His eyes fix on a single line
A familiar signature
Screams from the page
The End

Of a marriage
of a family
of a 20 year love affair

My friend died today.

He loved kids,
He was playful until his body wouldn't let him play any longer.  
Despite the pain that he must have suffered
the last few months of his life,
he endured stoically and without complaint;
even managing a smile
to greet old friends
and other visitors.

He was curious and smart and loyal
Devoted to those who showed kindness to him.
He was protective
without being overbearing, intrusive, or jealous.

My friend loved the countryside
Where he lived out the last few years of his life.
Having acres to roam and explore suited his wanderlust.
Having a family that loved him filled his heart with happiness.

He loved to hike and camp.
Exploring new trails, meadows, and beaches were his favorite diversions.

He loved hotdogs.
He had a floppy ear,
3/4 of a tail
and hated to be confined.

I loved that old dog
and I know that he loved all of us.

Rest easy my friend.
May you find plenty of places to explore in your next home.

What do you think?

It had to end this way.
Sorry about the mess.

Grizzly bear lay on the library floor.
Just his skin, really.
The bratty kids spilling red fruit punch on him.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the taxidermy shop with its formaldehyde odor
And jars of glass eyes.
A fat man with a dull knife
Ripping his flesh from his bones.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to when he was heaped onto the cold metal pickup bed
Piled crossways on top of two dead deer
His large head flopped on a cooler of smelly fish,
Exposed to the wind and snow
For hours.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the moment when bullet hit bone,
When his crystal clear vision darkened.
When his mighty roar was silenced
Forever.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the crisp fall mornings
Standing in the river
Feasting on salmon
Tall and proud
The master of his domain.

He liked being this way.
He dreamed hard to try to stay there.

Vacant eyes betray
Cognition as absent as
His successor’s soul

You missed my birthday
Again.

I prayed a million times
And still,
You didn't come.

How many has it been?
Eight or nine or maybe
twelve birthdays?

You've forgotten...

The yellow balloon
with the elephant.

Every year I blow it up
Hoping that it will bring me luck
Bring
You back.

But it doesn't

Bring either.

Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Giraffe,
Hippo,
Wildebeest,
Gazelle
Sip muddy water hole
Crouching low.

Unforgiving heat
Cool drink
Texans
Sip fridge-cooled Camelbacks
Crouching low.

Light breeze
Eggplant skies
Tall savannah grass
Sways
Masking movement.
Predators travel
Unseen.

Guns ready
trophies sighted
Giraffe
Hippo
Wildebeest
Gazelle

Bullet chambered
Trigger finger
trophies....

Running?

Cheetahs pouncing
Texans screaming
Law of Nature
End of Story.

Happy Unicorn Poem

Prancing in the meadow,
Warm sunshine on her face
The happy unicorn did not see
The hunter’s hiding place.

Eating rainbow candy,
Smiling ear to ear
The happy unicorn did not know
The grim reaper lurked so near.

Singing gentle lullabies
To the butterflies,
The happy unicorn did not know
She’d cause them all to die.

Lapping at the trickle
Of the crystal, sparkling stream
The happy unicorn did not hear
The hunter’s arrow ZING.

A chipmunk tried to warn her
Squeaking out in fright
But it was simply much too late
With the arrow fast in flight

A pretty yellow songbird
Tried to knock the arrow off its path
But the arrow’s razor edges
Cut the songbird right in half.

Then a fuzzy little bunny
Jumped as high as he could jump
When the arrow passed right through his throat
He fell down in a clump.

A brightly colored butterfly
flew into the arrow’s way,
the arrow was not diverted,
It was not her lucky day.

Only three feet later
The arrow found its mark
Extinguishing forever
The creature’s living spark

The hunter popped up in delight
feeling quite a thrill.
That he would soon be famous
for his magical creature ****.

He bounded through the meadow,
running toward the woods
yelling out in victory
“I always knew I could.”

He kicked aside the chipmunk,
He stepped upon the bird
He booted the bunny’s body
into a pile of mud.

He was almost to the butterfly,
When he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.

What he saw before him,
Caused his body to go slack.

He did not see a unicorn,
Lying lifeless there,
But it was his precious daughter
his own arrow in her hair.

The Old Enchanted Meadow
With deep magic all around,
Teaches lessons to all of those,
Who trod her sacred ground.

Today the hunter learned the most painful one of all,
A man who would **** a unicorn does not deserve beauty at all.

