Under Their Whim

How swiftly we became  

           subservient  

to masters mere weeks old,  

    with their tiny, dagger teeth. We,  

are wrapped around petite paws,  

    willing to be flicked and flipped  

         at their kittenish whim.  

This, they do not know yet.

      But soon they will.

As waiting by each other's side  

     in the encroaching night,  

  every shape and line  

in the shadows of our front yard  

        utters a mew.  

Even the blades of grass  

          are young, wild, and made anew.

adopted

A father grows to tolerate

his female son. She's a bleeder

but can be the son he never had

when she’s holding the header

to a 1991 Chrysler New Yorker,

when she is watching bikinis

run on the sandy Florida beach,

and when she bests the boys

she will never be.

somewhere no one says no

Do you like me? Could you love me?

Am I enough? Are you sure?

Can I lay where you've laid?

Is this nail polish your favorite shade?

How about this big, warm bed?

Oh, you like my shirt? It's yours.

Do I satisfy your thirst? Are you hungry?

Shall I make us dinner? Is this your favorite meal?

The one I cooked? Do I wear an aura that enchants you?

Is my face sparkling to you? You like looking at me?

Could you love me when I'm rigid and scheduled?

What if I change? If I fall into a lazy spell, will you stay?

Love me in my mess? Clean up my wild, untamed space?

Take me home? Make this a home? Our home?

Would you like that too? Am I safe with you?

Do you also want to be near me like a book press?

Then every night, can we come together?

Just like this? Reflecting each other's eyes?

Fold into each other like the sheets?

And never stop? Be like this forever?

Was that a yes? Did you say yes?

love like asmr

Feather-soft bunny furs,
cotton candy whispers,
pink cloud floating,
in these silky sheets—

Lay me down to sleep.

Playing hide and seek,
giggling when we

didn’t find God, but
instead, God found us—

wrapped in a blanket,
drinking our apple juice,
playground confident,

still reading all the notes
we passed over the years.

"Are you sitting down?" a voice on the phone asks

Watching toddlers on the sunlit stairs

with their wobbling leaps on new legs,

a boy sits at the open table next to me.

I can smell him say, "Yes, I'm sitting down now."

It's a stinking panic sweat I've known.

Yes, now, he is seated and on the phone.

This must be his freshman year, too.

'Cause I have been a freshman seated on the phone—

Look towards the kids jumping on the stairs,

testing the limits of legs, and pretend I don't know.

Don't know what the boy or the kids are going through.

But in my life, I, too, have been seated on the phone

for bad news, and I have jumped a stair or two.

poem dedicated to someone I ain't met yet

I want to take you to a ball game,
where we’d be on the edge of our seats,
screaming, hot, and nestled in the crowd.
It’s here you might fall in love with me, too—

When I tell you I could be a WNBA referee,
I’d like you to be captivated by the fact
that it only takes a high school diploma
and passing a test to be on the court.

It would be nice if you believed me,
even if I’m not entirely sure I could.
Naturally, you’d know this isn’t an aspiration,
but a dedication, like how I don’t need to be
a professional chef to cook and nourish you.

Just as there are men on the court
whose sole job is to mop up sweet sweat
dripping from bouncing ponytails,
without getting in the way or interrupting,
I want to live to serve and adore you.

I would, too, sprint or crawl to clean up
whatever falls from you so you don’t slip,
while staying out of your way, letting you be the star.
It would be nice if you appreciated me, too—

but that’s not that necessary.

irritation intiation

Hands covered in ant bites,

scratching only worsens the itch.

I'm no Sateré-Mawé, not in Brazil;

this won’t make me a man.

Yet after this summer,

I have emerged changed in some way—

more myself than ever,

yet also more different than ever.

And I think you can all feel it.

false fall

The weatherman warns not to be fooled—
this autumn breeze is just a false fall.
Summer will return. But we’ve been too busy
to notice. Haven’t we? Our days
are block-booked with Match Game '78, work,
basketball, and feeding kittens. Our lives
are so full there’s no time for a brief cool spell.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

rosary

three little kittens in a row,
following the leader
on the brick ledge,
like a balance beam.

heads nudging tails,
like beads on a rosary,
each step a silent prayer.
sweet babies, come to me.

art 103

Two co-eds race across the quad,
ponytails bouncing, eager to embrace.
They kiss each other’s cheeks
with sugar cookie sweetness,
after a long summer apart.

In the open air, we witness
a sisterhood reunited,
the separation finally ended,
leaving us to wonder what secrets
they whisper to each other now.

soc 102

How robins and cardinals
peck at bugs in the same yard—
we can keep our distance,
close enough but mostly apart,
pinpoint beaks never touching.

