The rain moved just like our momma did when she’d tuck all three of us in.

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16: American Sentence for Real Toads

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so why should i care

if i don’t have two words
to rub together
& the moon’s a
bowling ball on my back
i’ve played here before,
seen all the pins get swept
away in daylight’s gutter
whether i’m looking to
re-frame or not

::

9: NaPoWriMo & PAD

Cyclical Residency

Nobody knows I’m sitting on the hood of my car

beneath this flawless felt of Kansas sky, my purpose

for doing so is unknown; tumultuous. The v-6 engine warms

the backs of my thighs for awhile through my faded jeans.

I am abominable, audacious, evolving into a purpose?

This anonymous road has no marker that I stopped to read.

Later in life I’ll name it crossroads. Later in life I just might

contemplate this girl, sorrowful in night, vehement in starlight

as I sit on the rock I lugged into my backyard from a place;

from I don’t know where, – but there are stars.

{micropoetry for Real Toads}

The World in the Evening

There is a

time, seconds between

the last light and the dark

stretch ahead, when color

is lost — the girl on her swing

becomes a swift

apparition, black and white

flowing suddenly into night.

  • bits of Rachel Sherwood for RT Pond

To Conclude

To conclude Angie,
stop your silly guessing
&over-analyzing. All in good time
it will be night, dear.
Your body will be parting.
Sleep; when the time draws near.
Rest your head &whisper, so long!
Perhaps soon there will be a triumph
of
wordless things.

for Real Toads

Down To Hair-Roots

I decide when I see the worms. Today you will die by chemical injection in the back of your neck or some other soft receiving place. I will hold your hand. I call your foot your hand. And he will stroke your head and look into your eyes, and I promise that the room itself with all its equipment will become immaterial, and all others inconsequential in light of the ghost that will break free from your stomach and exit your mouth. This, of course, will be unforeseen. I will wonder if it’s normal. Not believing I could do so, I will let go of your hand and they will keep you and the blanket I tucked under you for the purpose of dignity. That will be goodbye. Then I’ll stuff all my regrets back in my head, cover my mouth with one hand and fumble at the side door. Handle or knob? Then he and I. Just the two of us. We’ll stop at a station to get gas in order to make it back home. This too, will be unforeseen. And no one can tell me how to navigate the first night, so I will slip into a darkness of white ash on black; certain I’m not watching a fire burn, but feeling a million pin pricks. With the moon in full affliction, I am down to hair-roots sitting on a rock flummoxing for what might be left of you hidden in the grass. And I don’t like these disarranged parts: night and day, dog and human, blood and bone, tumor and worm.

In loving memory of our dog of sixteen years, Rookie.
Submitted to Real Toads with words, “I am down to hair-roots” credited to poet, Wole Soyinka.

A Tanka

You say you watched me
As I lay sleeping last night
And you were thankful
Having me there beside you
Helping regulate the moon

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku Catchoo!

This Dark Autumn Night

this dark autumn night
the bright stars of milky way
cries of geese above       -Lothar, Rheumatologe

braving the sea for six weeks
he washes away from shore  -angie inspired

*unsolicited author's note:
I'm braving another basketball season of hubby coaching.
I've had lots of practice being a basketball widow.

My Good Night

toss your gladiolus

to the rhythm of the frogs

cover sleepy stones

with wide umbrella palms

be extra kind to those

tired garden mums

and tuck me in gently

with quiet cricket songs