For as long as I can remember,
I've been practicing safety drills.
school, home, the work place, even planes.

Everyone wants to be prepared
for those so-called natural disasters.
It's stunning how they never think to
prepare you for heart break.
It's so much more common.

You are the earthquake that has me
braced for an aftershock. I am hiding
under doorways, diving for the protection
of restaurant tables. My survival kit
is fresh out of healing, and my wounds are
growing agitated. Why wasn't I prepared for this?

Algebra and Grammar won't help me
get out of bed tomorrow morning.
Testing door handles to see if they are hot
will only keep me away from flesh wounds.
Zoology taught my to dissect a frog,
but your vital organs are so much harder to locate.

Is there even a heart inside your chest?

I sit on a bench by the water, alone.
Old couples silently stroll by,
young men run on
with their collies and yellow labs,
and children race
down the fine gravel path.

Even the ducks
that come to say hello
do not linger.
They bob away
and don’t look back.  

I walk to the edge of the water
and crouch down,
looking for a skipping rock.
I wonder…
Have all the best ones
already been skipped?  
I throw a few;
they don’t jump
more than twice.

I head back to the bench
and watch a family of four
stopped by the boulders
bordering the shore.
Dad snaps a picture of his wife and near-grown kids.
“Would you like a photo with the four of you?” I offer.
Dad grins.
“We haven’t had one of those in years!”
I smile and take the photograph.
They thank me
and carry on their way
down the fine gravel path.

As autumn trees all shed their leaves,
I’d like to place them back
One by one, and watch the sun
Who fears the moon’s attack.

He’s chased all day and finds a way
To hide his light at dusk.
‘Til farmers wake he takes a break,
Then flee again, he must.

Time goes fast and seasons pass,
My friends, I wish you luck.
I watch the sky, the moon goes by;
I think she’s catching up.

In the Deep South
There is always a woman
In an apron calling out to her kids
Warning them to hurry in
Or the corn bread might get cold
The kids couldn’t care either way
And at their age
Food doesn’t taste as good as
The marshes feel around their ankles

They’re just young enough to be nourished
Off of adventure alone
With sticks in hand
Grazing the tops of half-way grown
Up to their heads wheat

In the Deep South the outside
Is still the Wild West
Where you can walk a few blocks
From your front yard
To deserted boulevards
You can’t but a greeting card
From.
And among all the untamed
Nature and desolate fields and lakes
There is so much space
For kids to create

In the Deep South
Kids see broken down Chevys
As breeched kingdoms
Open fields as battle grounds
Littered with rocks that look like grenades
Every vacant marsh a ****** planet
Where you use overall clasps
As radios to your fellow astronauts.

Why would anyone be in a rush
To come home
To something so real
As Mama’s cornbread.

I think the thing is we inspire danger
Within one another
We’ve realized the falsity of fear
And found instead it was always a choice
And now we’ve chosen to forgo it
To embrace danger as easily
As we embrace one another
This is a beautiful thing to find in another person
So that when the skies fall
And the armies invade our city
When the streets run so rampant with violence
That the government outlaws touching
We won’t be afraid to stand in the streets
To hold each other in chaos
To kiss each other where we need it.