Hungry

To what, dearest one
May we interest your
Tender palate? I see
Your 'buds are not
Too picky.

Perhaps a touch
of Springsteen to
Satisfy a rebellious heart
And quench that spunky thirst.

Or maybe you feel
More in the mood for Mr. Charles?
A bit of ole time blues
And piano to tempt your thoughts
On love past.

Oh dear, you simply
Can't gorge yourself so!
The sweet richness of Presley
And the raw tang of Cash
Might give your ears
A happy stomachache!

Perhaps tonight you don't
Wish to feast with waiting
Souls, bodies stilled, spirits never
Silenced. Perhaps you would like
Instead to visit a quartet of bassists,
Banjo-ists, guitarists, and one drummer,
Two brothers, four kin
With the taste of memory and the sticky
Summer hint of knowing
Just what you wanted to hear.

May I interest you in dessert?

Fairytale

Once upon a time,
There was a girl driving
Her silver Crown Victoria
(18 years old, and christened Mina)
Through a world of absolute beauty.

See, it had snowed that day, and was
Still snowing as she drove, and there
Was a thick, wooly fog oozing over
The world like albino maple syrup,
And a werewolf's moon
In the sky.

So the road was white,
The fields were white,
The sky was white,
And the moon tinged everything
Blue, and instead
Of being scared
(As her father obviously expected)
She was thrilled to happy pieces.

She drove in silence, set in
Cruise control even though she
Knew she shouldn't
(because the roads got awful slick),
Admiring the sky and riding for once
Without the radio on, so she could
Celebrate the silence, and maybe
Talk to all the spirits
Who rode with her.

Joy

Joy is
an afternoon of Elvis
Singing every word and
harmonizing with the voice
Of an angel.

Joy is
waking up with a plump
Little cat asleep on my face
because his purrs are vibrating
My nose.

Joy is
dancing in the kitchen
To Bob Seger, praising that
Old time rock 'n' roll, and not
Caring how silly
I look.

Joy is
anticipating the return of
My dearest, sweetest friend, because
words on a screen aren't enough and
She can always make
Me laugh.

Joy is
living the life I have right now
With all its ups and downs and
Little nuisances and quirks that
Make it especially mine.

He

A child in a man's body
Sleek and sophisticated in a city-dweller's costume
(High black boots, dark skinny jeans, black thermal shirt,
Black hoodie, an old and worn black leather jacket, and
Soft grey scarf piled around his neck)
He walks with ease confidence, his step light and carefree
He's combed back his black hair carefully, with a comb
And water, but a lick of it caresses his forehead like
A mother's hand.
His eyelashes nearly hide his eyes behind a gossamer curtain,
The envy of any girl.
To look at you was to enfold you
In the depths of his warm, giddy brown eyes, the color of
Summer mud, and
He wears a perpetual tan, a gift from his Italian, Hawaiian,
And Navajo ancestors, and it is sweet to the eye,
Like a taste of coffee with just enough cream and sugar.
When he laughs, the hardest of hearts break down into
Happy tears, poets scramble for a bit of paper and a pen, and
Birds hush in the beauty of this most glorious of sounds,
Too low and sweet and childlike for their throats to mimic.

Omen

you pause as the trumpets die for a moment and you stare
your glittering blue magical beautiful chilling thrilling eyes
locked not only on millions of others who watched you for
the first time years before i was born but mine too yes me
seventeen years after you're gone twenty-one since you sang
that song that still gives me shivers down my spine and brings
hot tears to my eyes because i love you so much it hurts sometimes
and i can't even find the words to express it because i wasn't actually
there when you called thousands of people to arms competing with the
rat-a-tat-tat of the drums your jaw set your face determined and your soul
connecting with a soul you'll never meet never see never even breathe the
same air with but you will forever change in a way you can't possibly imagine
just twenty-nine years into the future.

Herbie Husker

You were
the first person
to come in all day
and treat me like
a human being.

I wondered after
you left
what made you so
happy, so happy
you glowed with it.

I must admit
I found you quite
Amusing, dressed
like a boy in his father's clothes;
Blue jeans, periwinkle blue
button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up;
and a bright red tie, loose at the neck, printed
with little pictures
Of Herbie Husker (because who can be proud of Lil Red?)

You laughed while you ordered
almost $40 worth of greasy food
And you bounced on your heels
Waiting for me to hand you
the THREE bulging sacks.

Then you grinned, face ruddy
And young. You laughed at
What I saw as nothing, and were off,
Off to spread your contagious joy
To someone as lucky as I was.

Dance, Dance

Now the hip!
boomboom
And look, your feet are dancing too!
clickclick
It's funny how he stays with you
uhhuh, uhhuh
Even after the suits are back on their
hangers.

A cheeky grin
watch this, y'all
As your body twists
yeahyeah
And jives and your feet glide
betcha can't do THIS
As if it's become second nature
yeah baby
Instead just something you do for
a paycheck.

Operation

Operation:
Keep Your Head Up
took longer than I planned.

Operation:
Don't Give Your Heart Away
failed miserably too, but
my mother says I've yet to
meet my man.

