houston?

Maggie was not excited. Why were they going to Houston? What was in Houston that was not in New York?

"Your Nana and Papaw."

Whatever. They should just come here. Blah blah everyone is there. Hello?! Are they blind? New York is a way better place to spend the holidays.

"I need a break from the weather."

She didn't. This was her weather. Her coat was perfect. She had gained a few pounds and filled out that flabby belly. She looked great. Houston was just going to send her into premature spring, and then she would get back here and have to start all over and be FREEZING while her body caught up.

"The tickets have already been bought. Sorry. Maybe if you learned to clean up after yourself or do some chores, I would consider your opinion when making travel plans."

It always came back to that. Housework was so far beneath Maggie, she did not even respond. She merely walked to her litterbox and let what came out speak for her.

My cat has sass, y'all.

at the chapel

short
non-vacation
meant to do more work
didn't have time
there was
painting
face nails
fixing
hair clothes
standing in shoes not meant for standing
smiling through

still
better than being at work

I'm back from Texas. Ah weddings... I think I'm done with them. Or at least being in them.

crazy

She came down the stairs to her father lecturing her brother again on how lazy he was and how he'd never make it anywhere. Couldn't he find anything else to worry about? He never spent that kind of time on her. She was fine. Her grades were high. They (mostly) approved of her friends. Nothing to focus on. If only they would notice her. The waiting was hard. Hoping for the question to be real. "How are you?" She wanted that and feared that. It was almost a guarantee that she would fall apart then; burst like the delicate bubble she really was. It was also almost a guarantee that it would never happen, and she couldn't cry unprovoked. Not now.

"Dad, can't you find something else to do before dinner?"

They would wonder why she would leave. They would wonder why she never seemed to want to come home. She would go through an entire lifetime in the next ten years that all of this school wouldn't prepare her for. Hopefully, she would survive it. Something was there inside, knocking, begging for her attention. Not the time to look directly at it. Just a few more months of listening to it call her. It was just not something she could let out until she was gone. Too risky to let loose here.

I guess this is the sister response to this. The title is about the confusion, a personal feeling. Also, it rhymes.

lazy

He flopped his head onto the sofa cushion. His father could be so annoying. He started counting the dots on the ceiling. Then the drips on the windowsill. Then the number of times Dad said the word "lazy". Mom would call them for dinner in a minute, and it would be a 30 second wrap up of how he wasn't using his full potential. Then dinner. If he could wolf down his plate before Mom noticed enough to caution, "Slow down," he bet he could be back in his room in 20 minutes. Lock the door, turn up the music on his Ipod, and lay perfectly still. They'd leave him alone. Probably sighing their parental confusion-disappointment. Where had they gone wrong? It was when they forgot that children don't want to be their parents. At least not until they become them. They just didn't understand. Old and out of it. If they only knew what he was going through, they'd leave him alone. They didn't care though. WAY to wrapped up in their own plans for him. Dad had reached 25 lazy's. And there was Mom. He should start setting his watch to this. Here's the big finish.

"You could learn a thing or two from your sister. She has drive. She has passion. A future."

He knew that. He also knew that she was lucky. Or blessed. Everything was clear for her, only a matter of stepping on that road and keeping one foot in front of the other. If only he could have just a little bit of that. Life would be so much easier.

I wrote most of this looking at the ceiling. Mine has no dots to count.

thursday night in texas

a honkytonk beach bar dive
into the center
of brother's location
lost between dogfights
exes
trying different hims
looking for stable land
knowing again how
to see and understand
everything
i drive
enable
listen
coexist
in the outbursts
in the laughter
waiting for him
to match my him
or for mine to find
his

I love journeys, internal and external. The long one I've been on is making a wide and major turn. I hope that my own experience being lost can be a help or a light on other journeys. So this poem comes from there and from a night out with my brother.

grandmother's story

The clouds were painting perfect, nearly unbelievable and such a blessing. The woman sang as she stepped out of the shower and toweled the renegade water off her body. She called to her husband and checked the bed when no answer came. No one there. Not that it was difficult, but she was happy that he knew today was special and not to give her any grief. She dusted herself with the rose-scented powder her younger sister gave her for Christmas and put on her robe. A little breakfast and then she would make herself up and dress.

The smell of coffee, eggs and bacon filled the house outside of her room She looked in the boys’ room out of habit and headed to the kitchen. The living room added another smell. Where those pancakes? Yes, definitely pancakes, her favorite.

Honey, I am never going to fit into my clothes after eating all this.

He whirled around beaming, already dressed for the day. Good morning! An extended and surprising kiss. You’ll look wonderful no matter what. Gotta have a good start to today, right? Plus I made it special. Please?

Okay, dear. She reached for the coffee mug cabinet door.

Uh uh uh. Sit down.

But…

I would like to serve you this morning. He gently scooted her to the table, pulled out the chair, placed the napkin in her lap, and began caricaturing a snooty waiter.
And what would the mademoiselle have this morning?

Her guffaws snorted.

If the lady wishes, our special today is a plate of eggs, bacon and pancakes and comes with a piping hot mug of our finest Folgers coffee.

