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Who was I then?
I don’t think
I’ll ever really know
or understand
the what
or why
or how could I?

This I know: They will never grasp the sadness
and loss
and regret
I feel in my bones
every. single. day.

Wasted years, wasted youth.

Ah, but mine is not a unique story to tell
but it is just that – mine
and no one can convince me otherwise,
much as I wish it simply were not so.

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For us…

Though isolated and alone,
six daughters created
their own adventures:

Dredge ditches to explore
logs to climb, hop and traverse
quirky clubs to govern
silliness to be had
pools to swim
bikes to ride.

But they also witnessed dysfunction.
Drinking and arguments
self-centered behavior
loneliness
betrayal
isolation
occasions of violence.
The demeaning of selves.

Their young minds
could not possibly understand
the hardships of their stewards.
They saw only the injustices
perpetuated against them.
A hard thing to shake off – that.
Necessary, though. They see that now:
A duty requiring constant vigilance.

They carried with them the lessons
taught perhaps by design,
others via despair.

A mother who failed to hold and nurture her children
though her love be true.
Other pressing needs consumed her,
mindless of the continuum she unleashed
in tandem with the cold hardness
of what life had dealt her.

She did what she could.

Their human hearts
craved the joyful contentment
of family love and acceptance.

Straw hats and
matching dresses at Easter.
Season pool passes.
Colorful quilts – dozens of them.
Dr. Seuss delivered each month.
Pink cupcakes with candy hearts:
kindergarten visits.

Pillars of the Earth.

She did what she could.

Undermining her own desires
time and again
always alone, uphill battles
against the bottle, work and everyone else,
always others.

When, then, for you?

With the mellowing of age, true pleasures found.
Booze finally lost its allure.
Some tea, mummy? his gentle refrain.
Shared toast with jam on winter mornings,
watching the birds and those clever squirrels.
Travels together, a great bonding.
Gratitudes, delayed and bittersweet
but heartfelt nonetheless.

Disappointments and hurts: not quite ever undone.
Hearts nearly broken at times continue to pump
their life-giving nourishments.
We are human, after all.
And so, there IS love.

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My puppy is a challenge to me
   but a joy and delight all the same
patience is not my strong suit
   I’m often coated with its antagonisms

His nips and whines, his leaps and bounds
   sweet head in my lap, those playful kisses
sometimes undo me but always
   they stoke my fires, they melt my heart

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Tallahassee is cold in March.
We didn’t come here to relax.

Ten days in a hospital bed,
his future: uncertain.

Ours too.

His memory is gone.
It’s not coming back.

She was wrong, of course.
Hardly tactful but wrong.

TV spelling bees
and a red balloon
from friends at school –
conflated memories.

On his release
we drove to the Gulf,
the magnificent ocean.

Warmer, though
not
tropical.

It is March, after all.

Crazy gulls
swoop down on us from
pale gray skies.

It feels good to laugh.

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Alone in my ’76 Mustang, glued to the infectious beat
and enticing lyrics of Radar Love,
my hand slaps the dusty red dashboard.
I am twenty years old and this is a fine summer day.

A splash of salmon atop a dark green shell
is visible a quarter mile down the road.
Turtles move slowly and this one is no exception.

A sanctuary of prairie sage marshland
lies just inches away
alongside this quiet stretch of blacktop.

I wonder
if he can reach safety
before our impending impact.

Nobility, however, gives way to a reluctant curiosity.
Accelerating, I bear down
with only the slightest hesitation,
my trajectory in perfect alignment with his asphalt 20.

A nauseating yet strangely satisfying crunch.

Continuing north, I drive toward town
to pick up a few groceries
for the upcoming 4th of July weekend.