Operation:
Forgive Her
took way too long,
but I'm there now.

Operation:
Live the Good Life
is well underway, and I
intend to keep to on sailin' my
ship, no matter how hard I have
to row.

Time Warp

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again.
Do you remember last Halloween?
We were set to go, all geared up
to experience the raunchy hilarity
Firsthand.

Then I said no.
And you were angry.
We said some things,
Then some worse things,
And then you hugged me.

I didn't hug back.
So instead you stabbed.
You stabbed and you stabbed
And you stabbed, and for a while
I bled, until
Life brought along
Bandaids
And I forgot about the scabs.

Rocky Horror Picture Show
is in the theatre again, and
I can't help but wonder
If you'll take someone else.

The Tube

BeepBeepBeep. Bzzzzzzz. THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Beeeeeeeeeeeep.

It’s like the diagnosis has already been given: boom, you’re dead, meet your new coffin. Couldn’t afford a nice pine, so we had this plastic one rigged up especially for you, with all the bells and whistles (literally).  Thought you knew heaven? Well this ain’t hell, baby, but you’ll be hearing these sirens (Ma, it’s a twister!) and heavy bass thump-thumps for all eternity so hang on tight.

The worst part is, they give you headphones to put on your head, with filtered in radio, so all the while it sounds like Armageddon out there, in here it’s Eagles and Cher and horses with no names. That kind of music sort of loses something when you get a headache from all the high-pitched screaming that all but completely drowns out the Beach Boys (not that that’s a bad thing).  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Tumor. It’s the word thought but never spoken. You try to think of anything else, of your upcoming seventeenth birthday, and the cake (Rango this year, last three cakes were Spiderman), but you can’t, because there’s a stupid little voice in your head whispering “Tumor. Cancer. You’re dead.” It doesn’t matter that your mom’s out there (she thought it might be MS) holding the tips of your fingers as tight as she can, because that’s all she can reach. It doesn’t matter if you got to hear a reassuring voice on the phone just a few days before telling you it was gonna be okay, that they’re praying for you. That they love you. It doesn’t matter, because you’re scared out of your mind that the little voice is right.

You cry as soon as the nurse says Needle. It’s not just a shot, it WON’T be over in a second, because this one STAYS in your arm, held in place by a piece of plastic which, by the way, eventually slips into your vein and dissolves. But only after they pump blue dye into you so they can see if there’s something in your brain that shouldn’t be there. After that, not only are you laying there thinking, “Oh my God, she’s sticking me and I can’t MOVE!” (can’t fight), now there’s the realization that somewhere inside of your vibrating, aching, screaming head, your brain is turning blue.

 And now you can feel it: the needle, the plastic tube in your arm, the nurse tying the tourniquet (ouch) so they can find the right vein, and her fingers pushing hard on the crook of your elbow. You can’t move away this time, you can’t fight the injection. Can’t move anywhere, ‘cause there’s thick hospital plastic one inch to your right, to your left, maybe six inches above your nose, and the plastic sheeting under you is vibrating, stirring the blood.

Then it starts again. Bzzzzzzzz. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Some of it sounds like the old dialup Internet, the mechanical hee-hawing and computer purring AOL used to make you wait through before you could find out if you had any mail. But it’s louder, it’s like you’re INSIDE of the computer, and the modem is hooked up to your head. Every once in a while, they ask you how you’re doin’.

“Well doc, I’m half-blind, strapped to a table, shoved in a tube, I got a freakin’ HUGE needle stuck in me, my face is all sticky ‘cause I haven’t stopped crying yet, and this is the third Frankie Valli song I’ve heard since I’ve gotten here. So tell me, is it cancer?”

********

               

Distant

Wait
Just one minute
Slow down
And take a breath.

This can't move any way
But fast
Too fast
And we need just a minute
To think.

I don't know
What you're playing at
I don't know
What this means
But I could use a bit more time
To think about
Why we're here.

It's not like
I can't live
Without you, and I
Realize that now and must
Take a break
From all that.

Keep your distance,
Stay away,
And don't
Look at me
That way.

I've put away your picture
I've put away our souvenirs
I can't clear you from my head
Or erase your sweet laugh from my ears, but
I can live
Just fine
Without you,
At least
For now.

Just a Thought

I had the pleasure last night to be in the company of some of my favorite people in the world. There were my parents of course, my best friend, her mom, and a family of beautiful souls that I've known for almost two years (come this November). I won't name them, for the sake of privacy, but I will say this: it is still extraordinary to me every time we meet just how kind, enthusiastic, and generous these people are. They have every right to be cool, distant, and haughty, boastful of the talent contained in their one family. But they're not. They treat everybody like family, and pay special attention to the people that they feel need a little extra love in their lives. I'm friends with not only the son, but the father, mother, at least one sister, and even their 'bodyguard' and his wife. We share a love of music, of a specific love for Elvis, and the need and capacity for laughter. I've seen Joseph perform the songs of Elvis more than ten times now, and I am still blown away every time. I've watched him grow in his talent for and his love of the legacy that is Elvis, and I'm proud of him, proud as if he was a part of my own family. But I suppose in a way, that's how it's gotten to be. Some of my best memories of the past year have been eating, talking, singing, and laughing with him and his family, and getting a glimpse of the young man behind all the hoopla and spiffy costumes. My favorite thing about these people is how real they are. I love the fact that I've eaten ice cream with Joseph's parents, that I've made Joseph himself so happy he's speechless (which is NOT an easy thing to do), and I love the fact that he found me special enough to sing my favorite Elvis song right to me, when there were so many other people in the room vying for his attention. Kiss after kiss, hug after hug, song after song, this family remains near and dear in my heart, and it'll be a blessing to see them again after so long.

