violet and fuchsia are just two shades of purple

i didn't understand betty boop's appeal
till i saw a few of her cartoons for myself

most her life, my mother sought approval 
from a pedophile, she too old when they met

pregnant, my mother was a goldilocks
making a little girl, mini-her, just right

she was a compulsive liar, as is now known
a fact unadmitted till she was years dead

unable to defend or bend, her truth is gone
but i've grown to embrace and love the myth

how she loved african violets, blooming in neglect
the window sills of dry-dust dirt, but still alive

or how i love fuchsias, opposite, petals wilt
need tender care, need expertly wetted roots

prickly violets and pensile, fragrant fuchsias
she couldn't be soft and i'd never be hard

took decades and death for me to realize we
just two shades of purple, no better, no worse

navigating rapids no longer mine

in a canoe listing water and the vessel sways side to side taking on more water i am fighting currents with a teaspoon to hold back my feelings.  i'm engulfed in feelings i cannot name and i do not like. sometimes its hateful, i barge in like i'm king kong  and like life is new york and i am clutching a classic beauty in my fat, hairy fist. sometimes it's sisterly, for people seem to be in a former life of mine i remember but do not miss. sometimes it's loving, and i believe these are phases and in a few years, with a ton of growth, it will be like rip van winkle waking up.  come to my house, i'll put out a nice spread, my life perfectly size to come inside. that's not real though. i'm not there though. i'm here.  today, i weigh more than my mother pregnant with me, but i am genuinely happy. i hope it's not the cost of being content, but it may be. cook meals too heavy and nourish all the bodies in my home. even my aging body. i still go on walks even though my bum knee gives out now because it was slammed against a strip club floor too many times. yes. i smoked cigarettes in the bluebird drunk, vomited outside the vid, a 50 year old bartender got me home safe guided by my drivers license (do you think that's against bar policy?) and i woke up thin, keys on top of me, bruises, still on the floor of the doorway; he must have just tipped my body in. through the door and shut it behind. puke pillow, that's how some people die.  gone is that life i do not miss. today is the life i love, but know will end. and for the life i don't yet know - it scares me monstrously so.

a perfect double feature

People I Know with Al Pacino then

Hidden Gems with Adam Sandler

brother films born two decade apart

the chaotic man surviving chaotic life

despite the actions he keeps taking

set place in only a few days, it seems

he almost turned a corner then he dead

we live and sleep and die in the bed

we carelessly made quick in youth.

Sunday with Paul

pull 6 of pentacles reversed

rough house with the dogs

   drink coffee with milk

         watch back to back

    Al Pacino movies

         in a row then

go outside with

      his and hers work gloves

      his and hers garden sheers

always makes sure

i have what i need

              in my size

weeding the garden

trimming the hedges

bees on flowers rubbing legs

laughing when i roll my ankle

ice held to bare skin, not a wimp

pull out a tomato, two zucchini,

      and four cucumbers

it's salad for lunch

           sweet tea 

     made yesterday

chicken salad sandwich too

laundry, washing the sheets

        sweaty and pink take

returns to the library

 watch babies laughing

across the street

       playground in the sun

happy children, playing children,

      talk of vietnam humidity 

packing mud on his body

        at night for a blanket

how did a lil 16 year old boy

survive but knowing

          someday

i'd be his and he'd be mine

        and that was enough.

loyalty

I know I have a vestigial organ

which remembers that family

provides more than any job,

that I'm not supposed to be 

where I'm not supposed to be,

and craves half a Marlboro light 

with a Diet Coke in a can and to 

wipe condensation off my hand

and onto my blue jean thighs.

If I emailed my boss tomorrow

I was leaving, she would post

my job as open and ask when

is my last day. If I told my husband

I was leaving, he would fight for me.

He would be lying in the driveway

in the way of my car. He wouldn't

seek a replacement. There is none.

I was told for so long fulfillment lay

in my career, climb the success ladder;

don't lean on a person. Pick yourself up

by your boot straps. Where to put my time?

Someone fighting for me, with me,

that I couldn't be easily replaced or

someone debating if I'm worth a raise?

got a problem, bro

      got a problem, bro.

everytime i go to write

an email

    a note

        a text

           a lie

a fucking poem pops out;

       scattering piece of me.

there's a leg in his inbox

    and a heart in her phone

        and a head full of myself

       hidden in the back drawer.            

i'm too ugly and fat for a shallow pond

used to feel my marriage was a prison

holding me from all the fish in the sea

yet the more I listen to single people

the more my hope for new love fades

cause they only swipe right if the fit hits

or on the life of the party with cool friends

or his grid matches her grid cause love

life is lived out online and public now.

What I have to offer doesn't fade as fast-

write sweet letters like clockwork, that can

be held by old, frail hands decades from now.

I can cook. I can clean. I can can veggies

grown on my land. Smile at every child I see.

I have assets, the kind I have to list for taxes.

Bask in the summer sun with library book.

Answer each call, each text, so fast, like you

are tugging a shoelace tied to my big toe.

Bake biscuits from scratch, cake, cookies too,

that's how I do, give from the bottom up

so it's all me and all my sweat and effort.

Grow flowers every color from seed to vase

arrange them just to see a smile on a face.

I'm not hot, or stylish, or cool, or anything

What I have to offer doesn't fade so fast

used to feel my marriage was a prison

holding me from all the fish in the sea

but it is a precious safety net saving me 

from cruel catch and release games.