When I write about family I fall into my voice. Writing the words Daughter, Father, Husband, Cousin evokes some lens of poetic truth. Intuitively I know that the entire universe can be seen through the telescope of family: my biological family, family of choice, and family of circumstance.
It’s happening. Again. The leaves are falling at alarming rates. The charm of the early red maples is expired. The fanned rake fisted with browns and yellows leans against the garage where sorting is necessary to shield the cars against the eventual winter. The color drains from three of my fingers like an oak leaf in late October — the first telling of my need for gloves.
The news blares Trump & Covid, the raptors of our psyches as we near the election. Infection rises as leaves fall — a tidy correlation. Harm’s way becomes a chronic narrative. Nothing feels…
They got a lead on the case
Well, maybe more of an angle
The U.S. had gotten mean
Mean as meat
They kept their stock close
Fed them all kinds of propaganda
Beefing them up
Like lambs to the slaughter
The Big Guys figured out everybody’s Passwords
They found their way into America
All the Antivaxxers used children’s birthdates
While the Teamsters favored lines from Willie Nelson songs
Nurses tended towards compassionate combinations
Teenagers liked fantasy and Anime characters
Farmers went for abbreviated chemical terminology
They got inside their email And their games and their work computers They…
for Johnny, Jiggs, & Claire (and for Lillian’s Mom, too)
Why do we think of flying?
The dying making their way gently
to some softer place
leaving us to flap our wings in grief
There’s a need for the goodness of angels
making room for the wild among us
brought to our knees by the process of dying
Or it could be the harps
I remember my Little Golden Book
so spellbound by The Littlest Angel
I’m sure there was a harp
and that filmy blue gossamer of grief
giving relief from the sting of death before I knew it…
Lockdown Protesters Speak Truth
Like snow melting off mountains after a harsh winter, raging streams of Lockdown Protests are swelling across our country. Where there is no luxury of enough, or enough is close to the bone, people’s lives are deteriorating. I find myself aligning with the Protestors more and more. Not the bullying, the ugliness, the confrontations with Nurses, but with the protest itself.
The privileged and educated bullhorn our science — stay home, slow the spread, buy time for vaccine development, save lives. It’s true. It’s science true. And yet we are missing something.
We the People —…
for the love of the written word. Pronouns she/her