the burning house blue
from fire not yet set,
and a man made of lonely,
cold snow adrift akimbo legs
shot down by this
hard rain life.
my vinegar mind
traced flames abandon,
no mouse remembers
the him who set no trap,
the dog running at full moon
never looking back.
no cries for the mystery of
a man robbed
even after death
as hushed embers burn to ash,
as souls recluse from
fears made of fire.
‘Twas the last time I saw you
below a December full moon,
stars glowing amid
cracks in the barn,
You, swinging
above still hay
and birds cooing.
You-
a rope twined ’round
your thick neck,
a breath no more fog
on winter nights.
Dear Granny,
I got your name in the middle of mine.
I got your piercing gaze.
I got your thick, curly, uncontrollable hair,
and I got your skills to manage it on rainy days.
I got your Bible, your soft peach neck and pearls,
and Granny, I got your fears.
I got your sweet scent in the morning,
and your blaring existence that is still not silenced in tears.
Granny, I never really got a chance to see you face to face.
I never got to hug you, and tell you that I understand,
that I’ll stand in your place.
I never got to sit and play piano for you,
or sing for you in the dusk of kitchen pain.
I never got to wear your earrings or smell your musk
in the evening after a good mountain rain.
I never got to hold your hand in church,
or console you after a hard day of canning.
I never got to show you what your love made.
But Granny,
I promise I’ll give my baby your name,
and your soft peach neck and pearls.
I’ll give her a piano and the piercing blue gaze
known on the delicate porcelain faces of Coffee girls.
I’ll give her your hands since you gave me mine,
and she’ll play music with them all of the time.
And, when she wants to give up I’ll give her your faith.
Granny, I’ll teach her why we were brought to this place.
I’m sure she’ll get our head of hair and
all of that which holds the amazement our souls bear.
I’ll give her your blaring existence that can never be silenced
even in tears,
even after all these years.
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