Hey!
Time taps my shoulder
then runs
ready or not,
here I come!
I never liked chasing
people
and time
is worse
people can get
caught
Ha! Ha!
Time laughs
Made ya look!
I stop,
panting
chaos in its wake
as it continues
to barrel ahead
of me
can't
catch
my
breath
About first loves, her middle school self
"She's so cute but needs a big booty,
a big booty-licious butt!"
Endless ribbons, all colors and textures
resemble tangled spaghetti
at one end of the table
buttons fill a small Mason jar nearby
today was meant for cleaning messes
not making them,
but crafting wins–at least she's off her phone
"The first person you date isn't necessarily the one you love..."
"Umm...hmm.."
I've learned
to nod in agreement
Listen
No need to comment
No need to disagree
Just listen, while draft ideas struggle
to be written
She's quiet now,
concentrating on re-stuffing a critter
she's making from unworn socks
The washing machine whirrs
through it's Saturday load of laundry
Why must weekends skip through time
in such a hurry?
She stitches the project closed,
the one with the big, booty-licious butt
"Our school has a confessions page..."
"There's this influncer..."
Laundry needs drying
We save daylight later tonight
but didn't the day just begin?
She sews
I draft
She's talking again
“Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren’t distracted by the total lack of content in your writing.”
–Randy K. Milholland
Tpyos bother me,
mostly when wen they're
my own mistake,
not anyone else's
although I do
notice them
in porfessional settings,
such as formal publications
online
in a book
an email form
someone important
I take a second look
how did it make it past
editors?
did anyone proofread?
I'm the type who usually
proofreads
most days
including fly
by the seat of
my pints
text messages
and yes,
I resend
revised messages
auto-correct
I HATE it!
Fixes words
that didn't need fixing
and changes the enteir
meaning
is there a name for that?
autocorectos
Jumping on the six word bandwagon
Are six words a cop out?
Six words are all I have
It was hard coming back today
Back to life, back to reality
I'll be fine by next week
(Yes, you're welcome for the earworm)
Where you look back
look forward
turn around
or press on?
50/50
right in the middle
red cherry Popsicle
split in half
on a hot summer day
an age proudly proclaimed
by a child
inching closer
to the next birthday
I'm ten and a half!
two quarters,
one for me,
one for you,
when one could
get you a full sized
candy bar
a marching band show
sandwiched
between two time clock
quarters
under Friday night lights
of a high school football game,
drum major
on the fifty yard line
telling the band what to do
a small town in Texas
where Mom pulls over
to let you drive
the rest of the way home
after running errands
because you don't yet have
a license
pit stops for stretching
cramped legs
letting the kids run around
four more hours until
we get to Grandma's
roads don't seem to end
in Texas
a mid-lifer
assuming one lives to 100
contemplating
what-iffing
if-only-ing
I should-ve...
Stop!
you're did what you
knew best to do
Halfway
the sweet-spot
of living
Sunday morning
communing
with pen and notebook
three pages,
one is done
she bounds downstairs
only in the way
a teenage girl
can bound
bending down
loving on the puppy
resting at my feet
like a puppy
switches her brain switches
in an instant
"Okay, hear me out,
just hear me out"
I don't know what's
coming
a feral cat hiss with
a puff of fire breathing
dragon
flames?
she continues her
philosophical and
theological
conversation
asking questions
confirming views
questioning others
"I feel closer to God...
(or is it GOD or god?)
now that I've distanced
myself
I mean,
how can someone commit
to something so
important and
life changing when
they're so young?
this is a big thing,
more important than
college
or
marriage
and we have to make this kind
of decision
when we're
young?
She steps back,
surprised I didn't
jump in
"I'm cooking!
I'M COOKING!"
Yes, yes you are
keep at it, feisty one
keep at it
My car?
a roomier version of a
purse
or backpack
Front seat holds
a stack of new books
I've got first dibs,
but only if I can't find kids
who want
to read them first
Folded windshield sunshades
(needed all year
in Texas)
stuffed between said seat
and console
where there's a stack
of empty gift cards
a prayer card
a green rosary
S. made
two years ago
a work badge
on a floral pink lanyard
On the back seat floorboard
rests a recycled grocery tote bag
full of recycled grocery tote bags
another bag still holds
black velvet flats
a blue tulle skirt
white tights
a black satin sash
black leather sneakers
and a long, blonde wig
from last month's
comic con event
Somewhere underneath
those bags
is a black drawstring backpack
donning a half marathon logo
eight years past
a rolled up yoga mat
three pairs of sunglasses
In the way back
sit three bags
of outgrown clothes
(mine)
meant for a thrift store
I pass every day
on my way home
remembering they're back there
as I pass the light
I'll drop everything off
tomorrow
March means clear blue skies popping wildflowers grass awakening from winter's slumber thick and green twittering birds gentle breezes air perfumed with blooming jasmine March means oak trees doing what oak trees do their spiky little pollen nuggets littering the ground invading my headspace tickling my throat choking me up making my nose drip drip drip postponing that evening walk
Summer Moon my favorite coffee shop oldies on loud espresso machine hisses and steams everyone's orders stair-stepped mini-bleachers hold a single to-go order because Sundays are for sitting and sipping a steaming mid-day cup on a cold, sunny spring day waiting for warm weather to pounce and stay soon warm drinks will be ordered over ice cups dripping with condensation it's noisy people catching up winding down sipping away the weekend, a week-long break, a few more hours until tomorrow where we all wake up and do it all over again, with a quick home-brewed coffee to chase the sleep away
I've perched at the end of the kitchen table in front of the back porch window facing the front door It became my desk grad school homework nonstop for three years. I nested there awaiting my possibilities adding to the space making it as cozy as one can make a kitchen table competing with family meals kids' homework craft projects during down time and breaks junk mail wine glasses coffee mugs papers waiting to be graded Time passed, yet I still perch at the end of the kitchen table in front of the back porch window facing the front door It has become my desk morning pages, three of them every day (mostly) for over four years flanked on the right with a writing cabinet wine glasses and unopened bottles of wine occupy the top shelf waiting to be sipped This morning, I changed my seat and now I perch on the long side of the kitchen table to the right of the back porch window next to my son's favorite seat, occupied only when he visits, leaving the front door behind enjoying a better view
Nerds Beget Nerds 