“i was born to make biscuits”
and so we let him.
flour, butter, one egg, messiest
table in the hole entire county.
mom watches bug and the boys
roll in the leaves outside, and
greg and i drink coffee by the fire
in thick socks and knitted throws.
a burst of the season arrives with
each sibling but we smile anyway,
kisses and cold hands pressed on
our warm cheeks until we're all
the same temperature. pop's biscuits
are done, so we sit and don't say
grace- just thank each other for
the things we have which no one
else could have given us. mom's
already missing the birds, and
wendy says she thinks she found
one of katy's old hats in the back
of her garage last month and she
even brought it with her this time.
we talk and we laugh and the little
boys nap and we just are.
we just are.

you are a ****, she said
she
she
she
she said, *you are a ****.
i have scraped knees and
a quickly bruising elbow,
a finger to my lips and a
dinosaur washrag dripping
onto my thigh.
but, grandma, she said-
there is a calming, silencing
tone to the thumb wiping
my face clean, a soft smile.
even gardeners mistake the
new, stray trees on their
fence lines sometimes, meg.

Feathers and wax across my back like a cheap crucifixion
I'm used to drifting too close to a euphemism
My youth is missing. Is That you I'm missing?
Call a truce so I can get used to living
You have this fool's permission to choose to listen
The cruelest mission, begging you to forget what you have witnessed
Undue retention, how to undo the tension
Between two tendons I never thought to mention
How I'm lost in a pit with crimson pitch and
A godless pen. How odd is this fiction if we've lived it?

Maybe the one talked over and hushed
Grew up to be quiet, reserved
Trying to develop a voice of their own
But it was never heard

Maybe the one seeking attention
Spent their life being ignored
Experiences shape perceptions
And perceptions shape our world

But this is where we start, not end
After all, we're not cement
We change and bend and learn and grow
We can end above and start below
Beliefs can change and so can we
What we were, we don't have to be

Look like a fading flower and you'll win his heart
Quiet suffering is exquisite on a maiden's face
Pale cherry blossoms drift in autumn winds
The branch will lay bare when winter comes

You will thank the white blanket
that covers your frozen pallor
When he passes by your bareness
with another in tow
When the frozen tear streaks down
your cheek finally melts into spring
you wonder if your flowers could
still grow