How I don’t want destructive
caterpillars in my garden,
but welcome butterflies
with lacy wings flitting on flowers
instead of nibbling green leaves.

How age is measured not by years
but by moments of restraint,
in the quiet discipline of respect.
Each choice to act with care
saves us from what we bare.

my friends' letters

childhood

~ 13 yEaRz ~

It’s been thirteen years
since she was barefoot
on the sidewalk
of Walnut Street,
steps from a place she paid to sleep—
but never a home.

Police tested her;
    she failed
        every marker
            of sobriety
      that night,
and the humid nights
and sweaty days before.

It’s been thirteen years since then;
recovery has entered puberty—

its bones ache,
growing too fast,
stretch marks where
the body couldn’t keep up—
reminders we can never go back
to before. Those tough girls we
pretended to be are gone,
like our teenage selves
and our child bodies,
never to return.

It’s been thirteen years
and a whole other lifetime—
so let that girl from the past
    go downtown
        in the handcuffs
with her charges in the police car.

That's not us.
            Not anymore.

Be patient; I'm only 13 years old.
The woman I am now was born that night.

waiting for a date

with a black cat and her three kittens, waiting 

for the binding of my poetry book to dry,

waiting for the feel of blood dripping out of me

to cease. I can wait like an unsent text. I once

waited so long to give blood I passed out,

and the nurse said I should have spoken up.

Instead, I waited some more drinking o.j.

Now I wait for the housing market to level—

history says it needs a new president, but

I'm not holding my breath for these candidates.

So I wait for tomorrow when I wake to new

cereal and milk, which I stood waiting in line for.

I'm waiting for that moment to escape myself.

That moment, like these cats, may never come

so violet

Insecure like that screen door that swings and slams with every wind gust,

Hesitant as a water droplet forming on a faucet, but not ready to fall,

Antsy as a car inching forward at a stoplight, making tiny micro-movements,

Dreamy like a summer evening when night has fallen but heat lingers on,

Contradictory like most modern moments that contain a bit of the past.

The Cat with no Watch

There's a thin, stray, black cat

with white paws, skittish, hunting,

but I can tame him with time.

I see him outside and say,

“Hold on, little man.” Whether

he’s a boy or a girl, time will tell.

I set out bowls of food and water

at a respectful ten-foot distance,

and the little man eats my offering.

Before he leaves, he glances back,

and I know he’ll return tomorrow

at nine, though he wears no watch.

crucifix

Perhaps it takes courage  

and sacrifice  

to find solace  

in extending to others  

the grace and understanding  

you wish for yourself.

So step down from your cross,  

turn outward,  

and you might be surprised  

by what you find

when you lead by example.

tarot treasure

Be my Empress, and I’ll be your Chariot, 

sheltering you, carrying you away

on my wheels from the deafening madness  

we caused, despite ourselves, anyway.

We can be laughing the whole ride that way.

the night was so dark but the day brought your light

A day I recall,  

drowning in a low tide  

that had become my life,

coldest summer I have known—  

you pulled me out  

with an ice cream.  

We swung on a swing set  

under the sun,  

me in oversized sunnies  

and a too-small t-shirt.  

I was hungover from the night before, 

but you didn't care. 

You just snapped photos  

of me soaring through the air— 

capturing fleeting smiles  

my face had forgotten for weeks.

I squint at these images,  

just as I did then,  

wondering what I did to deserve  

such a friend.

for a very virgo

My hope for you

is your heels clack with purpose

down the hallway and make

male hearts beat faster,

with fear not lust,

and the men cower in the corner

when you enter the room.

My dream for you

is to love yourself as deeply

as you love and care for others,

especially for your boys who shine

like stars in Orion's belt

scraping across the winter sky.

My wish for you

is to have, for once, someone

who invests in you as much as you

do in them—a lover, a family member,

or a friend—someone who gives more

than they take from you.

My vision for you

is a life like a temple—

perfumed with lilac and jasmine,

a blessed, sacred retreat,

like swaying gently

in the breeze on a quiet swing.

My mission for you

is to have all these things

and even more, to embrace

a life that fulfills and surpasses

all you've wished and worked for,

a culmination of dreams you’ve earned

with your butterfly heart.

My hope for me  

is to stand by your side,  

no matter the distance,  

and see every wish realized,  

every dream you've sown  

flourish and bloom  

into the life you've strived for—  

That's what I want.

u.s.a.

She asked, "Do the fireworks bother you as a veteran?"

He speaks slowly, deliberate, like a mechanic

going over a repair bill.

