for all you know that could be me
deep-rustling in the hedge
i weave a secret, tangled nest
to harbor all our warmth
fleeing from the hornet swarm
where old stings always burn
i track your footsteps in the dirt
tucked safely at your side
i am just a quiet ghost
lost among the leaves
my mother turned 70
and took up canning,
a fun hobby to fill
her retirement time.
she proudly delivered
a box to me—jams and
salsa, and sauce. colored
love trapped in hard
glass with golden tops.
“you should get bags
of rice and beans too,
every week,” she said,
touching my hand.
in case.
in case.
my mother turned 70
and took up canning
because she’s worried
we won’t have enough.
new fuzzy socks for us three,
ordered and delivered within
one day. the cheap kind
leaving fuzz trails through
the house. let’s drink some
water, drape soft blankets
over our legs. we don’t say
worry or the c word, too early
to tell. maybe this time next
week we will know, hold
hands, facing it all, including
all these damn fuzz balls
from these cheap socks.
gaggle of geese honk
around the dirty pond.
do they think of brain
development, AI touching
our kids? i want to honk
so loud they look up.
plucking piano keys, i picture
you, sitting on my couch.
purple sweater, chocolate cake.
your laugh, like rumbling joy,
lives in my walls.
today marks the day we said goodbye.
years ago, holding hands until cold.
i play the only song i know:
Jolene, about being chosen.
you loved Dolly.
both hard workers—
rhinestone and cleaning gloves.
she left us today, too,
splitting my grief.
out of tune, i sing,
your beauty is beyond compare.
gathering kindness into notes,
remembering.
developed.
your smile is like a breath of spring.
capture. photos. frame.
grit.
moving across the room,
i gather my camera.
holding it with two hands.
my happiness depends on
what i do next.
first day of school today
my nephew wore a soft hoodie
he hugged me near white roses
while my old friend sang
and played a blue guitar
i stood here before
and before
but i’m not the same
talk to me about roundness,
the gravity where we cluster,
thick skin, soft insides,
held on a single wire.
it’s always double yellow lines
and a lone cow on a hill.
elephant rock and a tunnel of trees.
mustard and pink dancing
among prickly brown.
a leaning silo and
clusters of sheep.
sweet girl,
when those fast feet dance
outside the library
to music living inside your bones,
and my screen glows awake
to swallow the moment,
do you know
it’s the years i’m holding?
you, right now—
a bright flash of wild curly hair
saved for later.
