Archive | June 2017

GOODNESS GRACIOUS

Great ball of fire

climbing to the East

with miles of enflamed

striated clouds embracing it.

 

FLEDGLINGS

What privileged robins live in my back yard…

racing through the sprinkler, barely giving me any notice…

but WHO, may I ask, tipped over the big blue pot under the umbrella?

Hmm?

Emil Catt, was it you?

HERE’S TO THE DAD

PLAYING TIJUANA BRASS AS LOUDLY AS I CAN

IN HONOR OF OUR SOMETIMES CROSS-EYED, LONG GONE OL’ MAN

HERE’S TO THE “HARKS!” THE OCCASIONAL EYAH,

ALL THE LOVELY FLOWERS FROM HAWAI-YAH

CHEAP RED WINE; FRESH, HOT BREAD

ARM WRESTLING NIGHTS WITH STEVE AND WITH TED

WINNING KITES MADE WITH BOB

SLURPY DINNERS WITH CORN ON THE COB

ERIC ON HIS SHOULDERS AS THEY “WALKED THE RANCH,”

LOUD, LOUD MUSIC THAT MADE US ALL DANCE

LOUD GUITAR STRUMMIN’,

MOM ALWAYS HUMMIN’

TOUGH AS NUTS, BUT A SOFT OL’ TOUCH

WE COULD MAKE HIM MAD, BUT NOT TOO MUCH

AS ONE OF HIS GIRLS, ROX, MAG, RUTH

I’LL TELL YOU THE TRUTH

HE WAS PRETTY DAMNED COOL

SOMETIMES ACTED THE FOOL

BUT ONLY TO GET US TO STOP OUR MOPING

I’M SURE WE BECAME THE PEOPLE FOR WHICH MOM AND HE WERE HOPING

SO IT’S ALL GOOD

LET’S SHARE SOME GOOD FOOD

AND A LAUGH OR TOO

AND RAISE A GLASS OF HOMBRE

THAT’S IT

I’M DONE…

MIDNIGHT MASS ON WALKER

 

 

Howling wind strafed the runway, rang the steeple bells, edged into every crease in the glass filled every nose and eyelash with grit. We stood to sing, knelt to pray, and pounded our breasts when the communion bells rang.  How our heads ached.

Santa came while we were out.

50 word story  6/16/17

 

 

 

 

HOT SUN DAY

Emil Catt staring at the hole in the wall;
mesmerized by the possible appearance of a bunny;
bombarded by an angry mama bluebird,
which makes no bones about claiming the crusts of bread
I tossed out beneath the apple tree on my little hill.
Emil does not want your crust of bread, Mama…
He wants rabbit for dinner.
6/7/17

SATURDAY, EARLY

This morning,

early,

before the traffic…

before even the neighborhood dogs were out snuffling in their yards,

I hit the open space…

all the birds were in diversionary action mode…

robins, running ahead of me, away from their nests…

red finches flitting from tall grass to tall grass…

no coyotes, though, too late in the morning for them, I imagine. The sun had been up at least half an hour.

The grass in the gulch is not yet high enough to mow;

the willows promise to be full and greedy all summer long…

cattails just greening up…

and Emil Catt has begun a new habit of slurping his morning drink of water from the day lilies, coming back into the house soaking wet, and leaving paw prints on the new wood floor in the kitchen…

and now it’s 8:15

so the day’s work must begin

the luxury of a slow morning

packed up until tomorrow…

6/3/17