The youngest grandchild explored St. George Island on a blustery spring day. I call this one, “Harper Storms the Beach.”
On the Cusp
I’m on the cusp of nothing
Hanging on a thread,
Every day seems pregnant
With a certain kind of dread.
Headlines scream, portending
Tales of glee or maybe gloom,
Depending on one’s politics
Seen as bonus or as doom.
So here we stand in limbo
One foot toeing on the ledge,
While the other seeks purchase
Having fallen off the edge.
Got You Covered
I got my shingles vaccine on Monday.
Now all I want to do is lounge atop the house.
Confronting My Own Ageism
I love Jan Wilberg!
Viewed from behind, the man appeared to be headless. There were his khaki pants, his white shirt neatly tucked in, a cane swinging as he walked, but where his head should have been there was only his collar. As we drove by him and I turned to look again, I saw that he was so badly bent over from the shoulders that he was looking straight at the ground as he walked.
And the first thing I thought of was, I bet he was handsome when he was young. Maybe he played ball and drove a fast car. He was probably trim like he is now, one of those guys who can wear their wedding suit fifty years later. I reflected on the bent over man being young and I felt sorry for him. And then as fast as I felt sorry for him, I felt sorry for myself. It’s…
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Snapshot #124
Studly Doright freaked out a little when he saw this critter near the beach on St. George Island. I call this one, “Dreaded Bungee Cord Viper.”
Hey Trump, Single Mom Here
Trump’s bunch has some funny ideas about what Americans want. I’m not laughing.
Director of Trump’s Office of Management and Budget, Mick Mulvaney, cares about single moms in Detroit, and he cares about coal miners in West Virginia. He cares so much so that he wouldn’t ask either to foot the bill for educational television, or the Arts. As a single mom myself, I would like to say thank you Dick– sorry– thank you Mick for not asking.
But Mick, you didn’t ask me how I felt about funding an Aspen trip for Trump’s entitled extended family. I see that $12,000 was spent on ski rentals for the 100 secret service officers who were required to provide around the clock protection for the elite billionaire spawn and their spawn over spring break. That entire bill was paid for by taxpayers like me…a single mom, and taxpayers like that coal miner in West Virginia. Trumps who have never known what it is to go without…
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May I Be Familiar
Your combination of the every day and the heartbreaking always shakes me to the core.
May I Be Familiar
Do we find you in what you’ve left or where you’ve gone.
In words you could not form, or forgot long ago.
Missing the pastels, the shades, all nuance.
With moistened hands, I pat rice into a ball and wrap it in seaweed.
By my reckoning, the word who no longer implicates.
Ritual accumulates significance in memory.
Forgotten fruit on the sill. A whisper nailed to the wall.
Honor and pride line your earthen home.
Though you never did, I pickle ginger. Make takuan.
The transparent house reflects no gaze and contains no one.
Gathering your absence, I coil it around my body.
* * *
“May I Be Familiar” is included in my mini-digital chapbook,Interval’s Night, published by Platypus Press as part of their 2412 series.
Flawed Logic
In his search for the moon, he discarded the sun, then wondered why he floundered in the dark.
He cursed as his shins cracked against the base of an antique bureau, and he was heard to mutter,
“I swear, it was right here. Big, and round, and full.”
His lady tsked, “Come back to bed, love. All will be well come the morning.”
A Reason to Rejoice!
My daughter and her family will be here today! They live in Illinois and I haven’t seen them since Christmas.
We’ve got stuff planned–a beach trip tops the list, but mainly I’m going to spoil the three grandkids and enjoy my time with them.
Peace, people!
A Bit of Dystopia
I’ve been immersed lately in the near future America depicted in Octavia E. Butler’s Parable series. After practically inhaling the first of the novels, Parable of the Talents, I immediately downloaded the second book, Parable of the Sower.
The books’ heroine is a strong, intelligent, teenaged girl named Lauren Oya Olamina. In the year 2024 Lauren turns fifteen. She lives a relatively protected life in a walled community outside of Los Angeles.
Life outside the wall is chaotic. Society as Lauren’s parents knew it has broken down. While communities like the one in which Lauren lives are not uncommon, they aren’t the norm. Even though her family has to conserve resources and take turns keeping watch at night, she’s one of the lucky ones.
But one day that all changes. First her father goes missing, then fire-loving druggies burn her sheltered neighborhood, scattering Lauren’s family. There are no safety nets. The police and fire departments cannot be counted on for aid. Lauren is on her own.
This tale could have merely chronicled Lauren’s journey to safety, but in addition to being a vagabond teenager she has started a religion, Earthseed, and she builds her congregation from her fellow refugees as she founds the community they name Acorn.
I’m still reading the second book, and the situation seems dire. Once again Lauren is on the run, but there’s much more at stake at this point. The newly elected president of the United States ran on a theme of “Make America Great Again.” He’s instituted American Christianity as the national religion, and his supporters are capable of unthinkable atrocities in their quest to wipe out any belief systems other than theirs. It’s a chilling look at what might be in store for our future.
Lauren is a fascinating heroine. Her single-minded drive to complete her grand mission is inspiring, but also frustrating. I want her to be safe, but safety is not her goal.
If you’re into dystopian fiction give Ms. Butler’s books a try. Just let me know what you think.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 