Wednesday, May 25, 2011


I wanted to distill
the essence of the world and
contain it in a bottle so
the sweetness,
that fades upon possession,
would never leave me.

I picked and chose
bits I deemed important and
threw away the rest.
What I didn’t know is that
the rest gives the bit its meaning.

this knowledge
springs from my being like
a shoot from a plant.

I realize that
forever requires
a gentle embrace.

-For “One Shot Wednesday” at

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


My heart is
a jewelry box-
a place where I keep
the odds and ends of
my existence.

My treasures fill the box to
overflowing, and
some adorn better than others.
I can discard none.

Each is a necessity,
a site of memory
recalling me to myself.

-For “One Shot Wednesday”

Tuesday, May 10, 2011


Your heart
has many compartments,
like those of a train.
They stretch through time.
Their contents,
your passengers,
never touch.

Their bond is
the containment that you provide
as you journey
from room to room
in a look
in a smile
for that one
who reflects
the you that you want to be.

 -For “One Shot Wednesday”

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


"They messed up his mouth."  
Momma scolds the funeral home,
under her breath,
as her hand tentatively hovers
over your closed face.

Now, your lips are thin smudges
that barely cover the teeth.
Your lips were full once.
I remember.
I used to watch them.

As a child,
I watched
as they told stories, jokes, and dreams
while we all sat at the kitchen table.
The words that came then were
more restful than sleep.

I watched too
to distract myself from
the ungodly fear that I felt
when their pursing gave way to
the clench of your fists.

You are so small,
like a child
wearing his father’s suit,
as you lie there
in the box.

Ten years before,
the suit fit you well.
I remember.
You sat at your desk
counting the days take,
pausing at intervals to
wet your finger with your tongue
to make the job easier.

With head down and
eyes focused intently
on your task,
you asked if I would be coming home
for the holidays.
I made some excuse,
a hollow one, that
made it obvious that
you would not be seeing me
that year.

Just for a moment,
you looked up.
The expression on your face was
the same one you wore
the night that
Momma fell.

I was shocked and

To my surprise,
the box holds more than
a once was,
hastily bound together with
paper, wire, and glue.

All of your wounds
have risen to the surface.

I stand,
I look, and
I can't help but wonder:
Which ones did I inflict?