She snickered, I’ll have that.

Yes, madam.

Once the plates were set and the coffee poured, he looked at her and asked, Will you do the honors?

They bowed their heads, and she blessed the food to the nourishment of their bodies and sent thanks for their healthy children and granddaughters.

Are you nervous?

I’m trying not to be. It’s not like there is any going back now. Once I’m up there, I should be fine, right? It can’t be that much harder than singing?

You’ll be wonderful.

This was the right decision? I’m not making a fool of myself? Or you or the family?
We’ve always followed where the Lord leads. I wouldn’t doubt it now.

Yes. It’s just not what I expected of life.

No.

The meal finished in thought. He cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. She made up her face and dressed in the new dress she bought for the occasion. Sensible, comfortable and lovely, it gave her a shot of confidence.

Bobby, we need to get going soon. I don’t want to rush you, but we shouldn’t be late.

I’m almost ready. Just need to slip on my shoes. Can you grab my purse?

Already done.

She walked out the front door and was surprised by a flood of cheering. All of her children, their spouses and her three (so far) grandchildren stood in the driveway wearing their Sunday best. Her oldest walked up with a corsage.

We are so proud of you, Mama. I’m so glad my girls and my niece will have you as a role model. We are very lucky.

He pinned the corsage to her dress.

Speeeeeeech!
Speech!
Speech!!
Speech speech speech speech speech speech speech.

She waved them silent. Y’all are gonna ruin my make-up. Now, I already have one speech to give today. I think two is pushing it. So let’s just all pile in our cars and head over to the church before I get cold feet about this whole thing.

Mom, you’ll be great.

