My family is not too small
Just one short of a dozen.
Ten of us under one roof
And not one of them’s a cousin.

We drive in a 12-seater van
Sometimes even long distance.
But we’re not going anywhere
Until mom takes attendance.

My siblings greet me after work
With “Can I have a dollar?”
Oh look, my missing leather belt
Is now the cat’s new collar.

Our chickens provide our breakfast
Collected straight from the coop.
I hate to admit this but, last year
One of them cooked in our soup.

Our cat is great at catching mice,
He’ll even eat a few.
Unfortunately that is why
We’re down a parrot too.

We’re out of milk, there’s no clean socks,
Did someone feed the chickens?
Please don’t tell me it’s my turn
AGAIN to clean the kitchen.

Every day is an adventure
Some days more than one.
But let me tell you one thing:
We’re always having fun.

It's raining,
Ambulance sirens drown the,
Silent slumber,
No one is on the road,
A mobile maddance,
Mad chanced,
Or mild happenstance,
No change,
But the toll keeper keeps,
Jingling coins,
What have you got to pay?
The windowless hospital waits,
With a unacknowledged anxiety,
No one is on the road,
Will this be the last time or,
Are you trying to make,
Every one stare longer,
The rain wont stop,
Shot, shot, shot,
Drip, drip, drip,
It'll be a few days,
Till the rain,
Decides to quit,
The toll keeper has better things to do.
And the ambulance rolls on.

Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
       paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
   most of the time

As a kid, living miles up
  a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
  out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone

   I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
  never learned what
  "superstitious" was,
    like the other kids
        from town

It wasn't the cracks
  in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
  already broken —

It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
  where you belong"

   The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
  muddy stair steps
in the rainy season

Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
     swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged

     I still haven't
found my way out
  of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
    on its own;
   like the way
     rainwater
  in the swollen
creek bed flows:

   And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —

   most of the time


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018

In the clear, calm stillness
of a chilly winter night,
where the stars twinkle
like icy diamonds in a
dark sapphire blue sky,
I feel the crisp, cold breeze
ruffling my hair and brushing
my cheeks,
hear the soft crunches of
freshly fallen snow beneath my shoes,
I look up to see twirling snowflakes
falling softly down upon the earth,
each one's intricate design
shimmering in the pale moonlight,
I catch them and peer at their
delicately crafted beauty,
but then suddenly they vanish,
leaving me alone, and wishing
that I too could vanish
along with them
and leave my presence to be mourned.

Lab coat on
I stand in a cold morgue
Scalpel in one hand
My heart in the other.

Hands tremble
Making the first incision
Cutting through the sweet memories
And stripping it from the bitterness
you left behind

It lays open
Displayed on a silver tray
Tied down by your half truths
And compassionate lies
Held down by the “I love you”
And trapped by your “Don’t go”

A beaten heart
That no longer beats
No longer pumps love
But instead is filled with tears
And regrets

It has lost its color
A vibrant red
was turned into
a Coal-black
As dark as the bruises
You left behind

Yet
Flatlined
And without pulse
I still live
With nothing on my sleeve
And an empty hole
on my chest.

A swinging hammock puts this feeling in your gut of something like a falling glass

A bite blossoms on the top of your foot and like a blotchy swollen fruit itches to picked

Today tackle a wave with your entire weight at the curl and remember what’s its like to be thrown over a table

Here you are so tan and you want to be alone together with the sun

The shuttle comes tomorrow through the sand packed with the slow hurry back to Antigua

Days like today
when the world is too much,
and every sound grates against my nerves,
every responsibility weighs too heavy,
and the only comfort is in these lines,
where it is sheer force of will to move,
to work and seek and to love,
when it is much easier to fall,
to sink and sleuth
into the floor
and let it all go,
I cannot.