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NaPoWriMo April 17th

 

same time

every year

this anniversary

this reminder

Dad’s mortality

proven true

46 years!

forty six

years ago

lives ago

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo 6ixteen

what do they get you?

political donations…

national forests?

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo F15teen

MY LONG SUFFERING SHOES

It’s an age old habit,

just kicking them off,

then leaving them where they lie.

Right now in the kitchen

are red driving shoes,

and hiking boots with the laces still tied,

Here by the back door,

sitting askew,

are red, heart- covered, slip- on sneakers.

Out on the front porch,

tough, elastic, trek sandals

worn by all the well known fun seekers.

Completely forgotten,

there by the pantry,

my Roxy fleece lined slides.

Champion tennies,

grey – green slash of neon,

wait, silent,  flipped  on their sides.

It’s true there are two

shoe racks in my closet

holding a dressy, lace heel,

black leather Clark’s,

and my old comfy clogs,

worn simply for the way that they feel.

I have shoe trees to help them

hold that new shoe shape,

if I would simply remember to use them.

And I do!  Then I don’t.

Consistent I am not,

but I do polish all with soft boot creme.

I mean, of course,

those with the all leather uppers

get buffed to a military, high spit shine.

The toes AND the heels (Dad)

and the sides and the tops

all brushed ’til they’re looking real fine.

But shiny or not

I have to admit

I ultimately throw them all hither

at the end of the day

to lie where they lay

as the cares of the day simply wither.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo #14

 

There stands a rock pile named Mount Sopris,

That challenges the strong and the hopeless.

I climbed past her lakes,

developed some aches,

fell flat when my knees became worthless.

 

 

NaPoWriMo Thirteen

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.”  Oscar Wilde

NOT SO SURE

He could be right, our  Mr. Wilde.

I think, however, it is not only the child

who begins with love beyond belief,

then at some point is overcome with aching grief

when sometimes some things go completely awry

and parent and child feel bits of them die.

Not only the child will rise up to judge.

Oft times its the parents hold hard to the grudge

built up against eyes rolled in utter disgust,

or smart aleck comments, complete lost of trust;

protection from pain when their darling’s hate bursts,

and harsh words fly as proof that love hurts.

It makes no never mind at the end of the day,

when really there is nothing at all  left to say.

When e’en if they had them, the words will not come

while the monitors beep, blood pressure cuffs hum.

When life meets its maker,  hard work must get done,

the game played all out, the last prize well won,

the child and the parent find each other once more

and right then or later their love will restore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo Twelve

(inspired by the whisky in John Coyote’s “Trying to Lose Your Memory”)

 

twice transfused

scotch for blood

oblivion for pain

floor for ceiling

 

at least twice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo Day Ten

IN DISCUSSION WITH HELEN

was thinking about you losing your joy –
my experience has been that my joy is never lost.
tho’ sometimes moldering  under layers of grief, or anger, or exhaustion,
inevitably it pushes through to the surface
refusing to be denied
refusing my miserable attempts to ignore it,
much like Emil Catt insistently butting his head against my hand for a rub

it can be so annoying

NaPoWriMo Day 9

Black, not blue, virga

above a stark black hog back

Spring has not yet dawned

NaPoWriMo Day 8

 

choke cherry blooming

delicately sweet soft blooms

jam in the making

NaPoWriMo Day Seven

WORK WHEN THERE IS NO WORK

boredom beyond words

busy work, just busy work

rush home to Scandal