
Which way would they fall?
Okay, I started to look for photos of human couples to accompany this honestly awful bit of poetry, but adding the cats seemed to make it all better.
Meow, people!
You might be my type
Tall and funny, smart and sweet
Too good to be true
Come closer, hold me
Like you did when we were young
So eager, so strong
Let this time suffice
If we never loved again
Leave me memories
In the first sentence our boat leaves the dock, into an ocean of words.
As captain and navigator I decide: East or west? North or south?
Who will dine with me at the captain’s table this night? Who will tumble over the rail?
Will there be secrets and intrigue, murder and mayhem? Or an affair to remember?
How turbulent will the seas grow? How contrary the winds?
I’ll brook no mutiny; my crew fears, no, respects me even as they mutter behind my back:
She has no idea how to bring this boat into port. We’re doomed to wander through eternity.
I fear they’re right, but still I hold the course and dance when the band starts to play.
Praying for Eyebrowz 