Slice of Sadness: Raw Truths

sometimes I suppress memory

sorrow, disgust, guilt, misgivings

I should probably take more

action on like those

twin mattresses we delivered

to that young single mother of

five dirty children in a photo we saw

in all the mess

and a filthy home last week,

mattresses practically new

we no longer needed, so I listed them

on Facebook Marketplace for cheap

the young mother didn’t have a person

or a way to get them so we delivered

them, left them on the

wheelchair ramp to her mobile home

sat in silence for a few moments staring

at the dump of the place, the broken

chairs and table, the dilapidated pet

cage (minus a pet, thank God),

plastic bags of strewn clothing,

home tattoo kit in a bag with needles,

smashed toys, headless dolls, trash

shattered bottles, crushed cans,

upturned cooler, bricks, dishes, wet papers,

random things everywhere destroyed

by rain and weather and wondered

(tried not to judge but it was impossible)

then a man came out with a bike helmet

and we asked if he was the boyfriend

meeting us to receive the beds

and in an offended tone told us no way

he was only there to fix a leak

with force like we’d slapped him

so we left them there in all the filth

right by a trash heap and wondered

whether to call DFACS or mind our

own business (remembering: I’m mandated

even outside of my own county, I’m

mandated as a human being for

reporting deplorable conditions)

I know they’re inanimate objects

my husband turned to me

confessing a hard truth

as we backed out of the parking space

but I almost feel sorry for the mattresses

I swallowed hard and admitted:

I keep telling myself that there

are five children who need a place

to sleep and these may be the

only clean beds they’ll ever see

(and maybe the only beds at all)

sobered by the experience

of this hardship case

rattled to the core, speechless,

we drove 23 miles back to clean

trying to forget all we’d seen

wondering if we owned enough soap

but still asking: did we do the right thing?

should we return with groceries,

does she have services in place?

because tears do not cure hunger

tears do not clothe children

no, crying doesn’t change a thing

I can only show snippets of photographs – someone else left some bed frames to go with our mattresses.

Note: we only saw photographs, not the actual children.

Birthday Cake Breakfast Haiku

my favorite cake

Publix buttercream-frosted

sliced birthday breakfast!

Today is my birthday, and already it has started better than I’d expected! I awoke to a birthday song recording from a member of my writing group and birthday cake on the counter. I’ve spent quiet time writing and watching birds, and the dogs are snuggled, fast asleep, next to me. The best part? I have no looming deadlines or plans today. I can write, I can read, I can drink coffee and eat cake and enjoy the day off here way back in the woods at home.

What’s better than that for a birthday?

Perhaps this is the best day of all to say thank you to YOU if you are reading this blog post. I experience life more richly when I can write about it and share the stories with those who read about it. Thank you, friends, for all the joys of another journey around the sun!

Fitz’s CUPS

We learned a couple of years ago that our more-Schnauzery-miniature-Schnoodle, Fitz, has Chronic Ulcerative Paradental Stomatitis (CUPS), a painful condition in which the plaque builds up on his teeth and causes painful mouth ulcers. We knew something was wrong when my sweet lap dog who was never anywhere else took to the underbed and began whining odd-sounding noises. It prompted a vet visit, which turned up the diagnosis.

We have to have his teeth cleaned regularly, and with each cleaning we have had to return for extractions to alleviate his condition by removing teeth. He’s down to practically goat status, and after eleven teeth the first time, 8 teeth the second time, and now a projected additional 8 teeth, I’m inclined to go ahead with extracting all of them and resort to soft foods just to end his pain once and for all and give him some quality days in his senior years. There’ll be enough other aging crap to suffer, so this will put the skids on one condition.

This is the downside of rescuing a dog in poor health (Fitz came to us with a severely broken leg, among other things), but it’s also the upside. I ask myself: if not us, then who?

We may not be able to love every needed rescue and save them all, but we can make a difference for this one.

