startled by the gathering flight
of all those black birds chatting in the trees
memories stirred of falls gone by
and the breezy dusty rustlings overhead
I looked up and remembered

some things I have collected:

a six year old girl paused in that same spot
noticing all those birds and a little afraid
of their multitude and drop dead cries
seeking comfort in lockets of my hair
and the smell of the red reindeer cap I’m wearing ~

my red-haired niece with miniature hands
inspecting something for a first time
a crumbling leaf’s texture or maybe some small stone
turning it over again and again
in curiosity with a hint of recognition ~

that first curious kiss in the space no more between
but closed now….and yet so wide open
with wanting pouring in
first tasting my I love you’s tongue
and the beginning of something hard, but worth it…

the quickening butterfly that was savannah
as I lay in bed one chilly morning
praying it wasn’t yet another dream
memorizing every small delightful thing
in that glorious autumn’s day including ~

swarming grackles laughing at me…

objects in the mirror
are closer than they appear...
or so they say when all we do
is see the fear
behind truth etched in the glass...

life's little disclaimer...

time flies by so fast
on chubby little tiptoe feet
of fleeting baby daughter's stance
you and me against the world...
keeps us spinning, tripping silly
if we only had the chance to
do it all again, would it be
oh so different...

or oh so all the same?
I wonder all the while at you?
do you think life's still a game
of circumstances
written in your mother's hand...
can you even understand what second
chances are now?
bye now....dance dance dance
as fast as you can
maybe then you'll get it

from the passenger's side?

come on sweet girl drive....
and get yourself unbusted
waiting takes so long
and tomorrow never comes now
never comes along to say
i'm sorry and really mean it....
some people aren't meant to stay


closer than they appear....

nobody sleeps anymore
have you noticed?
even those with all the right reasons
wrestle with it each and every night
unable to settle their days
their seasons….
with reason that used to make sleeping people

feel all is right with their world….

nobody sleeps…

the moon even stays out during the days now?
how odd? what she is hiding inside….
shining mostly during the hours
so late….so humbling when you’re wide
awake silently walking the floors
seeing houses stilled dark all around you
wondering if within them…wondering if
there’s someone…

someone noticing….

nobody sleeps…

not in these hours. In dormant day’s end
there’s anonymity perfected in faces illuminated
with other lives….other worlds….other
sides of selves we’d rather not show in the light
of days….so now so lucidly we may create
authentic selves without the mask …yet screened
in bits of encrypted illusion….

we ask ourselves why?

nobody sleeps?

when I am still
I can still smell
that beat-up truck
with sticky red seats
and the radio knobs that wouldn’t work
so I could fiddle with them all I wanted

driving home from school…

and when I am still
I can still smell
the mockingbird house
we visited…catawpa tree’s shed
its wiggly worms…
sun beating down on a rotten red porch

craning my head, trying to see more between the boards

when I am still
I can still smell
your working skin underneath
green broadcloth…yellow rice
steaming on the stove and cornbread
muffins just like I like…with pea-juice on them

and the taste of the alabama dirt they grew in

when I am still
I will smell
your Sunday smell…and my daughter’s
little voice telling you how sweet it is
and how sweet your are….
in her princess world ~

when I am still
I will smell
my daddy’s hugs….my father’s kiss
light on my lips
no matter where I am
growing, going…

still.

white lie,
for the man who caught my eye at the redlight

southern man…raise your head
and never-mind what your daddy said…
or didn’t say as it were?

because you’ve come this far downstream?
fleeting glance across the quick divide?
you’re right….what it all comes down to anyway ~
come sunset all we’ve got is a pen,
our gut and the truth….

and that‘s supposed to set us free…
so listen to me, or better yet hear that
defeated voice inside that turned your head my way…

am I allowed to say this?

sure I am…

emancipate yourself dammit!

don’t wait on me? it isn’t up to me anymore?
seems I can’t apologize enough
for something I’ve had no part of?
because I’m caught up in this riptide too?
and it’s all I can do to just let it carry me…

and you….

carry me carry us down home…..so deep
down sometimes that noone but you in all your darkness
pulling at your feet would or could
begin to understand the naked truth between these
layered fumbled rumbling absences

i know what my truth is….

do you?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I don't often comment on my poems but I found this young man looking at me today with such exquisite pain, that I wrote this for him?

I hope he hears me? Because we all have prisons we build for ourselves? In many ways, we're both warden and prisoner....

so free your mind brother.....and your ass will follow...