Patchwork Prose and Verse
Not Yet 3
In the haunted jewelry box
where the wedding gift necklace
of trinity gold
from my loving groom
once hung sentimentally
from its top gold door hook
cherished as a loving memory
worn to remember, to celebrate
the day we wed
there is a story
that cannot yet be told
Not Yet 2
In the haunted jewelry box
where the diamond tennis bracelet
with the extra security clasp
(an ironic twist of a feature
in so many ways)
once lay beautifully in its
pillowy pink velvet section
to be given to our only granddaughter
on her wedding day
there is a story to tell
that cannot yet be told
Not Yet
In the haunted jewelry box
where the Gold nugget necklace
from a trip to Alaska
once hung on a hook
to be given to the daughter
who in fifth grade took that trip
when her dad bought the
sparkling chunk for me
before our divorce her senior year
there is a story to tell
that cannot yet be told
Thumb-cutting Butterflies
not a good idea
thumb-cutting butterflies
on panty waistlines
Jessica Simpson
needs to redesign these things ~
*downright dangerous*
have girls told doctors
“I pulled up my panties and
that’s how this happened?”
I ask because I
need inside left thumb stitches~
but too embarrassed!
Doors
she wasn’t sober
enough to go through detox
to start her journey
to a better life
so she’ll try again today
each moment a step
The Steal
she was a collector
of things
married to a
collector of things
and knew values
she’d known strategy
for rushing in
to an antique sale when
the doors opened ~
he went left, she right
like Black Friday
shoppers rushing
for a golden egg
stories upon stories
of wheel-and-deal steals:
“I got it!” she’d said
about that golden glass lantern
that never
actually got wired
to the house
“You should have seen
her,” Dad said, smiling
with that amusing pride
that even preacher husbands
have for their wives
when they act a little
bit badass,
“when she cherry-picked
the first edition books
blocking a nemesis
shopper with a lead glass
bookcase door”
“I got ‘em!” she’d announced
across the crowded room
so in her golden years
when she got sick
and lost her mind
she didn’t lose her
prowess ~
it remained her
engrained
modus operandi
even at Christmas
when Dad held his own
version of a novelty
white elephant gift swap
for the family to ‘fight” over
the out-of-circulation
Golden Isles of Georgia
jigsaw puzzle or a scarf
from China while
avoiding the duds
like that animal
balloon twisting kit
for beginners
he brought out an eclectic assortment
of wrapped novelties
from their home museum
and set them around the tree
like pre-passing
inheritances ~
gold in the hands of
anyone lucky enough
to own them
my son’s new wife
one of those unassuming
natural beauties
who has never figured
out how gorgeous she is
inside and out
unwrapped the puzzle
everyone secretly coveted –
an exact replica of the same
boxed edition
I’d unwrapped a year ago
and put together
piece by piece
with the family
I’d treasured the experience
with so many hands together
in what I knew would be
mom’s remaining time
that I’d glued and framed it
as if it were one big group hug
forever preserved in time
and as we all rode the wave
of Christmas joy
that the puzzle
had landed right where we’d hoped,
Mom
in her greatest-ever steal of the day
invoked the first-opener option
to swap her gift
she rose from her chair
and in a final twist
of a wheel-and-deal steal
exchanged her balloon kit
for the puzzle
as the air left the room
and a roomful of teary eyes
found the floor
“I got it!” she triumphed,
turning slowly back to her chair,
puzzle raised feebly in the hand
of a weak, shaking arm
Time to Rise
Tucked in our bedsheets
Weighted blanket keeps us warm
Heavy rain outdoors
Let us stay in bed!
It’s too cold to go to work
Let’s sleep in instead…..
Family Peace in a Peppermint Shake
We can’t decide where to go
for dinner, again,
but with Krystal the looming threat
we need hope.
We actually need a lot more than
hope, to be truthful.
We need peace.
The matriarch died in February
after a yearlong battle with
brain cancer
so the sons take their dad
for Tuesday night dinner
every week.
But their sister will not be there –
the one who
who took control of decisions
and didn’t understand they could not
quit their jobs to do all she did
and wanted comfort measures
for a mother who wailed in pain
every day in her corner chair
the one who stopped our food offerings, more worried about diabetes in the midst of stage 4
than the love in a bowl
the one who still refused Hospice
long after it was
so desperately needed
and the stone cold silence began
then the fracture was out on display
like a shattered crystal goblet
as family clusters stood in
different corners at visitation
dishonoring all she stood for
making a mockery of her servant spirit
and then came the uninvite
persuaded by this sister
from the wedding
of her son – a nephew these uncles
had loved all his life
a final earthshaking door slam
and deadbolt as
Pat’s children – her family-
were cut off, cut out, done
and the legacy of a mother who’d
loved each of her children
seared into ashes
are there tears in Heaven?
is there peace for a father
whose heart is torn apart with
these choices
that led to separate meals
even on holidays?
Tonight, maybe –
maybe peace will be found
in conversations, laughter,
stories of fun family memories
around a table in a Chick-fil-A,
in all the little smashed pieces of
chocolate covered candy cane
at the bottom
of a peppermint shake
No-Write Zone
Early morning no-write zone
One flanking my shoulders like a fringed white warming shawl
One wedged between my hip and the chair arm like a taco sprouting a scratch-begging paw
One throwing his head back, nose to ceiling, barking “arooo-arooo” (throw, throw the ball, Mom) until I do
Early morning no-write zone
Christmas Centerpiece Haiku
Christmas centerpiece
Beatrice, Patrice, Sally
angels Ansley named
Stand facing outward
in a back-to-back circle
gracing our table
Hold heart, harp, her hands
Heavenly haloish hair
Heralding Him: Hark!
Purchased at Pier 1
2004ish, perhaps?
Hilton Head Island
Chocolate Sally
Blueberry blue Beatrice
Vanilla Patrice
But the best part is
Hearing Ansley say their names
Every Christmas
Common Threads 