"At my age, I've seen more fireworks

than bombs. You have to live for the norm,

not the rare."

His words are wise and sure,

but I know he sleeps each night

with a gun under his pillow

and a knife on the table

beside him. If we've never had a break-in,

and it's statistically rare,

could he explain why he’s still scared?

confirmation

The unbearable weight

until I’m recognized

feels like 4 a.m. in summer

after a night of rain—

neither muggy nor humid,

but so dense and thick

you can taste, smell, and see it.

It’s all me.

The relieving release

in the email, the text

confirming my letter arrived,

the wave across the street,

a grocery store “you okay?”

to my apology, the “your tag is out,”

and all those small moments

that save me from my murky mind.

It's all them.

absolution

I told my coworker about you today,  

in a moment of over-sharing to connect—  

the ultimate litmus test.

She passed when she said,  

"That's terrible. But Caroline,  

you couldn’t save him."

I know.  I know.  I know!  

I shouldn’t say that much,  

much less to a coworker.

But once in a while,

it's still comforting to hear  

I did all I could for you.

It's the fool I always had in me.

That fool is you.

econ 101

    We took the dirty truck to the car wash,
and the attendant winked and said,
“This one’s on the house, hoss.”
He was surprised when you handed him
and his coworker $10 and two cigars—
pulled from the glove box of your truck.

I was uncomfortable with the expansive joy.
The three of you grinning wide.
    Big Smiles. Big Teeth.
Them lifting the cigars to the sky like Olympic torches—
perhaps their first cigars ever.

Every day they wash cars;
    Every day you smoke a cigar.
We can exchange freely what comes to us so easily.
    Strangers emerging winners. All of us. 

Is this what economy was like before
standard operating procedures
and corporate policies
took humanity out of man?

I don't know, but I'd like to think so.

angel

What if science
is the slowest way
    to uncover
what we already know
in our bones?

Like angels are beings
who sometimes drive old, worn-out minivans
instead of traditional wings—
which wouldn't match their shoes anyway.

And everything we eat
has an ancestor to venerate,
and children are the future
but we don't invest in them.

And money does us no good
        when our heartbeat stops.

faith

What is a saint

but someone who transcends

through a big inner door,

becoming eternal?

Why not a robin or a rabbit,

or a frog? Even a street rat

with enough faith could be a saint.

Faith—what a stubborn thing,

like a booger dried on a pillowcase,

makes us laugh like kids.

We've never been without.

We've always had one foot

in the grave and the other in a God,

whose forms shift with the ages.

Anyone who disagrees

hasn't watched our feet.

So, how’s that third person

treating us?

Good.

Good God.

Good.

And isn’t it funny

we cooked up a recipe

from a Jackson Pollock cookbook tonight?

A rat becoming a saint,

Ain't that a lemon twist!

grace

She saw the kitten coaster broken in two,

Yet she didn't say a word.

She saw the weather forecast called for rain,

But it hasn’t rained for days.

She saw you smoking cigars in the yard,

And she smiled, quite assured.

drive-by baby

Married when you met her,
she's been married her whole life.

A wife in constant motion—
yet going nowhere.

Then she’s gone,
faster than she arrived.

quick to forget

Get Grateful, Girl!

Look here, Little Girl, 

            I know your mama dead and all

                            so I will have to give you a 'mama talk' myself.

    You are quick to forget. Did you forget eating a can of green beans for dinner? Biking home in the cold, dark at 11 p.m. through downtown after work? Making your little $9.00 an hour? Crying in the work-gym shower? Walking out of Aldi's empty handed? Filling up on the free bread and water while a man, across the table, drained your bank account? How could you forget the feeling of hunger? Forget bills paid a few days late every month? Groveling and begging on the phone for just a little more time? How could you forget?

    Those days are long fucking gone. Then who do you think you are? Do you know how lucky you are? Do you think everyone gets a magical blond bunny in their yard? Do you think that blond bunny never panics? Never struggles? Do you think you are exempt? Are you so delusional to think you, alone, should have a life with not one moment discomfort? Do you think you better than a bunny? Do you?

    Look above you! Are there any hawks circling the sky? Is there a single threat? Are you at war? Are you abused? Where is your injury? Are you really making this up right now? Are you? Is there even one thing genuinely, unequivocally, indisputably 'bad' in you life? Why are you crying? Why are you choosing sadness again and again? When there is nothing to be sad for a minute about? Do you not see this sweet life star-bursting around you?

