Thoughts on the Death of Mike Casteel
I heard you'd started goin' to church
Just before.
And I'm sure that was an ease
On your poor mama's mind
I heard you went
and you prayed
Did you know?
I had never really known you to be religious,
Regardless.
And I don't know what deal
you made
With your God
but I hope, for your sake
It was a good one
Because you died hard
And you died young
Unexpected, all of a sudden.
And I didn't know
it would hurt so bad.
Morning View
I like the way you look when you sleep,
though you never face me.
My view
of you
is a walking line
A horizon, a descending ridge
of charcoal curls, a white wall, and lavender sheets.
And your ear peaks out behind the purple gables.
Meek,
and red,
whispering the story of blood vessels, and body heat.
The story of a beating heart.
I can almost feel it, radiant,
lingering on the edge,
just out of touch.
I dare not chase it.
All Good Bakers go to Heaven
I've tried just about every way
to make biscuits.
I've cut 'em with butter,
with Crisco.
Both.
And please, don't get me started on self-raising flour.
Or all-purpose.
Even after a pinch of salt
or a dash of leavener.
I swear I've kneaded them once,
then twice
1,2,3 three times,
every combination of
12 seconds, 1 minute, and happy birthday twice -
Or is that one just for handwashing?
I can't quite recall.
And you know, if I were a good Christian woman
like all the great southern women are,
those biscuits would rise -
oh Lord, they'd rise.
High like choir hymns,
right past the ceiling.
They'd rise so high
It’d put Icarus to shame,
rest his soul.
I'm telling you, people would line up
for mile and miles
and miles-
But they don't.
Moving Day
Your things
Mixed with my
Things. Once sharing,
Now competing for
space.
Three years of residential
Fidelity Now split,
Divided Into
boxes. Fragile.
Handle with care.
And the traces of every book
And holiday photo
Still linger in the cleft
Once occupied,
Now empty.
Like this bedroom,
Like us.
The Mountain Climber
In this light I find
That you were cut
From stone.
Born with the mountains
The perpetual sons of Earth
And time.
With clumsy hands
I trace you
Acquainting the line
Between skin
And sky.
And they tremble
As they brave decent
Determined
And afraid to fall.
A Lover’s Promise
My life is yours, my darling,
From present till expiration.
Earthly beings live and dead
Are restored to all creation.
But if you’re heaven bound,
Destined for divine alternity.
I beg your God “save my soul!”
And I'll follow you to eternity
You Get What You Pay For
I got lost in your nana’s house.
Twice.
The first time,
I thought it was because
It was too big.
The second time,
I worried it was because
I was too small.
And I wondered how long
Someone could sustain
On jokes they didn’t get,
Conversations they couldn’t follow,
And places they would never see.
All my life I've heard well-off people say
“You get what you pay for.”
So what was its worth
When I got your love
For free?
Subjugation of the Heart
In the cover of night your eyes laid siege.
Twin cressets, oxidized copper,
Led the triumphal procession.
At the drop of a gaze
You rallied your hand to seize my cheek,
And held my breath captive.
With one finger tipped ascension,
Subdued lips mimicked
My defenses ajar.
Your hands never felt so warm.
My River
I wait by you, mighty River.
River strong and vast,
River whose torrents
I've so often longed
To dip my feet.
Oh how my heart swells for you
And the touch of your familiar mist.
For many times I've gazed long
Into your sun-kissed surface,
Mesmerized,
Only to find my own reflection.
Your passing pains my heart, dear River.
For soon you'll leave my banks behind,
To turn the bends and offer tides anew
And form ripples whose acquaintance
I haven't made formal.
It’s true, that once
You washed your waves upon me;
But impurities gather in a stagnant surf,
Becoming a place for scum and soot
To fester.
Your plight is kinetic, sweet River.
My sweet River.
Lest turn stale, you flow.
You may never cease, only wind,
Surely to take my heart
When you go.
Premeditated
What to say about us now
Hindsight leads to wonder how
History wrote us line-by-line,
Syntax blurred, yet to define.
To me the truth was always clear,
My hands don't shake when you are near.
With open arms to catch my breath
You rock my anxious soul to rest.
Yet if I had your love by force,
I'd live a life of deep remorse.
For if I held your heart a way
And fixed it so it’d never sway,
Linger would your sorrow still,
A captive’s scars to never heal.
For friendship leads to lovers true,
But only if you’d choose me too.
Johanna
Of all the women to implore my sight,
Yours is not the face of serenity.
It's not like the dawn that wades gently
Across my pillow’s thread, fair and light
And eager to kiss my cheek.
Yet it’s similar to silk in that
It doesn't reject the creases and folds,
Cut and carved canyons,
Like the ones below your eyes.
Your tired eyes.
Your brown eyes.
Eyes that mimic a dark roast.
The kind that graciously fills a cup
In morning light.
Coincidentally my favorite time to see you.
When sleepy light shines down
Emphasizing the dips and divots
Of your lips, illuminating their shape.
And I will not condemn the sun
For the kisses that it takes,
Given the chance to lurk upon your lips,
To linger tender and whole
Below your exhaled breath,
I too, would grab it,
And hold it.
The way your face holds me.
In those eyes.
Those brown eyes.
When’s the Baby shower?
Well, my sister-law is pregnant,
Baby bump and all.
And ain’t it just like them
not to even mention it
until 3 months in,
but you know
it’s always a show with some people.
Now don’t get me wrong,
you see
I just ain’t much
for this "fruit of a woman" nonsense.
I’d call mulligan in about a beat
if I knew who dealt me
That good for nothing hand.
And please, if you will,
go on and tell me how after almost 30 years
I find myself strong, talented
Childless.
That last part’s the kicker, ain’t it?
I tell you a child don’t sound like nothing to me except
money I don’t have, time
I ain’t got, and what's left of my health,
and Lord knows that
wasn’t all that much to start with
- Bless my heart.
As if all that good fought energy I spent working
and climbing,
and scraping,
and bruising,
swinging and beating my way on through
was meant to lead me barefoot,
knocked up,
pourin my soul into rocking cradles and boiling bottles.
No ma ‘am, No Sir
Not me.
Then why am I so bitter?
Statute of Limitations
What’s the penance for one’s youth?
I never asked to be ten-years your junior.
You see, I was born on another woman’s agenda,
Predetermined,
With no method of appeal.
Was I too late?
Did I start life overdue?
Punctuality was never my strong suit.
I ask is a decade too long?
It seems a simple request that my affection
Bridge the gap of time between us.
I assure you,
It’s strong enough.
In these lines I beg you
Do not condemn me for my youth.
Is ten trips around the sun
Really that substantial
Of a journey?
And if that's all it takes,
Can I
Relinquish the scenic route
For an expressway?
You acted shy about your age,
But it’s interval isn’t one to fear.
For a chance to sync our time together
I’d gladly surrender the remaining years,
The ones that encompass
What's left of my youth,
Heavy,
Like a burden.
Or at least they are
When compared to you.
The Price of Freedom
If your chest were a prison,
A ribbed cage designed
To house an enslaved breath,
I’d beg your stare,
“Burn my body into vapor!”
Formless.
So I may find sanctuary
Behind its bars.
Gloves For the Winter
I need a good pair of gloves
Like the ones you have,
that pair my mamaw gave you
last Christmas.
The ones I had to bring home
wrapped
Because you said “I’m not up for the trip.”
and I cried the entire drive home
because I was too damn old
to still be spendin’ holidays
alone.
The Day You Wore White
I never knew until today
That I could spend my life
Strolling
The collar of your blouse,
As it rests
Weightless,
Suspended,
Between your shoulders.