since high school
my parents tried
to nip it in the bud
but it couldn’t be squelched
to sleep
pretending it was you
on our first date
I knew you were
the one for me
gently squeezing
the mustard and ketchup
onto my buns
I had to fan
the flames of desire
sold your ball python
to buy me a ring
managed to squeak by
even in our poorest days
little Whipples came along
You cheered me on-
“PUSH!”
to swaddle babies
a wonderful dad
always
molding Play-Doh
squeezing fresh OJ
showing proper toothpaste dispensing
winning the
Whipple Reunion award
for best hugs
will always
be your main squeeze
I’ve got your back
Crocheted, finely fringed
Like a lampshade
Wayward, lucid bristles
Poncho-patterned wrap
Thrift store treasure
Matching velvet bowler hat
Edge-flocked faux fur
Accessory pair to turn heads
After the funeral
I gave them new life
With your favorite color – red
In his one good eye
“Nice shawl. Where’d you get that?”
Then both his eyes glisten,
Like a melting snowman,
remembering
That fateful Christmas Eve
When you spoke your last words.
My Daughter
baby girl, 7 pounds, 14 ounces
beautiful, smart, third year art student
the devil took you to the hell of
heroin, meth, and homelessness
tinted your windows with glassy eyes
tilted your world with blurred perception
traded your baby for needles and pills
through it all, your mother prayed daily
and every time the phone rang: please not the morgue, please bring her back
but a call came
an arrest – hope!
an empty shell huddled in a cell, finally broken enough, willing to try living again
a reformative 9-month womb: the Bethany House
God performed another Technicolor miracle
righted your ship, focused your lens, restored your soul
I praise Him for re-gifting you, even better than before
and pray especially for the many still lurking in the shadows
– Kim Johnson
Blessed Oblivion
travel journal
back to Covent Garden
street performer strums and sings
Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”
nine-year-old boy ten feet away
chubby Down Syndrome dancer
dances like no one’s watching
gray t-shirt, denim shorts, red Velcro sneakers, horn-rimmed glasses, blonde hair
jumps, spins, and sways,
OUT OF SYNC
immersed in the music
stealing the show
arms raised, face skewed skyward
oblivious to all else
IN SYNC
with the moment
loving life as so few do
– Kim Johnson