Sausages

I see I will get a 
postcard from you 
today. 
Your father is planning 
to go to the market, 
but 
I will
still need 
eight 
sausages 
whenever you go to the 
butcher shop.

Found poem from an email December 13, 2017.

Monday Evening

Chili from the freezer. Prepared in 
advance. Just 
in case. 

I could feel it moving through my
Arm, she said. Really.

Not too many cars ahead. We wait. 
The sun is hot. Not
emotional this time. Just
so tired.

Henry’s Status Theory

When my uncle Henry was 
dying,
I mentioned doing another
compilation of his 
Status Theory. 

"I sure deviled you 
all with that, 
didn’t I?"

He had, but we hadn't
minded. We hadn't minded
at all.

Early Morning Sun

The sun is still high
in the tree tops 
leaving my yard shady 
green. Scrub wisteria leaves 
droop after last nights freeze.

Cold Snap

The sun is shining. 
Overnight the cold air 
swept (or did it creep?) 
in.

Turning the heat 
up, I dress in layers.
Feet still cold in my socks.
Where are those
slippers?

Catching my breath

I pity the huddled 
masses yearning 
to breath
free.
It's rough trying to 
catch your
breath 
around here,
even if you aren't in
a cage at the
border. 

Morning Walk 11 Years Ago

A wild orphan 
kitten. Six 
black dogs 
barking in the yard. 
high school students walking 
clockwise, crowding 
the track. The girl tosses a 
pop can into the bushes 
while teacher 
lounges on bleachers. 

Surprising Fulfillment

My Uncle Henry used to say
that the
joy in life was found
in the struggle. The process
was what
brought surprising
fulfillment. Things wouldn’t always
turn out quite the
way you expected or wished.
One had to adjust, adapt,
deal with the results of the
process and fight on until
victory.
At which point,
everything falls
apart.

Opening up

Opening restaurants 
to serve 

endless 

last 

suppers.

With thanks to Elena Herrada for these words.

Puyo

Behind the apartment do the dogs still bark? Do
chickens scratch around looking for
bugs? Sometimes they used to bring in a
truckload of hogs and slaughter them, the
whole family working together. Or was that
hogs rooted around and truckloads of
chickens were slaughtered?

Once or twice the ground shook. I
stood in the doorway and waited for it
to stop, afraid I’d be in the way
trying to get down the stairs and out of
the house with my bad leg, even though the
landlord added a railing.

I hope the restaurant down the street 
still serves a full breakfast of 
rice and beans with
eggs at a price I can 
afford. Three months ago I left 
on a short vacation. Now I’m
home. We all wear masks and disinfect
our hands and feet coming and going. Tomorrow I
will see about the food situation. For
now, it’s good to be home.