Early spring, a couple weeks ago;

You came over to help me burn the rest of
The dry brush and weeds in my backyard
Because the day before I nearly burnt down the back fence

we stood by the west pickets and watched the
cows grazing in Seufer’s pasture, mostly silent
A perfectly cool morning, mild in the sun but
We could still see our breath—

I made you coffee and we leaned
against the warm gate of your truck
to talk about nothing, enjoying the
Quiet lull, the unusually busy traffic on my
street

You said you had to go and we hugged
because we always do, always long,
longer than we should

And that’s the last time we saw each other.

I’m made of lists
Knocking on doors, I’m unprepared
half my mother,

I’ve been praying the Lord unmake me
Strip me bare, smelt me to my core

I’m hastening to be someone you could love
Could you?

Could you.

After thomas died—

I started getting tattoos because
I was suffocating myself in grief
drowning daily in my bed,
in the bathroom, in the yard
laying beached in the grass
beneath a deluge of confusion
no water for miles but I am still
Sinking

Drifting through the Surrey hallways
as an apparition, his blood
on my shins
Garrett’s muffled voice asking
If we could just clean her up

Not yet, we need pictures.

I am a callow soul, his death has stripped me
my mother is calling me a silly girl for
The Psalms on my forearm
Luke across my thigh  
for Nehemiah down my spine
I am trying not to die and
all she can focus on is
the wisp of a golden girl gone

This is the catalyst,
the turning point, the ordained moment—
I have not had many of these but when they come they are all encompassing;
I am suddenly not me anymore but
Wet clay, the potter has unmade
me nearly beyond recognition

death has come
And the lord has let it shape me

Death came and it almost took me—
I fought for my life and all my mother could say was

Silly girl


..

Perhaps it is not made for me—
I’m afraid if happiness ever prevailed
to settle upon me it
might be swept away suddenly and
without warning

I have feared that my entire life;
every small joy I have gripped with
the hands of a child
it’s tendrils curled in the web of my
fingers, rare as Vigné a Farinet
fleeting,

Always

Fleeting.

After the rodeo they held a
dance in the 4-H building behind the stands—
They haven’t done that since 2017

I still walked back to my car in silence,
the din of a crowd behind me, freshly plowed dirt and pine, warm beer

I’m in this red summer dress, little yellow flowers all the way down to my ankles,
this is the kind of dress you’re supposed to find me in, in the cornflower blue evening, wisps of peach stratus clouds stretched behind the glaring rodeo lights

Deep Wreck and some kid from Wyoming
arced against the masses, wild hair flying
Red checkered pearl snap

You’re supposed to find me here, You.
You’re supposed to fall in love with me.

Turn it Loose by the Judds plays in the little
red alcove, a bandstand in the foreground;

I get in the car and go home.

I am still the forget-me-not on the far wall
A marigold in the back row
A single sunflower in the corner of the yard

I have not yet become all
the flowers I want but

Rest assured I still am one.

Somewhere in another life—

I have a family. All together under one roof,
not a single thing is discernible in the jovial
chatter, all amongst the other like
water skeeters, stones on a clear, glass pond
Rivulets of honey slipping betwixt to become a laugh on another’s lips

In adjacent rooms, we whisper gleefully,
someone is finger combing through my
hair absently, past the casement windows
there is an ochre radiance that
the morning glories vine around
and the deer in the fields observe
inquisitively, drawn to us in the powder blue evening

Like licorice, slippery elm and dates
Long socks and linen, hands caked in
flour—

Effervescent, a little salt, a dream


Somewhere.

.

can you save him?

Can you save him?

A few short weeks before he’d
tattooed Isaiah 40:31 on the
back of his tricep

I  missed all the signs—
his little sister is getting married in a week.

It’s been five years and
It’s been five years and—

It’s been five years


And.

I dreamt of our house, which doesn't exist...
I'll light a candle in it and greet the dawn.
I'll feel sad by candlelight. I'll be missed.
I want you'll be near me in our house for long!

I'll walk into the garden, which doesn't exist...
I'll pick white camomiles and make a bunch.
I'll put it on the table. It'll be my feast.
Just fly into my dream! I please you much!

We'll stroll in a forest, which doesn't exist...
I'll mass there an armfull of autumn leaves.
I'll throw them into the sky. They'll be a mist.
And they'll be falling slowly under the breeze.

I dreamt of our house.  And maybe is it?
It's somewhere over the hill, green all.
The garden is so very overgrown. I'll revive it.
I'll light the candle for you to come for all.