The dark doesn’t scare me anymore.
I don’t see your face in my dreams.
The panic attacks are gone.
The night terrors are too.
Often, I walk through
that park. On my
way to spit
on your
grave

"Hello?"
Click
Her voice sounds the same.
After 35 years, nothing has changed.
She is still 19 and I am still 22.
There have been no marriages or divorces.
No kids, dogs, or houses.
There are no commitments or inhibitions.
There is only that perfect wonderland called young love.

Blinding flash
Eardrums burst
Blood, so much blood
Is it mine?
My eyes!
MEDIC!!

Snipping ripping
Scissors and hands tear away at my clothes
Water or something splashes
Burning everywhere
The smell...
**** and fire and burned meat
Is this what death smells like?
MOM!!!

Floating
No carried
On a litter
Now flying
UH-60
****!
Something jabbed...
Floating
Floating

Far away
Voices
Beeping
Crying
Screaming
Begging
Mom?

Closer
Voices
­Beeping
Wheels rolling
Machine sounds
Words
Mom...

Here, Now
Bright lights
Searing pain
Masked faces
Muffled voices
IV bags
Machine sounds
Mom
Questions
No answers

Where's my leg?

Harry the Hippo was a circus fave
For 15 years on the center stage.
He delighted kids young and old
Balancing ***** on his oversized nose.

Year after year
Show after show
Harry delighted
with his big, whopping nose.

No one under the big top
could have guessed
What horrible thing
Would happen next

From the front of crowd,
in a colorful seat,
A blond haired boy
tossed Harry a treat

Harry chomped it down
and continued his act,
Then
Suddenly
Harry stopped,
And fell flat on his back

Harry rolled right
Harry rolled left
then
Harry died a
Painful...
choking...
death

The Ringleader called for the hippo doc
Who told him that Harry died from
Anaphyalactic  shock
Brought on by a child’s
Peanut lollipop

Home is where
You have a corner of the fridge just for your stuff

It’s where you hide your journal,
Where a fat cat makes your day better,
And where dessert CAN come before dinner

It’s where you skinned your knee
climbed a tree
and learned to make spaghetti

At home,
you’re not popular
or
unpopular
You’re just you.

It’s where you can be neat or sloppy
It’s where Mom lives
and Dad
doesn’t

Home is where you know the creaks in the floor
The code to the garage door
and where you can always go back for more

It’s a comfy couch
dishes in the sink
and warm socks from the dryer

Home is a familiar cocoon
That you must leave
to build your own

Home is where
The wrong word is a slap
crying is a belt
noise is
cigarettes on your back

Home is where they hurt your dog to hurt you
Where the boyfriends come and go
Where the drugs and flesh
are sold

Home is cops
Pounding on the door
Drunks passed out on the floor
Kids asking for more...
Food

Home is needles
it’s pipes
It’s tweakers trading their lives
for a high

Home is spoiled milk in the fridge
Empty boxes and cans and
Roaches crawling
Everywhere

Home is burns and bruises
Scars and stitches
and frequent
accidents

Home is damp ***** stained carpet
smells like ****
I want out of it

No matter how

Home is where your dog sleeps on the couch
Or on your bed
Or wherever he wants

Home is the smell of familiar foods
On predictable days
And the sounds of familiar snores
At predictable times

Home is where you can have pizza and a cookie
For breakfast
Popcorn for lunch,
and pancakes for dinner.

Home is where you know where everything is
Tape is here,
A ladle is there,
And rain boots are in the hall closet

Home is where you hear
Familiar creaks in the floor
and
Slams of the door

Home is your
nest
den
cave
habitat
sanctuary

It’s a glass half full
It’s a light in the distance
It’s the rising sun
It’s being away from home and hearing the language you speak
And it’s a dollar you find lying on the street

It’s 8 and a half yards on a third and 9
It’s a small tug on the end of the line
It’s writing a poem and finding a rhyme
And it’s the day she said, “Yes”, she’d go out with you one more time

It’s the half an hour before the exam
It’s the gallon of gas to get home
It’s when success follows success and you know
that you can do it alone

It’s finding a flashlight that works
And driving to the beach in the rain
It’s an all-night diner
And New Year’s champagne

It’s a homemade dinner
A dog’s wagging tail
It’s a small act of kindness
in a world of fails…

Sister wants the jewels
Brother eyes the deed to the house
Aunt Jan covets Grandma’s wedding ring,
She has for years.
Uncle Ted asks about the furnishings.
Casually.

