Tag: free verse

At the K & N

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.

The Cowboy

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.

Scars

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

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.

To Shirl

She walks the beach in my mind

Drinks champagne in her garden café

Runs down mountains with abandon

A woo-er of men

A champion of women

Her words are etched in my mind

I thank the universe for her.

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.

The War Effort

We’ve been told we are at war

With a virus, an invisible enemy

But our nominal president

Plays golf and tweets erratically

Swatting at Titleists

Swearing at journalists

Embarrassing most of us

While one hundred thousand Americans

Lay dead,

And it’s not yet June.

Invincible

I am invincible

My bare feet meet the cool brown earth

And I know.

Sidewalks are for lesser beings

Tender skinned novices

As for me, I will stride with confidence

Eschewing the easy path

Embracing the dangers

One toe at a time.