Mars

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.

A Journey

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.

Summer Evening on the Back Porch

Chris Stapleton on the radio, singing about Tennessee whisky

While I’m drinking Merlot and dancing with the cat

She’s not much of a two-stepper, but she sure likes to waltz

Although, waltzes make me cry now—the boy who taught me one, two, three, one, two, three

Spinning me around the dance floor is gone, too soon, we were not worthy of his grace.

Do you think Roy waltzes in heaven? Twirling angels ‘til they’re giggling and giddy?

If heaven has a dance floor, he’s made it his own. Pop a top and watch him go.

I haven’t said anything

George Floyd was murdered in broad daylight by an officer of the law with witnesses standing near, yet I haven’t said anything here.

People are protesting in the streets, still I’ve stayed home, safe in my little world, pleading age and fear of contracting a virus.

Friends are hurting, at each other’s throats, but I’ve not written a word. That’s my privilege and my shame.

Instead, I’m listening. Learning. Taking notes. My whiteness is my shield and my weakness in matters of color.

I know this, though, black lives matter, and even if I don’t know what else to do or say. I’ll keep saying those three words.

Black Lives Matter.

When I Feel Sad

When I feel sad I might curl up in a ball and sob

Or apply mascara and go out for lunch

I might dance around the room with abandon

Or sit by myself in a corner, when I feel sad.

There’s no telling what I’ll do when the self pity lands

And my thoughts go to dark places. But I won’t do that.

Don’t worry. I’m not sad.

Peace, people.

I “Like” My Own Posts

My blog has a new follower:

Me.

I “like” my own posts,

But I haven’t gone overboard

With praise for my writing.

That would be pure vanity.

Neither have I critiqued it

Negatively, though.

I’m fairly certain the writer is daft

And I’d hate to hurt her

Feelings.