Like carrion beetles we swarm
seeking the juiciest bits for ourselves.
Masking avarice with feigned grief

Rumbling tumbling
Spinning twisting
Ideas are socks in my clothes dryer mind
Some emerging fresh and new
Some lost to that forever place where socks
and apparently ideas
go

Last night I dreamed

I dreamed of Kiki playing in the driveway.
I dreamed a beach ball and a jump rope.
I dreamed a smile and love.

I dreamed a slow moving car
Guns pointed out tinted windows
I dreamed shooting, POP POP POP
I dreamed tires squealing
And blood.
So much blood.

I dreamed the life leaving Kiki's body
next to the beach ball and the jump rope.

I dreamed of three boys begging for mercy

When I dreamed none,
I dreamed of Kiki's smile once again.

If my life were music...

it would be an unlistenable cacophony of sound.
It would be carefully scripted symphonies
interrupted by screaming brass improvisations
It would be triumphant orchestral overtures made ridiculous by banjos and Jew’s Harps
It would be beautiful meditative chant debased by infusions of guitar-screeching heavy metal.
If my life were music...

It would be looped and played continuously at Gitmo.

I forgot the sound of Grandpa’s voice, but not the rattle of the farm truck
I forgot the names of the workers, who smiled so broadly when he brought envelopes filled with money.
I forgot how to tie a fishing knot, but not the taste of the fried fish
I forgot the floorplan of the yellow house, but not the sadness that consumed it
I forgot about the stuff that I hid in the crawl space when we moved
I forgot most of the math after 10th grade, who needs SOHCAHTOA anyway?
I forgot my freshman locker combination, but not the rank smell of a high school locker room.
I also forgot the love that I once felt
because I’m sure that she’s forgotten me

I’m Used to Ugly

When physical rejection is as familiar as
Morning coffee

When nice clothes are an unneeded luxury

When the after version of your morning ablutions
No longer result in an uplifting, “You look good”

You get used to ugly.

When you have 2 sets of nice clothes - that are years old

When you do not go anywhere that requires nice things

When your job is semi-professional

You get used to ugly

When your self-deprecating humor is more true than not

When you encourage your spouse to do things without you

When being alone is a better choice than being out there

You get used to ugly

In a moment, the news.
Until then, we'll turn to the nation's capitol and have a word with...
Condescending self-important motormouths
Narcissistic bloviating gas bags
Useless over-coiffed talking heads
Disingenuous glad-handing power seekers
Smarmy bootlicking Ivy League backstabbers
Government funded flatulating wind turbines
Spit shined Armani wearing handout seekers
Grudge holding influential bureaucratic petty tyrants
Overworked browbeaten ladder climbers
And, if we can find them, a few nonpolitical working Americans.

I'm from hate and discontent,
from words so caustic that they burn after 35, 40, 45, 50 years.
I'm from nowhere and everywhere,
I'm from nine schools and fourteen houses.

I'm from "You'll make new friends,"
and "Quit crying, we didn't live there that long."
To the KFC Christmas and "They're too old for a tree anyway."

I'm from slammed doors, and curse words and silent treatments.
I'm from high expectations, icy glares, straight A's, and disappointment.
I'm from 800 miles of claustrophobic silence in the family car and 18 years with no vacations.

AND

I'm from lazy days at the family farm
and hard-*** work a few years later.
I'm from rides on the tractor with Grandpa,
and watching the illegal sabong... with the sheriff.

I'm from Uncle Martin and Mary Lou,
and the tiny apartment with the swimming pool.
I'm from the mean man in number 9 screaming at us to be quiet
and Uncle Martin telling him to, "Shut the Hell Up!"

I'm from David and Richard, my cousins, my brothers
I'm from poison oak adventures at the creek
and countless days at the beach

AND

I'm from Gentile and Jew,
From Asian and White,
From Catholic and ****.

I'm from St. Patrick's, the old church.
I'm from stained glass and wooden kneelers,
incense, and Latin Mass.
I'm from Ego te absolvo and Dominus Vobiscum

I'm from tradition and sanctity,
dignity and peace.

I'm from Hellfire and Brimstone
Screaming, Bible pounding preachermen who are slain in the Spirit,
babble in tongues, and exhort the congregation to be "Washed in the Blood of the Lamb".

AND

I'm from love and loss,
and love again

I'm from Lisa, and Donna, and Carole,
the girls who were far too pretty to have been my friends (but were)
I'm from Jaki who wrote me letters letters every two days
and sometimes more,
and Laurie
and Kelly.

I'm from Cardinal and Gold
from Conquest and Traveler,
from the dorm and the Row.

