Fried Chicken and Dirty Dishes

Grandma’s kitchen.
Forgotten fried chicken.
Used, cold skillet.
Shimmering in congealed bacon fat.
Brown, yellow, orange matted carpet.
Clutter. Papers. Fly swatter. Plants.
Pepsi bottles.
Hum of the dingy fridge.
Greasy haze of low-light air.
Stale-flavored ice that can’t be cracked with mere teeth.
Dish upon dish.
So much that the sink disappears and one large dinner plate/utensil mound erupts from the countertop.
Dripping faucet plinking against tin.
Sad, somber, soft.
Dark, dirty, dull.
A small photo soaking in the developer of my brain.
Your watery image takes shape and fades quick.
You existed. I remember.

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For My Cowgirl

Another repost poem. Happy birthday, Pencil Princess!

The picture on the post is Lilli wearing my dad’s old straw cowboy hat.


Before I had a girl,
I thought she’d steal my husband’s heart.
I was scared of sharing,
Expecting battle from the start.

What I didn’t know
Is that she stole my heart instead.
I wanted Dad to heap
Love and kisses on her head.

My daughter is my strength.
She’s taught me more than I could teach.
She’s my tough defender
When I’m sick or sad or weak.

She’s my will, she’s my power.
She’s my endless, eternal drive.
She’s the reason I get up.
She’s the reason I’m still alive.

Before I had a girl,
I didn’t understand
How much I’d love another girl.
I’m her biggest fan.


Love you, Cowgirl.

Sister

This is a repost of a poem for my daughter on her birthday tomorrow!
Happy 15, baby!


I wish I had a sister.
I have two of my own.
But they were always busy.
I was growing up alone.

I wish I had a sister
Who took the time to teach
How to love myself,
How to aim beyond my reach.

Or even how to brush my hair,
Set makeup on my cheek.
I wish I had a sister
Not a rival, so to speak.

I wish I had a sister.
One that loved being my friend.
I wish I had a sister.
Someone to count on ’til the end.

Someone to value me.
Someone to hold me close.
Someone to pull me up and in.
Someone who let their feelings show.

A woman to show the way.
A friend to hold my hand.
A person who deeply cared.
Someone to understand.

I never had a sister
Until I finally went through birth.
My daughter is all I could ever want,
Best sister on this earth.

Patched-up Monster

Run my fingers along these stitches
My slick, sick skin in pale, pink patches
Red scars, dark dreams and seams
Snagged-up tissue in small light catches

If I’m a patched-up monster
Then what does that make you?
You are my creator
Working in sin and sinew

I acknowledge my birth and life
But I wish you wouldn’t have bothered
Especially when you hate
That which you have fathered

I pity us, this reckless wreck
Wreaking wrong, prescribing pain
Spent my life to break your neck
On the hope of a rope in ending insane

You meant to make me perfect
But don’t know what you’re doing
You played around with delicate parts
Left this bloody monster in ruin

I survive, pieced from scraps
Forgotten flesh upon the floor
You die of loneliness
But I live to rise once more

Blank Page

When the world sharpens me to a
fighting, biting, writing point
.
You are the velvet, toothy paper on which I wrestle.

The soft place that stores my hurt and heart.

I’m sorry.
Thank you.

You never tear.
Even with my harsh words and unrestrained pain.

Your blank page is a fluffy-white cloud of kindness and medicine.

Sunset and Missing Missouri

I moved from KC, MO to Florida just over a year ago. I still miss it from time to time, even in paradise. You can only take so many palm trees before you look at them like oaks. But it’s better living off-island and near a river now! And I see pines from our place.


Watching the sunset over seas
Enjoying tropical island breeze
Is heaven

But watching this sun set behind the trees
Brings me to my thankful knees
It’s home

These trees give some permanance
To these limitless firmaments

Sailing from every temporal shore
Can leave a wanderer wanting more

Grounded with grass and pines in the yard
Make living in paradise not so hard LOL

Conclusions

You draw conclusions
Like ragged curtains
Assume that I feel
Pain that is real
Un-hidden in the place
Where hurt lands

But I’m injured inside
Bruises subside
Too deep to detect it
No surface affected
Clues coincide
Chaos will abide

Down to the core
Heart of the sore
Poison pill, weakened will
Infected ill, quivering quill
You kill me with your words
I rocket to the ground like gunned-down birds

Everything you say
Is trapped inside my brain
I try to let it go
But you race to reload
I will say thanks to you
Now that I’m dead, I’m bulletproof

Fool

Feeling like a fool because I cannot control
The dull, shaking razor I hold to my soul

Standing above the overflowing sink
I wipe the steamed mirror as I hold on the brink

Cut the hair, but not the skin
Hold back blood and shave on a grin

Smiles are money that buy you a life
But honesty is the sharpened knife

You may die quick, but you’ll die free
I’d rather go now than fake what I’ll be

The only thing that slips away
Is the person you thought you had to play

Kill that, Darling. Twist the blade.
You will only sleep in the bed you’ve made.

Be your own person. Live your own choice.
Write your name in the fog and raise that cutting voice.