Curls burn

leaving risks in my footsteps.

Three cheers for my unpolished stance –

I’ve gone mudding in my ancestor’s field.

It’s a dusty outward existence –

no cable

no wings

no choice.

My curls hit the earth

on crumpled daily news.

They blanket my reach with fear of public failure.

Dip a toe in the salty future

because tardy acts trail in brake lights.

Smile

with eyes that hydrate

and nervous giggles that collect in the drain.

He told his story with not even a modicum of emotion. Life had worn him down until he was numb. This support group was just the same as any other. It won’t make one little bit of difference, but yet something tells him he needs to be there. His eyes seemed to drift off as he once again outlined the low points of his illness. The room was silent as he spoke. However, one young man in the back paid close attention finding relief in a story he could relate to. The speaker did not realize his power and influence.

She arrives perched atop my hip –

messy curls and unbound giggles.

Ten little fingers

stretch to the storm,

squeezing the clouds tight.

She sings as cool rain

trickles down her arms.

She cautiously tastes the rising sun.

Burning nectar coats her throat.

In one big gulp,

she swallows the prickly truth.

Her curious brain blossoms

into a timid bluebird

soaring above the bay.

The shoreline dissolves into uncertainty –

nowhere to land.

She learns to fly even higher, faster.

Relish the chilling freedom

and feel grounded in your mother’s eyes.

Brittle bones chilled

beneath frost moon eyes –

She clings to the bed of a truck.

Sticky pebbles cling to the hungry tires –

rough road ahead.

Pink sunset flickers

through the singing leaves above.

Alfalfa fields pass by in a blur.

She tightens her grip

as her curls sail in the wind.

She’s imprisoned by a home with the biggest sky

but barely a pinprick on the map.

One day despair will grow wings

and a sheltered childhood will fuel her adventures.

She shivers in the cold

and never looks back.

She arrives perched atop my hip –

messy curls and unbound giggles.

Ten little fingers

stretch to the storm,

squeezing the clouds tight.

She sings as cool rain

trickles down her arms.

She cautiously tastes the rising sun.

Burning nectar coats her throat.

In one big gulp,

she swallows the prickly truth.

Her curious brain blossoms

into a timid bluebird

soaring above the bay.

The shoreline dissolves into uncertainty –

nowhere to land.

She learns to fly even higher, faster.

Relish the chilling freedom

and feel grounded in your mother’s eyes.

Keep it moving.

Eyes focused on not-yet-tomorrow

Lips pierced in anticipation

Headstrong when you’re at your lowest

Take on the day.

A forward-reaching smile

Illuminates their memories.

Admiration fuels

Ink scratching the to-do list.

Step it up.

Sneakers with holes

Tell a sad, tired story

That they don’t need to hear.

Let the tied-tight laces

Do the talking.

Keep it moving.

Conquer doubts.

Steal hearts and breath

For this insignificant moment

In a universe that swallows us whole.

Take it all off

Take a dip into uncertainty

Where my toes don’t touch the bottom

One more splash of cool confidence

Stars laced with freezer burn

Guide tattering fingertips

Overflowing with hope --

One more slip with fate

Rolling sweat beads

Stoke my passion’s fire

Another day at the grind

One more glimpse of glory

Taste my bounty

In the wake of goodness

I lick the spoon bare --

One more pinch of wisdom

My future footsteps

are in a vulnerable state

My destiny newly recovered

One more slap to the brain

One more look

One more doubt

One more push

One more bite

One more forgiving chance

In the quiet of the snow

tears are stiff and frozen

no longer bleeding down her face.

In the quiet of the snow

her painful secrets now exposed

and the conditions of your love revealed.

In the quiet of the snow

you left her all alone

the heavy flakes now resting on her shoulders.

In the quiet of the snow

she learns to stand on her own.

A world of warmth awaits her.

In the quiet of the snow

your tiny world caves in

weighed down by fairytales and shame.

In the quiet of the snow

her passion stokes the fire

illuminating the revolution within our reach.

I love the pickle in the cradle and the spider on the crate. They gently wipe my tears as I lay on the floor exhausted. The pickle squeaks, "Saddle up - this is a good book!" I sit upright as the spider turns the page and the words start to dance on my brain. This is the best way to tackle a Tuesday afternoon.

Summertime starts with the June snow

falling from the cottonwoods.

It tumbles through the streets

that bustle with bikes, laughter, and music.

All eyes to the skies.

Ruckus and gusty storms leave us

huddled in the basement.

They pass quickly. Carry on.

We tirelessly relish every fleeting moment of warmth.

The creeping scent of juicy burgers on the neighbor's grill

lure us in.

Pair it up with crunchy sweet corn and hot sauce.

Stay out late to savor each last kiss

of sweet sunlight-

or at least until you've surrendered to the mosquitos'

relentless song of hunger.

This short season comes to a close

with the blaring calls of the cicadas

reminding us to hunker down for the cold ahead

and eagerly await summer's return.