I'm from 90,000 screaming idiots,
I'm from Greek Week and road trips,
and long nights in the reference section.
I'm from typewriters, card catalogs, and white out.

AND

I'm from gritty men and terrible places.
I'm from peace, and war, and peace, and war again.
And peace - with war thundering in the distance.

I'm from the cold wet ground on cold wet nights,
and I'm from blisters upon blisters; blood and water.

I'm from the Blacksheep, the Alphabots, and the Ranger Creed.
I'm from the M-249, the 203, and the A-2.
I'm from Colt, not Beretta; that's the M-1911,
and I'm proudly from jungle fatigues and black berets.

AND

I'm from a fateful encounter on a random night
an order of pizza and beer that would change our lives
Days together and weeks apart
Time didn't matter
She'd captured my heart.

I'm from loyalty and faith,
Trust and honor.
I'm from a small ceremony,
nothing to big or too fancy,
and groomsmen carrying guns, pagers, and foreign passports.

I'm from odd jobs and uncertainty and graduate school
I'm from UPS and PKP, and Summa *** Laude,
MISD, WM, and the birth of Anthony.

I'm from safety patrol and tug-of-war,
Accelerated math, now Maria's born.

I'm from the Blonde Mafia, the Bumblebees,
the Shopping Girls, and the Ubermensch.
From 14, and F, and back to 14, and 15.
Principals Emerson, Anthony, Blix, and Mellish.

AND

I'm from the Middle School
and teaching only math until
I'm teaching math and tech until
I'm teaching math and tech and study skills until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and more tech until
I'm teaching tech and study skills and media and Spanish until
I'm teaching tech, tech, tech, media, and Spanish with
Principals Miller and Budzius and Lucas and Stone

I'm from the animé girls and the theater crew
From the gamers and poets and dreamers
From the introverts and hackers, autistic kids and slackers
I'm from the kids who don't fit anywhere....
Neatly

(To be continued)

Your life is less than worthless to me
It is a stain on a perfect world created by the perfect being
I want to cut off your face with a rusty knife and feed your flesh
to wild dogs.
I want you to feel ground glass and petrol splashed into your open wounds
I want to set you ablaze - and watch your skin blacken and crack
I want there to be no end to your suffering
I wish upon you Perpetual agony
I want your soul to be tormented by demons and your children to know their names
I want your house to be a pestilence amongst your people
and disease to run rampant therein.
I want the all powerful and ever living God to smite you into oblivion,
erasing all traces of your being from the universe.
I want all manner of vermin to gnaw upon you and make your essence theirs.
Condemnation is your name and the deepest circle of Hell is your domain.

I’ve tried fitting in to your world
and I’ve become old and sick and weak
I’ve respected your ways
and I’ve lost my own
Now, I’m watching myself die in this cage
No longer.
Barbarians create peace – through strength
Savages are fearless, relentless
Unrefined men speak truth
Coarse men value deeds above words
Unorthodox men are unrestrained by limited thinking
Warriors defend the innocent and uphold honor
These are my kin

And it is to them that I return

I remember screamed profanities
I remember slammed doors and cupboards
I remember walking on eggshells, slipping silently around the house, not flushing the toilet - hoping to remain unnoticed.
I remember strained car rides and feigned happiness - for the relatives' sake.
I remember the blessed gift of headphones - that drowned out the rage and replaced it with joyful music.

I remember hiding behind schoolwork
I remember 5:00 AM Saturdays, doing yardwork, to keep the peace.
I remember racing through dinners, eyes down
Being done before being done

I remember strained birthdays
Unappreciated gifts
Forced gratitude

I remember graduating
Boarding a plane
And never really going back.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A slip of paper
Assigning him
to English 11b

English words
Thick in his mouth
He whispered his name,
Jaime Chavez

Jimmy Changa!
someone mocked,
Had one of them for supper
Nice to know you burrito boy.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

A book
Shakespeare
Carefully noted
In Spanish and English

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
Whatcha got there?
A book?
You don’t need them to cut my lawn.

Jaime Chavez smiled,
And remembered

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

An award
Superior achievement
English 11b

Jimmy Changa
Someone mocked
You didn’t earn that,
*******, ******, ****

Jaime Chavez smiled
And remembered.

He entered our classroom
Quietly
Something in his hand

Full scholarship
Princeton University
In English Literature

And something else

A bumper sticker
"God Bless America,"

Which he carefully
tacked to the bulletin board

My name is not Jimmy Changa.

My name, is Jaime Chavez

And he smiled.