And that matters. If you’re teetering on the verge of rescuing an aging dog, do it! Even though an aging dog sometimes costs a small fortune, the return is love as they gaze into your eyes and wish they could talk to tell you how much they appreciate all you do for them – – – and what’s more valuable than that?

our dog has few top teeth in his mouth

now after a cleaning we learn

he needs more tooth extractions

we need a Go Fund Me

to afford Fitzie

but there is no

price on love…..

he’s our

boy

Sunday Morning Donuts Nonet

they like their mini donut breakfasts

it’s what happens on Sundays here

pre First-Baptist-of-You-Tube

sitting at their dad’s feet

waiting on a bite

patient Schnoodles

best-behavied

time of

all

Great Granny’s Caramel Cake

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com

my great granny Lena

made a caramel layer cake

second to none

back in the 1930s

between the Great Depression

and the sugar rationing years

teaching her daughters

the fine art of baking

just the way to moisten

the flour

just the way to bake

to touch

just the way to cook

the caramel sauce

not staying true

to any recipe, just

baking from the

knowing

baking from the heart

the way it tastes best

downtown,

a young man

“helps” an old lady across the

street when she

doesn’t want to go

still, emails come

offering to

pound cakes into molds

like this

the kind of store-bought

cake no one raves

about ever:

We are prepared

to support leaders

with individualized

coaching to positively

impact their school districts. 

We have assembled

some of the best professionals

throughout the state to serve

as executive coaches.

We have made it a top priority

to provide this

performance-based l

leadership to inspire

leaders to “GROW” and achieve

maximum impact

my granny Lena knew the art

of a thing could not

underpower

the science of a thing

because frosting-forcing

falls miserably ~ implodes

like a cake that might

have been delicious

In Places Loved Nonet

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

today I loaded my car with books

first editions, autographed names

I’m holding on no longer

to these inked hostages ~

those sentiments are

not mine; nor those

memories ~

I’ve let

go

of

housing

what should live

in places loved

where their worth is not

measured in value of

possible return or in

collectors’ satisfaction but

in what’s inside ~ their words and message

Slice of Life and Open Write June Day 4 with Anna Roseboro

My writing groups converge today – Slice of Life Challenge writers and Open Write writers take joy on days when we get to see all of our fellow writers on the same day when the stars align. I’m so grateful for these groups of writers who are positive people, inspiring others to write. I also joined The Stafford Challenge in January, and we are around Day 160 of writing a poem every day for one entire year – so we’re close to the middle mark. Where would I be without my writing family? I don’t want to know.

Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 4 of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us today to write reflection/projection poems, using synonyms for those words by looking forward and looking back. You can read her full prompt here. Today I have a working retreat before going off contract for three weeks over the summer, so I’ll be doing a lot of this today. I wrote a nonet, a nine-line poem with line-numbered syllables on each line in descending order.

Slice of Life writers are bloggers who share our posts and something about the moments of our lives. We write every day during March and all through the year on Tuesdays. You can find the home page at www.twowritingteachers.org to learn more. Today’s Slicing prompt is thinking about what inspires us to write on the early days of summer. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m almost there…….

Photo by Athena Sandrini on Pexels.com

Almost There

glancing backward to focus forward

setting the sails on this boat

checking wind direction

untying the ropes

feeling the breeze

smiling now

almost

there

Mosaic

Ollie is upside-down

in the olive chair

chasing rabbits in

his sleep in the quiet

morning whirr of

the fan, coffee

steam rising from

my cup, Boo Radley

curled around my neck

like a fur-fringed coat

on the back of my chair,

Fitz hiding out under

the bed again

while I consider all

the fine porcelain

plates, these

place settings of past

destined to become

somebody’s mosaic

art piece of the

future

A Flickering

Photo by Anett Szekeres on Pexels.com

at 4:37 I heard

scrambling of paw

on wood floor

ticky-toe hurried

steps toward

the bedroom door

next the whining,

different from normal

pleas, like someone

stepping full weight

on my Boo Radley

then a return to

the bed, where he

turned in circles

bumping us with

his body to wake

us up, then lay

between our heads

trembling

panting

as if there were

a ghost.

I took them out,

all three,

in the light balmy

mist of the

pitch black

Georgia backwoods

starry skies

thought of the bits

of squirrel tail

over near the tree

line where violent

death hung in the

recent air

we came back

inside, and I turned

off the light to return

to bed.

A flicker after the

switch-off, and I

knew.

Hello, Mom!

Visual Vexations

Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com

Visual Vexations

my brother and I

wonder still: were

Mom’s Lewy Body Dementia

confusions visual

distortions or hallucinations?

She saw a little boy in an

orange shirt sitting all alone

at the storefront and worried

about his safety.

We saw a pumpkin.

She saw strange men with

bunches of bananas

under the carport.

We saw family members

building her a wheelchair

ramp with Dewalt power tools.

She heard voices playing

tricks on her. We heard

branches scratching

the shutters in the wind.

Still, we wonder what she

would see now.

Would she know we are

her children, making our

way through this carnival

funhouse with all these

distorting mirrors

of the complex

and the concave,

wondering, too,

what things are?