The Weeds Are High

The weeds are high
the water's low
the path is thorns, but still I go
barefoot by the firefly glow
to meet you.

North of the Southern Baptist Church
where daddy preaches and sinners burn,
where Solomon sings the sweetest words,
and I keep you

secret
as a deacon's favorite vice.

For Rommy's prompt at Real Toads

Note:  In case you missed it yesterday, I have a new poem ("Microorganism") at Maudlin House.  Big thanks to all who have already checked it out and / or commented!

Comic Con

I turned 45 in a Flip Joan wig,
stack heels, and a too tight dress.
My very best Homestuck's Mother Lalonde
for a day of cosplay
at Comic Con.

What?

Hell, no, I didn't want to go!
But I'm a mom, and I'd promised, you know?
So I took my meds and kohled my eyes,
paid for my ticket, and went inside

a place alive with color and sound -
writers and artists all roaming around,
and comic creations brought to fan favorite life;
everyone a hero or god for a time.

Soon I was one of their own.  The nerds took me in,
and I understood that I'd been given a gift -
the gift of getting over and out of myself
to walk again on the child side as somebody else.

For Midweek Motif ~ Birthday at Poets United

Update: I have a new poem ("Microorganism") up today at Maudlin House.  Please check it out; I'd love to know what you think!

Espresso Machine

When the dog soaks my carpet
(I just took her out!),
I fantasize a machine
space age sleek on an uncluttered counter
dispensing a rare roast caffeine.
And I dream of a me -
a swish of sibilant silk
and heel clicks precise on the floor.
A woman spare and serene
like I can scarce hope to be -
but that's what dog piss daydreams are for.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Something's Missing

I skin the spoils of another's hunt.
I cook, but I don't gather.
I suspect that I don't matter much,
and it hurts.

I fall back on talking tough;
fake a fierceness I don't feel.
Fill my days with another's work,
another's will.

Crawl in bed at night
and release myself to dreaming.
Lying by your side;
our shadows on the wall.
Crawling deep inside
my land of little meaning
where I hide
and no one seeks at all

till the cupboard's bare,
the clean socks aren't there,
or something's missing.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Sailing

I went sailing once when I was a girl
barely big enough for a life jacket.
I remember the sun sparking the water,
the strong, tan legs of my father,
the sleek, white lines of the boat.
I don't remember the capsize at all.

Not the fill of lake water in my nose.
Not the crack of my skull against the hull.
Not even the screaming scrambling search for my mother
trapped in the ropes below.

Years later, mama told me that her only thought
as the water took her air
was that her daughter was up there
watching her drown.
But memory is a funny thing I've found.

All I remember is sun on the water,
tan legs,
a sleek, white boat,
and I know that I've been sailing      once

and that once      is all I've cared to go.

For Gillena's prompt at Real Toads

Poorly Animated Girl

Too long, too leggy, too limber, too liquid -
all anarchic angles aching the eyes.
Vaginal vertex obtuse and open -
charcoal smudging the spread of her thighs.
Bobble head blonde

homogenized
to a doll

constructed
with primitive technique.
Nipple fixation -
pink, pink, pink
slick lips. A glimpse
of kitty cat tongue -

purr come baby come baby come baby come

baby lips can't refuse,
fingers can't form a fist.
arms spread presentation
no-ego thrust hips.
Poorly Animated Girl -
make wish
kiss kiss.

For Susie's prompt at Real Toads

When You're As Old As Me

When you're as old as me,
you'll see that days clamor for attention
while years
barely whisper
as they pass.

You'll see your body as a temple
with a bit of sag
in the ass.

You'll see laugh lines
as signs
that you've lived right.

A bit of Resilience for Midweek Motif at Poets United

Someone Somewhere

Someone Somewhere told me
that dogs
don't smile.

Someone Somewhere,
your dog
just doesn't like you.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Sister Night, Sister Death

Sister Night and Sister
Death wear the blackest

habits.  Barefoot and barely breathing,
spider skitters on the wall.

The Sisters swallow whole the snakes
of scripture and shed venom

tears of cross and comfort.
The Sisters bless us all.

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

Lady Versus The (Bearded) Dragon

I put my fist in the dragon's mouth,
my finger to his fangs,

and he bit me.

Just a nip at first,
then locked jaw worse.

He bit me.

Straight through my skin.
I banshee'd when

he bit me.  Little shit!

Now my fingernail is cracked, blue, and black,
but I didn't have the fire to bite him back.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

The Devil's Jar

Penny dreadful,
Penny bright -
a jingle in the devil's jar.
Penny jonesing for a ride.
The devil drives a big black car.

Find a Penny, pick her up.
Penny can go head or tail.
The devil has the damnedest luck.
Devil spends his Pennys well.

For Magaly's prompt at Real Toads

Out Of Sight

Andrew Wyeth

I can't see you clear enough
to see you were once like me. All I can see
is a steel cage doing service as a second set of legs,
sagging, long nippled breasts
milked dry and shapeless,
and a pair of spectacles dangling on a chain.
False teeth, dress stained; no, I can't see, if I look away,
that you were once like me; I put you away
and keep you
out of sight and out of mind.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads

Her Natural State

A poet in her natural state
is neither early nor too late,
but always halfway out the door -
the unmade bed
her metaphor.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Yes, I Could Heal You

Yes, I could heal you
with some blue potion
equal parts star and shine.
Still, I hesitate to ease your fever.
I've come to love its steady climb.
If I heal you, my hands
will just be hands,
still as sleeping stones.
But here between healed and heaven,
you give my hands somewhere to go.

55 words for Kerry at Real Toads

Baseball

Yours truly at about 7 years old. 

All the girls in town
played softball.
All the girls had a daddy
but me.
I was the only girl in town
to play baseball;
I thought my daddy
might want to come see

a girl play baseball,

and the girls at softball

would see my daddy
with me.

For Midweek Motif ~ Parenthood at Poets United

I have three new poems in the June issue of Sugar Mule.  Check them out and let me know what you think!