On clear nights we can see you…
Twinkling, beautiful  
On clear nights we can feel…
your love and kindness.
On clear nights we can hear…
Your bubbly laughter and the lilt of your voice.
On clear nights we know you are with us,
because on clear nights we can see
all the way to Heaven.

Mental health
Is my favorite
Oxymoron

Jumbo shrimp
Is next…

Water the plants,
****, forgot to water the plants.

What else?
I fed the fish,
threw out the trash,
walked the dog,
but there was one other thing….

What the hell was it?

Right, here it is,
on this slip of paper,
call the Alzheimer’s Foundation.

Why do I need to do that?

How can I
furnish trust when
your name is Apathy.

How can I
furnish love when
your name is Solitude.

How can I
furnish peace when
your name is Hunger.

How can I
furnish wisdom when
your name is Chaos.

Indeed, my prayers were answered.

Left, Right, Left
Mile after mile
We flood
Feet blistered, bleeding

Mile after mile
Heads down
Bleeding, blistered feet
On a long dirt road to nowhere

Heads down
Driving rain
On an endless road to nowhere
Jeeps, HIDE!

Driving rain
Live or die
We flood
To freedom

Holy
Sacrifice
Purifies the profane
Our undeserved redeemer is
Sacred

To the merry tune of
"Feliz Navidad"

Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
and help to clean up
Afghanistan
I wanna call in a Spectre gunship
I wanna call in a Spectre gunship
I wanna call in a Spectre gunship
For some close
Air Support.
Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
and help to clean up
Afghanistan
I wanna call in an Air Force J-DAM
I wanna call in an Air Force J-DAM
I wanna call in an Air Force J-DAM
to blow them to
Kingdom Come
Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
Let’s bomb Talibans
and help to clean up
Afghanistan
I wanna call in a UH-60
I wanna call in a UH-60
I wanna call in a UH-60
to get us out of here.

Citrus trees, tomatoes, and fertile soil
Garliconiongingersoy
and ant spray

Contentment
Cigarettes and hate

Aqua Net
White school paste
Bitter slimy spinach
and blue ditto ink

Confusion
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate

Baseball glove
Mown grass
Fresh popcorn

Sadness
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate

Cramped, stale cars
Claustrophobia and
Cat litter

Loneliness
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate

Petroleum
Locker Rooms
and Perfume

Indifference
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate
Cigarettes and hate

Smoggy skies
Salty beaches
Beer trucks at each end of the block
Love

And...
Blessed...
Divorce

Have you ever seen a chimp’s hands?
His were exactly like that.
Leathery Weathered Stained
From 50 years of farm work.
Today I see those hands
Moving chess pieces around the board
Masterfully

A moment of dissonance.
Like snow falling on the Visayas,
It was that strange to me.
Simple man, where did you
learn this sophisticated play?
In your tiny village on the remote Philippine island?
Knight to G-5, takes Bishop
He glances up and smiles.

Flying
Crying
Multiplying
Terrifying
Shrapnel flying, burned children crying
Deaths multiplying, the world's terrifying

The error message reads: Out of memory.
Its capacity has reached its limit.
But the ‘memories’ that it possesses are touchstones on my family’s journey together.
My son’s tiny five year old fingers learned to navigate MacOs on this computer, with this trackpad.
My daughter’s poems were composed here.
Hundreds of papers, presentations, employee reviews,
and math lessons were clicked and dragged into existence here.
Inside its silicon brain are thousands of family photos, bits of music, and other ephemera meaningful only to us.
Truly, this old computer is our family’s memory box.

The emptiness hurts

Like a brain freeze
and a sunburn
and sand in your eyes
and a sore throat
and stubbing your toe
and a kick in the *****

all at once.

Today I want to chop up love.

I remember the day that you were born
I held you while the nurse bathed you in warm water
I held you when they stamped your tiny footprints on your birth certificate
I handed you to Mom for the first time

I remember when you learned to crawl,
Because you didn’t.
You sat up, dug your heels in, flexed your knees,
And scooted across the floor.

I remember the morning when you threw a fit because you didn’t like what I had picked
Out for you to wear – you were two.

I remember the many miles that you and your brother
Drove in circles around our backyard in his electric John Deere

I remember the magical fairy who left you notes and stories at night.
Her name was Donnabella.

I remember the astonished look on the reading specialist’s face
When you dropped ‘oviparous’ on her after she asked you to,
“Name a word that starts with ‘O’.
No kindergarten was necessary for you.

