"I meant to ask you how to fix that car
I always meant to ask you about the war
And what you saw across a bridge too far
Did it leave a scar?

I meant to ask you how to plow that field
I meant to bring you water from the well
And be the one beside you when you fell
Could you tell?

Gone now is the day and gone the sun
There is peace tonight all over Arlington
But the songs of my life will still be sung
By the light of the moon you hung"

They always leave me, dear
Where else is left to go?
There's nothing for me here.

Stars glint the wind as mirrored
Kaleidoscopes, but oh-
They always leave me, dear.

Not one, but days of tears
I reckon you must know
There's nothing for me here.

A night so dreamt and sheer
I'm lured by sleep, but no!
They always leave me, dear.

What life is mine to clear?
Which carousel of snow?
There's nothing for me here.

Paint sunrise in my ear
I'll welter, wilt, and so-
By dawn you'll leave, my dear.
There's nothing for you here.

i hit myself again
head to wall
knuckles to sand bag

i smoked too much again
dabs and backwoods
it was fun to hide in

i cursed myself again
spit to mirror
what a stupid, stupid girl

i ran too fast again
skin to pavement
it was fun to faint in

i lied to them again
didn't mean to, i'll do better
'til I can hit and smoke and curse and run
all I want to.

you make moments
into masterpieces

my room becomes a chamber
a corner in the casket of time
a jewel-toned golden age
with a glossy guitar
and a red velvet case
and jungles through the window
and sunsets in your pupils
and you flow, into the sepia
of the chaise lounge and the
pastels of the curtains
and i sway, criss-crossed on the
chipped floor
and we float, on each note you pluck
and mercy love, you play for hours

cousin george lives next door
and he was pacing
both our lawns when
i showed up for supper.
see, he's the sort that sleeps with
his hands in fists and,
out of nowhere he spat,
"shirley ain't home!"
to which i said, "i know she ain't
i saw little shirley in town today
she got her nails done red
and some lingerie to match.
and then she boarded a train
down to baton rouge
after trading her tip jar in
for some shoes
without the ruby heels to
bring her back."
and he said, "well surely she'll call!"
i said, "i know she won't
you can hold back tears, but let go of
the hope
that you're ever gonna see your little
shirley girl again.
no, she didn't pack a bag
but she had her guitar
'twas all she came here with
and her eyes full of hearts and
you can't take a cajun queen
from lousianne.
seems your shirley's got herself a
creole man."
and of course,
cousin george didn't like that,
not one bit
but it wasn't my fault
i just said what shirley had requested
sent my crooked cousin george
on a wild goose chase
while shirley rode a greyhound
to somewhere up in maine
least i could do was
help that sweet little dame
finally get away
from my crazy family!

there comes an age
which i have reached
in which i love
to take my turn
at making Mama
laugh like a
little girl

counting blossoms
can't smell them, not through the cold
few hundred on this tree
few more at my feet
tragic
last thing we need
is for spring to die young

my grandpa never smoked
but he worked in a tobacco factory
for thirty years
and one day,
on a wall of a bathroom stall
in that tobacco factory
he saw something scribbled
so he copied it down
on a napkin, he said
then carried that napkin in his pocket
until it fell apart
twenty years later

yesterday,
my brother wore a cap and gown
and gramps gave him a card
in which he'd scribbled down
"success is getting what you want
happiness is wanting what you get"
then he drove back to the cabin
in the foothills, where he lives
and my brother lit a cigarette

when the photographs magnify
the good times with the worst
when they smear and blur and wobble
and it's too hard to see sepia
for what it was
for what it's worth
hold those snapshots
craddle, squeeze, caress
like babies
like a dying woman's hand
like shadows of a past reality
let the dams break
let the bawls rock you
to sleep or to insanity
whichever comes most
naturally
cheeks will tattle
via burst blood-vessels
eyelids may be swollen
for sunrises to come
your voice, gone
but it won't matter
no, not as you wonder
how many people
have wept themselves to death?

from
forest to fireplace
trunks
were loaded onto log trucks
and, like dark magic
century-old trees
became ash
in an evening

so, with his hands tied
he raised hers
since there were alphabets of questions
in the words which she spoke
and the ones that she didn't.

crimson spray paint
chipped off the
dinged aluminum frame
our dear friend
"the steel skeleton"
daddy rigged that go-cart
to push forty
felt like

mercy, we charged
wild onions
bubbling sun
rope swing
whipped, weaved
clothesline posts
threadbare tires
churned the dirt
that'd raised us

you squealed at the turns
of course you did
i was wild back then
burning rubber
cross clover patches
racing crows
and then the bats
until those holes threw us off
the ones our dog had dug
the ones we never thought to fill
once we'd buried her
beside the barn

whack!

ching and crackle
we'd been flipped
fumes all around and
on the motor
steering wheel
clamped my leg to pedal
i shook it off
but the buckle
mama had installed
did its job and
trapped you there

swoosh of blood in my head
and heat closing in
i found my feet
our crash site ignited and
flames lost their lustre
once they brushed blond hair

crimson sprayed
over dandelions
dribbled from your chin and
as i screamed for mom
for dad
for god
for you
i swore
to never drive again

.
             I've learned some phrases...

She'd say
Goodness gracious, sakes alive!
To everyone and their uncle
In a month of Sundays

He'd say
You're dumber than a bag of rocks
And the straw that broke the camel's back
But I love the bones of ya

She'd say
I declare!
If wishes were horses, and
Wicked, in a good way

He'd say
No ****, Sherlock
That's what she said
Ya dig?

                     ...from some friends
                                                         ­            ·

hours alive
seems like less
feels like more

i remember the day
i turned double digits
daddy's guitar and mama's punch
made sure
ten years old
was my favorite milestone.
nigh is the night
i'll strike double decades
and neither daddy's guitar or mama's punch
can stop twenty
from becoming
my least favorite milestone.

often i long for
the years we were kids
because all folks would ask was,
"aw, are y'all twins?"
oh, we were tickled
but nope
just brother and sister

now, that we've grown up
yet haven't grown apart
everywhere we go it's,
"aw, are y'all boyfriend and girlfriend?"

oh, brother!
we must be destined to laugh