Patchwork Prose and Verse
I see his figure
peeking around the sage chair
looking right at me
acting non-chalant
resting briefly to lick paws
he stretches out, yawns
as if he does not
have a burning agenda
playing me a fool
his ball rests nearby
then a thump of his black tail
and a sudden pounce
an invitation
to an early-morning game
that I can’t resist
I think prayers take a
little travel time sometimes
so I pray pre-prayers
thanking the Good Lord
for His miracles I may
never know He worked
like avoided wrecks
and family protections
like health and safety
I wasn’t surprised
when my son called to tell me
his life had been spared
my morning commute
is my daily prayer chamber
no radio, news
I pray by name for
God’s will for all my loved ones
and I watch God work
Fitz
Fitz and the Vent
’twas a mystery
that the floor vent was missing
gone; vanished; not there
I asked who stole it
Who would steal a vent? he quipped
I thought we had ghosts
our dog naps on it
in the summer to stay cool
but a Schnoodle thief?
how would he take it?
it’s heavy ~ and he has no
fingers to raise it
why would he want it?
still, my husband checked the bed
it was underneath
we both scratched our heads
he retrieved the vent, replaced
it in his closet
and then we heard it
bumping against the wood floors
when we checked, we saw
Fitz’s collar tag
was caught in the metal slats
as he dragged it out
one mystery solved:
we removed his collar tags
unchained his anchor
full-body fatigue creeps in
exhaustion spirals brainward
eyelids grow heavy, eyes cross
time for bed at noon
Hallmark’s Christmas in July movies
high velocity fan, full blast
pretending there’s a blizzard
piping hot black coffee
wrapped in sofa throw
Schnoodles piled high
all of us
beating
heat
The older I get, the less I can endure the extreme heat and humidity. Give me a blizzard to handle the scorching heat! I’ve found that a good snowy Hallmark Christmas in July movie with love instead of hate, free from the problems of the world, is my ticket to a better day! Raising a mug to you – Cheers! Stay cool!
directly home after
the graveside
service of her
husband’s funeral
she pummelled
all 9 peace lilies
down the bank
into the
Flint River
they remind me of death
hurling the plants
with emphasis on
words as she flung
the polished green
leaves over the edge
me, cheering her
for their unspent
lives unlike that one
on our front porch
a funeral leftover
that will not die
yellow-brown curled
leaf fingers grasping
for life in all its
wanting to be
me, planning a trip
to the river bank
with a peace lily
At 3:54 a.m.
I felt it~
the sting itch
of a bite
on my insole
I fumbled for
the itch cream
back in bed
couldn’t sleep
4:17 I felt the
critter urgently
scrambling
Along the back
Of my shoulder
Up my neck
Behind my ear
To my hairline
Where my fingers
Found it,
Pinched all
The way to the
Sink, released it
To see a lone star
Tick scaling the basin
I turned on the water
Chased it down the
Drain, pulled the stopper
And filled the sink
But still felt the
Crawly itch as I
Lay back down
on my eyebrow,
under my armpits
in the fold of my ear
even my clavicle
itched ~
(they don’t
make
clavicle itch cream)
more goodbyes today,
this time the petals
of the yellow roses
adorning her casket
the ones I rescued from
the graveside for fear
the deer would eat them
instead bringing them
home to make potpourri
but never opening the
lid, finally pulling the
red Russell Stover
chocolate Valentine tin
from the top shelf of
the closet, opening the
lid, taking in the
faded scents of
New Year’s Eve 2015
the day of her funeral
a last day of a year
a last day of a lifetime
a day, June 13, 2024
to say goodbye to
the flowers I’ve kept
for so long
I scattered them at
the edge of the wood
where the tragedy
happened with the
squirrel so the flowers
recycled to another
farewell and will
live on in this red
clay pine tree forest
forever
a catastrophic system failure
when things don’t quite go as we’d planned,
spinning out of our control,
fall apart at the seams
come undone, collapse
unraveling
spiraling
groundward
splat
after she died
this all
become a
pet rock
relationship
a biding
of time
a hermit
in his paper
kennel
speaking
only of
those who
bid their dogs
farewell
Common Threads 