I remember thinking, “I can’t believe they’re both in school.”

I remember when you were in Prep Choir
Singing, dancing
Loving it,
Having no idea where it would lead

I remember your years in Girls’ Choir
The Winter and Spring performances
The hard work in between
And the frustration you felt
at the favoritism
and at people
who didn’t put in their all

I remember how proud you were to become a percussionist
To learn to play the bass
and the snare
and the tympani
and the marimba
and everything else that you could hit or shake

I remember when you began to dip your toes into theater
Ensemble parts first
And Crew
Then cast
With clever bios in the program
Then larger roles
And more clever bios
Then leading roles
And a growing desire to make theater
your life’s work

And here you are, today
Pursuing just that.

I remember how every teacher
who has ever known you
has loved you
and still asks about you
How none of them are at all surprised
That you are where you are
Doing what you are doing

Now it’s your turn to remember
How much we love you
How much we are behind you
And how very proud we are of you.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Dad

What can I do to lift your spirit
to lighten your burden
to spark your smile?

How can I be more present
More compassionate
More loving?

How can I be the miracle that your heart needs right now?

Have you seen me?
I’ve been missing since 2003

Darkness surrounds
It’s very cold
It’s 2015
or so I’m told

The walls are smooth
and chill to the touch
I don’t see the sun very much

The food I eat
is cold and stale
served to me
in a small metal pail

I hear the screams,
the whimpers, the cries.
Are there others like me
who are held nearby?

Or am I alone
in this unknown place
creating nightmares to fill
the unearthly space.

Acrid smoke and rancid sweat fill the small room
Five men sit in a tight circle deciding a girl’s fate
In this culture, men always decide a girl’s fate
Hard faces
Angry eyes
Hatred

She is called Sabiha,
‘Morning’ in her language
And like mornings in her village she is
Warm, inviting, hopeful
But she is also independent and willful
and covetous of her dignity

At nine years
Sabiha fought
and bit
and refused the auntie’s blade
Keeping her tiny body intact

At fourteen
Sabiha ran blindly into the night
She refused to marry the old fat man
Who reeked of goats and hookah

At seventeen
Sabiha declined the advances of her protector,
She refused to be his ‘pleasure wife’
She kept her honor

Her uncles arrived the next day

And now they glared venom

and Sabiha knew

That by noon

Morning would end

And her long darkness

Would begin

I write because my other attempts at artistic expression were mocked
I sacrifice subtlety for clarity because my wife is unambiguous
I work hard because my dad respects hard work
I have public feelings and private ones because life has taught me not to trust
I tell my secrets to dogs, because they keep them
I allow music to fill my soul, because my mom let me see how it filled hers
I see the potential in others because God sacrificed his Son to show the potential that he sees in me

Mothering In Real Time

I don’t know how you do it,
Mothering in real time

Between Budget meetings and
Committee meetings and
Leadership meetings and
Board meetings and
Volunteer meetings and
Volunteer meetings and
Volunteer meetings…
You manage to
Listen and
Counsel and
Organize and
Discuss and
Attend and
Advise and
Be a friend to so many and
Most of all love…

Mothering in real time
Is what you do
And we would be lost without you

I don’t miss you every day

I didn’t when you were alive

Our relationship wasn’t like that

I do think of you sometimes…

When I make spaghetti sauce
When I listen to gospel music
When I defend unborn life

When I hear a particular twang in someone’s voice
When I smell the desert sage
When a preacher is filled with the Holy Ghost

When Blacks and Whites harmonize
and bring together the best of both cultures
I think of you

When my kids sing
When the music is loud
I see your thumbprint on their souls

There’s
Tamale pie
Pork ‘n Beans
Jiffy Cornbread
and Collard Greens
With the extra bit of salt
The dash of heat
The reserved bacon fat
I gift your flavors to the future

It’s been ten years and
I don’t think of you always
but when I do

You are there

It's glazed,
That's it.
With coffee -
Black

You would find this donut
only at the day-old bakery
on the depressed side of town
On the bottom shelf
in the back

It’s unevenly frosted
With sprinkles tossed haphazardly around
It is neither appetizing nor revolting
It’s…
Confusing

It’s inviting and bitter

distasteful and captivating

complex and mundane



Moment to moment
Bite to bite

You can’t decide

Whether to try again

Or discard it forever

Do you ever get sick of your own voice?
Do your own thoughts ever bore you?
If so, what do you do?
When I feel mentally stale, I read.
I learn new things
I speak different languages
This forces me to think in words different than my own