Abandoned blogs, dusty blinds, ungraded papers, unread books.
So many intentions, so little time.
So many conversations, so little sleep.
Worn out shoes, balding tires, out of sunscreen, children laughing.
Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category
Delinquency
Monday, October 26th, 2009Madness
Saturday, March 21st, 2009A familiar song
A familiar voice
A familiar place
Why must you wear red and black?
You
Monday, November 17th, 2008You hurt me
You hit me
You cut me off in traffic
Where is the justice?
You ignore me
You betray me
You live as if I don’t matter
Where is the justice?
You slander me
You laugh at me
You speak to me condescendingly
Where is the justice?
Who is You?
Whose You am I?
Where is the mercy?
implosion
Saturday, October 25th, 2008economic crisis
husbands walking out
mud slinging
mothers murdering children
hate mail
foreclosure
terrorism
war
mirrors
knees
tears
breath
Back of an envelope
Tuesday, July 29th, 2008Today I have been…
referee
food source
playmate
enforcer
teacher
counselor
maid
cook
waitress
secretary
nurse
translator
spiritual advisor
I have embodied…
elation
frustration
confusion
indifference
agitation
amusement
contradiction
self-control
recklessness
resourcefulness
I am…
a basket case
a glutton for punishment
a woman of privilege
a mother
doing it again tomorrow
Bird Brain, Dodo, and Dummy
Sunday, May 4th, 2008Pajama parties, playing cards, being creative in the kitchen (i.e. making a BIG mess).
Shirley Temples, white table cloths and fancy dresses.
Johnny Cash, Boxcar Willie, classic country.
Brutal honesty: “you need a shampoo” and “that skirt makes you look like Little House on the Prairie.”
Absolute affection: hugs and kisses, zerberts and pats on the rear.
Tender care: help for the sick, meals for the hungry, watchful eyes for the babies.
Sounds like a winner!
Nana
April 28, 1926 – March 21, 2008
My Grandmother
Saturday, September 22nd, 2007My grandmother passed away Friday, September 14. She was 84 years old. I wrote this in memory of her.
Some might say that love is an idea. It cannot be touched or heard or tasted. This would not be the case with my grandmother. For Jeanette Grief, to love you was to cook for you. Fried chicken, green beans, creamed corn, mashed potatoes, and chocolate pie. That was her constant recipe for love. And just as love is supposed to be, there was always way more than anyone could consume at any one time. I remember spending the night at my grandmother’s house when Shannan and I were little. Being her only grandchildren, she focused all her spoiling powers on us. It was great! When we woke up in the morning, she would have a menu written out for us so we could order whatever breakfast we wanted. If she were making a cake (which she almost always was), she would use two tubs of frosting and there was always lots left in the second one. She would hand us the left-over tub and two spoons. Yes, we were spoiled! We were equally spoiled though. For Christmas, if she spent $1.73 more on me than she had on Shannan, Shannan would get her presents plus $1.73. I know that I am not perfect, and there is a long list of people who could testify to that, but in the eyes of my grandmother, I could do no wrong. Everyone should have one person who thinks she can do no wrong. My grandmother was that person and I will miss her greatly.
——————
Creamed corn.
Green beans grown 150 yards away from the table at which I consume them.
Fried chicken that puts the colonel to shame.
Mashed potatoes, fluffy and perfect.
Seconds of the creamed corn.
Must save room for chocolate pie.
Must loosen belt.
Giant piece of chocolate pie.
Food coma.
Love.