The familiar drive to the chapel calmed her. This place had always been her true home; she didn’t need to fear these people. They may disagree with her, but they would love her. Somehow, though, the possibility of disagreement terrified her. She kept repeating that this is home; Christ’s love is here; I won’t be rejected. The images of people rushing for the door though still came. Her heart had never beaten so quickly. Ed finally pulled into the parking lot and beelined for the space beside the front door. It was still early but a few people had gathered outside. Bobby tried to read their thoughts when they looked at her, but nothing.

~~~

An hour later she sat upon the stage, looking out over rows and rows of full pews. The air conditioning was working but sweat beaded up and made her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. The song was nearly over and then it would be time. She closed her eyes and sent a small prayer for strength up to heaven, inhaled, walked up to the lectern and exhaled.

Well, it nice to see so many faces this morning. I hope that I won’t disappoint.
She bowed her head. Heavenly Father, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts and minds be acceptable in your sight, oh Lord.

Good morning. I’d like to start today with a short passage. Ruth, Chapter 1, Verses 16 through 17. “But Ruth replied, ‘Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.” When I was married, if we had decided on vows other than the traditional ones, this passage would have been mine. Every time I read it, I get the shivers – the good kind. I come now to you, my friends, with this promise, this vow to you. I stand here a new pastor, recently ordained and given this church, which has been my home for over thirty years. Never have we had a woman at the pulpit, and I know change is difficult especially when souls and the light of Christ are at stake. Many, perhaps most, of you are worried. I am worried too, and no one can be more surprised than I am standing here. If another woman had stood before me, claiming the light of Christ, I am not sure that I would not have rejected her. Change is hard. But I have given my life to the Lord and where He leads, I can but only follow. Brothers and sisters, the Lord sent me to seminary, and then He sent me here. I must stand here before you and ask for your acceptance Ask that you welcome me as the new shepherd of this precious flock.

Perhaps being led by a woman is distasteful to some of you. Maybe you think that I could never hold that kind of power or don’t have the ability to lead. I cannot promise you that I am ready, or that I can lead, because I cannot be these things or do these things without you. A good shepherd must know how to balance the sheep’s knowledge with his own. A good parent will have dreams and plans for each of his or her children. As those tiny babies grow up, their dreams and plans must be honored. We give them our wisdom, our lessons, our love – whether or not they want it. We let their journey change the dreams we have for them. This is what I offer to you. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.” Let us pray.

This is the continuation of this story. I don't know that it's finished (meaning fully fleshed out). There are a few edits from that first post.
My grandmother has always been a faithful and religious person. She was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and I'm writing this as sort of card to her. I don't think she ever considered becoming a minister, so I've decided to imagine it for her.

better than reality

A

So my grandmother is in the family way.

B

Wait. What?

A

She’s preggers.

B

Seriously?

A

Yeah. She decided that she finally had reached an age where she had enough experience and wisdom to really know how to raise a child.

B

But she’s. How old is she?

A

In her 70s. 78 I think.

B

How...

A

In vitro. It kind of experimental and she had to go out of the country to do it. But she loves to travel and hadn’t been to southern mexico. So you know, she went. And when she got back, well, I already told you.

B

Your grandmother… seriously. That’s ridiculous. There is no way a woman her age...

A

Hey. I think my grandma is the best person to know what her body can and cannot handle.

B

But she won't live long enough to really raise the kid.

A

You don’t know that. She could be vibrant and viable until she’s 120. Maybe this kid is the thing to keep her young at heart.

B

She should have grandchildren to do that. Or great-grandchildren.

A

Dude. I’m not ready to have a kid. She’s always been one to take initiative when she wants something. I proud of her really.

B

You’re going to have an uncle-

A

Or an aunt! Why do you default to male?

B

Whatever. You are going to have a … Your mom is going to have a sibling nearly thirty years younger than her own kid.

A

Weirder things have happened.

B

Name one.

A

UFO abductions! People claim those all the time. My grandmother’s child is at least real.

B

And still viable for front page tabloid.

A

Which is so cool. She said I could pose with her when they come to take the pictures. I’m hoping that Oprah doesn’t hear about this before Weekly World News! That’d just ruin everything.

B

You need your head examined.

A

Why? Is something wrong with it?

B

You think your 78 year old grandmother having a baby is a great opportunity to get on the front page of a publication that no one believes. Yeah. Something is definitely wrong.

A

Well, if it becomes something legit, I won’t be one of the few people in on the joke.

B

I still can’t believe that she’s actually pregnant.

A

That’s probably good.

B

What?

A

That you don’t believe it. Because it’s not true. She’s not pregnant. She has Alzheimer’s. My mom thinks I’m not handling it well, but I think I’m doing okay.

B

No. You need help. That’s was totally fucked. Why would you do that?

A

There are so many better stories to add to her life than the real one. I just want her end to be as fantastic as I know she could have dreamed it up.

B

But don’t fuck with people like that.

A

It doesn’t really work if you don’t.

B

I … You are messed up. I gotta go. Call me when you can act like a human being.

A

Understandable. Still, I could have been in grocery lines everywhere!

One of grandmother's was diagnosed this week. I may expand on this scene, but I'm thinking next week might be stories of her and for that are better than reality.

seasonal poems

spring

I shed three teardrops on the dead earth
A tree blooms
Grey fades and parts its curtain
Vibrance
Unlocked: it is the world
Barefoot leaps across the wild plain
Drumbeats and heartbeats
Full breath, full sigh
I live again


summer

Pregnant trees and dark, deep oceans
Yellow sun burns
Floating out past the day
Caressed
The senses unlocked and mad with sensation
I am infinite.


fall

Brown, red, and gold
delicately float on the breeze
Balance precariously on my
head, shoulder, foot
The gentlest movement
continues the journey down
Crumpled siblings reunite
underfoot
I dance to their song


winter

My head a grey of snow
Dormant trees tap at my door
Their long fingers
Begging away the cold
I hide beneath the blankets

I wrote these for my family. They were going to be Christmas gifts. I was going to take pictures of each season in New York and make a collage with the poem in a frame or shadowbox. Time got away from me that year, and they all ended up with books.

excerpt from conversations with myself in the form of my mother

1

Maybe I drink so much because I have to force so many things about myself down, hide them. We don't want the neighbors to see. God forbid I'm not perfect. God forbid I'm human.

2

That's right. Of course it's my fault. Couldn't be your fear of looking eye to eye with the mirror. Definitely not. You've never been afraid of being brutally honest with yourself. So obviously it's me.

1

You can't handle me - who I am.

2

And you can't handle that I can't handle it.

1 or 2
(whoever earns it or however best it works for a production)

I can't I need you to be the image of you. I need you to rage against, to push, to love, and to fear losing above all others. If you morph or change or just shift outside of what I see as your path, I'll lose this force and guide and I , what if I don't like you or can't love you? What if I can? I could lose myself in your change. I could lose you. I have no idea if I'm brave enough either way.

2

Button's undone.

1

Dammit. I knew this shirt was too small. Do you have a safety pin?

2

No. I may have a paper clip though. No, just a bobby pin.

1

Think it'll work?

2

Maybe. Let's see. You're wearing an undershirt.

1

Yes.

2

Just unbutton the top and wear it open.

1

I can't do that.

2

Why not?

1

It has a stain on the boob. (pause) I don't like this.

2

Well, I like having you home.

1

I know. It's just so confining.

2

You can relax and not have to worry so much. Take some time and reset or something like that.

1

It feels like failure.

2

It does not.

1

It does.

2

Please. It's not failure, just a respite.

1

It's failure.

2

You are not a failure.

1

Please.

2

You are not a failure.

1

How could you possibly understand?

2

You are not a failure.

1

You have to say that. And why not? What isn't failure about this? does it look like I've accomplished anything? I've run away. Tucked my tail and fled. I let myself be defeated.

2

If you've been defeated, then you are a failure.

1

Jesus. That's helpful.

2

Well. Are you done? Actually totally and completely given up forever more? Are you?

1

I don't know.

2

Everything's in such stark contrast right now. Success, failure. It's not the question. I think you need time to ... I don't know. Heal, maybe? Think? Something. You just need need time without worry and stress. I can give that to you. I can't solve this for you, but I can give you that. So, either decide to take that time or decide to abandon everything and move on.

1

I wish I knew...

If you can't tell, I write a lot when working out the current crazy living in my head. Saves on the therapy bills (sometimes).