Friday, April 26, 2013

A Papa

My dad's birthday was this week.  I have honored that date with a piece of writing every year - until this one.  Things with my mom just too time-consuming to do more than think and wave at this annual tradition. 

So I'm a few days late.  Which sucks.  Part of the energy of this ritual is doing it on a particular day.  Sitting.  Being quiet.  Maybe lighting a candle.  Waiting for him to come in and say hi.  After 29 years of this particular ritual none of the dressing is required anymore.  He is always there if and when I need him.  I do need him, more now than ever.  And I have never been so glad to have him near as I am this year. 

So we didn't do the ritual.  Neither of us minded to awfully much.  He still came in and spent some time with me while I was sleeping.

Untitled.

He walks in
Calls me Jane

I stop and think
is that me?

Decide it is not
and move on
a person in search of
a name

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Lace Patterns

She fingers my hair
tells me wistfully
"It's getting so long"
in the hopes I will let it continue.

Somehow that one sentence
makes me want to grab the shears
leave it in ragged clumps on the floor
ruffle what remains with my fingertips

But for the fact that
     I have done this before
     She has done this before

We have done this before
this old pattern

One laced with what I should be
what I should look like
how I should have long hair

The other, open rebellion
me choosing career
me eschewing makeup
and me leaving my hair to be what it is

I don't rush to that place of against
not this time
Instead I feel how she loves me
below the tired pattern
and simply reply "Thanks."

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Taken (A Sunday Kind of Small Stone)

The kettle moves to boil
a mournful sound escapes the spout
and I am transported
to a beach house in Alabama
where a deep channel marker
in Mobile Sound echoes the same note.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Small Stone 4.4.13

Somedays there's nothing for it
but to vomit up the shit
and hope for better doings tomorrow.

Mean Girls Are Never Pretty

Mom's sojourn in Memory Care ended when she could no longer stand and became what they term a 2-assist.  She transitioned to Skilled C...