Joe and Lenny

A Jolt and a Jam

Friday mornings
are meant for
Lenny Kravitz tunes
and a good cup
of java. A
steamy, creamy
cup of joe and
Lenny's retro
rockers get me
bobbin' my head,
tappin' my feet and
sippin' to the beat.

Family Math

At one time,
the five of us
lived in one house.
Over the years,
one house
has turned into
five homes.
Now, a couple
of times a year,
we are all under
the same roof.

(Noisy people don't)

Noisy people don't
belong at state natural
areas. Quiet!

Workshop 'til You Drop

This weekend, I will attend an all-day writing workshop led by the "godfather" of creative nonfiction, Lee Gutkind (pictured above).

Last Minute Invitation Turned Inspiration

Today I attended a talk by fiction writer Michael Snyder entitled, "How I Got Published," where I received a free copy of his first novel, My Name Is Russell Fink. To learn more about Snyder and his work, please visit his Web site.

(provokes a smile)

provokes a smile:
empty ketchup bottle fart
at the church picnic

Unglued

Yesterday I repaired
the bracelet you bought
for my 30th birthday
with super glue.
That icy February day
seems light years away
from today's August steam.
If only our estrangement
could be resolved as easily.

Burgers and Blankets

After we finished our burgers and iced tea,
we stretched out on the floor with blankets
for a Fourth of July nap
in the comfort of family;
in the warmth of sisterhood;
safe within the unspokenness of knowing.

Modern (In)conveniences

There's nothing like waking up
to the sound of the neighbor's
car panic button. I have yet to
use the red button for actual
safety purposes, but I have
managed to inadvertently
squeeze the screaming
siren a handful of times
over the past year. I'm
sure the neighbors in our
tightly packed subdivision
have appreciated being
shocked awake at 8:15 a.m.
I cringe as I imagine my
unintentional interruption honking
its way into my neighbors’
peaceful mornings -- lipstick
lines veering north to a nostril
or a hammer hitting a hand
instead of a nail at the sound
of the unexpected warning bell.
Somehow the peace of mind
that the panic button promises
to provide me cost my neighbors
their peace of mind.

(two police cars on)

two police cars on
the side of the interstate
like beetles courting

Sounding Off Southern Style

We talk with exaggerated
southern accents for fun –
even though Tennesseans
consider us “Yankees.”
Sometimes when I’m on the
phone with my dad, mom, sisters
or friends, I get concerned that
someone may hear me and think
that I actually do sound like that.
The fear suddenly intensified
when I moved south of the
Mason-Dixon Line.

parking

two police cars
on the shoulder of the interstate
side by side
with lights flashing
like two lightning bugs
in love

(living the life)

living the life:
shaving my legs to the new
Coldplay album

morning tea

like the allegiance of a faithful friend
like the familiar hand of a lover
like the loyalty of a family pet

Support the next generation of poets!

Loud and Unclear

Her voice was unnecessarily
loud and obnoxious -- making
it hard to concentrate on the
book about nonreligious
thoughts on Christian spirituality
that I was reading in
the salon chair next to her.

Why is she talking so loudly,
I wondered to myself, irritated
that I was re-reading the same
paragraph for the fifth time.
Does she have any idea how
annoying she sounds, I thought,
noting that her stylist seemed
to be put off, as well -- assumedly
speaking only once in a while
to preserve her own sanity.

Before I did anything I would
immediately regret, I checked
myself. Why was I so perturbed?
It wasn't time for PMS and it hadn't
been long since my last meal.

Suddenly, it hit me like a hummingbird
plowing into a glass door.
She was insecure, I reasoned,
and unable to rest in silence, let
alone enjoy it. She had to fill
every moment with some sort of
blabber -- followed by nervous
laughter and a new batch of jabber.

She doesn't like herself, I
suspected. Has she ever
felt cherished and celebrated?
Does know that she was
created to be captivating
and valuable, even irreplaceable;
who is going to tell her the truth
about who she is meant to be?

I watched her hair dresser
finish her cut, then blow dry and
style the woman's strawberry
blonde hair out of the corner of
my eye, and noticed when she
walked toward the front
counter to pay her bill.

I felt as helpless as a hostage
in my chair. How could I
make a difference in an
absolute stranger's life?
I said a quick prayer, asking
God to bring someone into
her life to love and help her,
and went back to my book.

It was clear to me that she
needed to hear the truth, but
unclear as to how it would happen.
Part of me wanted to take off after
her in my salon frock and aluminum-
foiled hair to talk with her. The
other side of me felt like I do when
I see starving children from
Africa on TV -- hurting for them
but frozen in another land.

(Office breakroom zoo)

Office breakroom zoo --
is the workload so bad that
we seek solace there?

Ink on Ink

I have a problem
marking in a poetry book.
I can use a pencil, mind you,
to underline, applaud or question
a passage, line or word in a book
of poetry all day long. But I have
some kind of curious aversion
to doing so in ink – as if adding
my ink on the page would
somehow dishonor the existing
print on the page.
Stranger still, I have no problem
using a pen in a work of fiction
or nonfiction. But
a collection of poems
somehow commands a sort of
respect, a sacred care,
a reverent response – like
a sunset or the miracle of birth.

If Melody Is Nourishment, Harmony Is Healing

Do you ever wish you could
drink music – first in soft sips,
then steady swallows, and,
at times, greedy gulps?

I need consistent installments –
like doses of medicine
carefully measured out
by the hours, days, and
weeks of the month.

It moves me like the
majesty of a mountain,
the splendor of a sunrise,
the openness of an ocean;
like the moment you know
that you're home.

(By the time you finally)

By the time you finally
understand your job,
you no longer want it.