I am dreaming
About trips with him
To the mountains
Which are tearing the sky
We would walk on those endless serpentines
And I would dream for the sky to cry
Because then the rocks would become slippery
And he would hold my hand.

Eyes open, light all around me
nose full, of old leather
hand out, fighting the wind to stay up
mind gone, thoughts running away
ears happy, with the sounds of music

The Florida sunshine pushes in,
it lights up the car.
It makes the seats hot but comfortable
and they give off the strong smell of leather.
We crack the windows and let the world in
but just enough so we can hear each other.
His big tan arm dances with the wind
as my pale tiny hand tries to keep up.
The CD plays and skips a little
on these long drives with my dad.
Chicago or Sinatra play
the background melody of our afternoons.
He wears his broken Ray-bans
the ones he keeps trying to mend. I love
the bits of glue around the corners.
People glance over, they try and look in.
I bet they think we are celebrities, we are
so cool in the ’88 benz convertible.
He’s cool, so I must be too. I am a celebrity
on these car rides with my dad.
Little me, front seat, just us and
the music, the light, the wind, the love.

Eyes open, light all around me
nose full, of old leather
hand out, fighting the wind to stay up
mind gone, thoughts running away
ears happy, with the sounds of music
me complete, on a ride with my dad.

The mountain covered the entire small town in its darkness; when night fall comes you can not see the horizon.
I go towards the mountain where all is at peace and all is still, where the black peak cuts into the clouds.
I would ask you to come, but your mind is caved with the shadows;
that used to be you.

My mother
now old
once long ago
put Miss Harper Valley PTA to shame

My mother
with a quick wit
and sharp tongue
built a reputation to keep her safe.

My mother
smoked ***
drank Blackberry Brandy
and raised three radicals alone when it just wasn't done.

My mother
looked for love
settled for security... but never for long
too high of a price.

My mother
devoured books
had an artists' soul
mixed with a black widows heart.

My mother
is trapped
between what she knows
and what she says.

My mother
is embarrassed, confused
and angry
refusing to yield as she always has.

My mother
needs me now
yet has too much pride
and doesn't want crude judgments.

My mother
taught me her best
(and worst) tricks
and I use them on her often.

My mother
is at the end of her life
keeping long promised answers
locked tightly inside her.

My mother
has never let anyone
understand her
but me.