    Look around you! What even is good enough for you then? Why don't you burn your forty kinds of socks if you are going to be insolent like that? Do you not like this brand new roof? Are your painted nails and new dress not enough? Do you realize that your mother never owned a new car in her life? How you gonna pout when it's time for an oil change you can afford? Lament an hour of lost time? What were you gonna do anyway, baby? My! How do your ancestors feel watching you complain over finding a good house in this market when they were a step above squatters? Don't you know Papaw never did get the leak fixed? Is it raining into your house? How you gonna eat good for the first time in your life only to whine that you gettin' fat? Is this not what you wanted? 

You are not the shit and you are not a piece of shit. 

                           You are just grey, in-between, middle. 

                                                  And that's ok. Maybe good.

                                                            Quit being so quick to forget.

You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. You are better than this. 

SO DO FUCKING BETTER.

Get Grateful, Girl!

overboard

  

Every animal chooses the lesser of two evils to survive;
behold the girl who seems to have everything she wanted.

Take a moment of silence for her visions lost beneath waves—
visions that even sailors, mermaids, and fish could not recover.

For all of history has proved that no one can truly have it all.
The greats simply cast away illusions from the final manifest.

~ TrUaMa ThErApY ~

"Let’s unpack that."

As if it were a box, labeled and packed with care,

or a suitcase, neatly folded—

not like a trash bag,

where my family crammed

clothes, toys, and more,

for moving, vacation, storage,

or the dump—

never to be opened.

It’s all the same.

Let’s discard the whole bag—

before the thin plastic tears & everything spills out!

one-sided

"Just as a candle cannot burn without fire, men cannot live without a spiritual life."

"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."

—Buddha

She sits at the same table, shares the same bed,
but she is only half-heartedly here. She aches for
another who does not feel the same for her. Next to her,
another ache, a parallel ache, in her home, goes untended.

It is not the distance outside, but the emptiness within
that writes the lines of her story. Every second,
her mind journeys outside this home, or outside
this present moment, is a thief stealing the joy

from her, like friendly fire. The malnourished
hearth she didn't tend, so her husband must,
once again, kindle the fire to flame. But she can
— strike a match, stoke the embers, and fuel the blaze!

contortion

My husband, in 1971, a whole 16 years before I was born:

Plodding his feet through snow, had trenchfoot

already taken hold? Thin boots, wet feet.

In Vietnam, where he had been, or Indiana,

where he was again, marching homeward.

No one picked him up from the bus stop that day.

If I could have, I would have been there waiting for him.

My husband, in 2024, a whole 7 years into our marriage:

Gaping mouth through his snores, had dreams

already taken hold? Thin cover, armchair.

In Indiana, where we had lived, or Alabama,

where we live now, sleeping in our home.

Someone—I—made a big dinner, and he is now full.

I was there waiting for him when he awoke

Genghis Khan

let it be known

you were born

blood clot in hand.

dripping, between knuckles.

nothing baby about you -

not chubby,

not soft,

not crying.

just you, alone,

brutally holding tight.

with your brass knuckled fist aloft.

a flat armadillo

once round and rumbling through fields

it wasn't the last tire - my tire -

but the first that killed you;

it wasn't the last phone call

but first that started the demise.

how I, also armor-clad, didn't resist

but instead flattened, pancaked,

myself into his road grooves -

while he, also, pressed me into the street.

it was my shell that cracked first.

yet, at the beginning, I was thankful 

for him breaking down my walls; now

he is the one dead while I waddle on.

alpha beta IV

assume aborted acne, also assigned asshole at

birth, born boastful braggart but bearable

crispy crinkle cut cringe cake coming cool

dreamer's daze dire dimples, doomed dips

enough events! ease! exist! electronic elope! 

fate floating fancifully, faithful, fuming fair

gotta go get guns, gats, guts, gloomy goofs.

harsh husband, human humility hands home

imagine! i'm intense? impossibly immobile?

jokey jargon juicing justice joining judgement

kick-off kneeling kisses, keeping kind king

little lady, ladder-leaps last landfill laps latter

must my mother's morphing mass make mortem?

'nother noble nonsense nomad nipping naught need!

oh obey object! or obscurity oath offends oasis.

perfect pendulum persists, painting pretty pictures present:

quilled questionings; qualify quotes; quiver quench

rationalize rating raw, rugged, robust rust-rimmed rams

sadness safely sails sauce slow, straight self-sufficiency 

tactful table trembles turmoil tainted tea tax team

undo units universal, upswing uniform unrest

verb victim vilify village vessel's verdict

we will wait, wrenching wretched way

XXX

yesterday's yogurt yawns yacht yolky

zirconic zygote zithers zodiac zoloft.