Woods

If there were woods

To be found nearby,

I suppose I could walk

Through them, daring

To live deliberately.

Or I could always

Run there with my

Favorite yellow bear

And his timid pink friend.

Perhaps I’d roam them

Blind, wearing a bright

Yellow cloak to ward off

Those We Do Not Speak Of,

Stumbling, determined to reach

That mysterious place beyond.

Or worse, I’d run for my life,

A dark hooded figure at my back,

Wide mouth dripping unicorn blood,

Thirsty for my redeeming flesh,

And hope the centaurs

Or maybe Hagrid

Were close enough to save me.

Wherever the wood, however tall the trees,

I would do none of these things, for I am not

A character in another’s quiet masterpiece.

I might sit with a book

Or a pen and paper

And write

An adventure

Of my own.

What Can I Do

Oh I wish I was

Wish, yes, wish you knew!

In the land of cotton

C’mon, c’mon, oh, you can DO it!

Old times they are not forgotten

Pssh, you can say that again, buddy!

Look away, look away, look away

Don’t think I can.

Dixieland

What can I do? Is there anything?

He says you get nervous, you get

Self-conscious

When the time comes.

I understand that.

Maybe not in the same way, but

I’ve felt that way too.

But why you?

When what you have is so

Incredible,

You shouldn’t be afraid to

Show the world all that

You can do.

And you can do it. You have,

And you will again.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be there

When it happens.

All my trials, lord

Soon be over…..

The moment comes, the flute rises,

And you stand with your head

Bowed low, your hands crossed,

Your expression so solemn.

What are you thinking about?

What goes on in that head of yours

In that moment?

And then.

Your eyes glow bright

In the light

Your jaw is set, your soul determined

I’m praying now, you understand, praying

That this time you’ll

Do it

Go for it! Try! Shine!

Glory glory, hallelujah

His truth is marching on

Yes! Now! Go!

You want it, I can see that, FEEL it!

His truth is…..marching….

A deep breath shared by two souls

On.

Nope. Not this time.

What can I do

To help you

Believe in yourself

As much

As I do?

Enough

I believe
That you can never have
Too much
Of a good thing.

You can have too
Little
Of a good thing, or
Too
MUCH
Of a bad thing, but
Never
Too much
Of the good.

Contrarywise, I have had
Enough
Of a good thing, just
Enough
To get me by for awhile.
Simply
Enough
For now.

Seth (for Kristen)

Brown hair

Wild like a free horse’s mane

And long, kissing the boy’s

Shoulders with its

Unruly

Tangled

Mouth.

Brown eyes

Shining and brimming

With life

As only a 29-year-old

With a voice

As clear and cool and

Tender

As his

Can know.

Brown skin

Rare

The color of sweet coffee,

The same shade

As a newborn fawn’s

Baby-fuzz.

A reminder of who

He is, and where

He comes from.

The Next Step

A children's
Animated movie
Featured a cute blue alien
And a little Hawaiian girl who loved
Elvis.

I heard his voice
For the first time
In this movie, and I begged
My mother for more
Elvis.

I ran my first CD ragged
Listening, learning, and loving,
Until one Christmas, my favorite
Uncle suggested we leave a day
Early and stop in Memphis, to learn
More and tour the grand home of
Elvis.

My love and respect for this
Legendary man grew unstoppable,
And I began to collect music, records,
Books, movies, all I could find to tell
Me more about
Elvis.

Then I met a young man who loved
The southern star with a passion like mine,
Who sang and danced and talked and laughed
And did it all for the sake and purpose of
Paying tribute
To the extraordinary man known as
Elvis.

It started so simply
And my love burns so strong
That no matter of years could make
A difference in the passion, the joy
That I get from one special man named
Elvis.

Dedicated to.......

Crackle!
Spit!
Pop!
The old-time record plays out
History on black vinyl,
Spinning its volumes on
A newfangled yet admittedly
Beautiful
Machine.

I sit back,
Gaze up at your face
So full, so young, so
Heartbreakingly
Indescribable.

I sip my sweet tea,
The delicious amber treat
Drunk from a Mason jar to further
Authenticate the mood.

Dare I spin my dreams into stories?
Dare I write myself into your incredible life?
And, if I succeed,
Will others read and believe and feel the love
And the life
I try so hard to put down in words
We mortals can understand?

Surrender

You tell me to
Dress myself, pretty myself,
Wear my hair long, just like
Everyone else.

Don't eat! Don't you dare!
And what are you doing, listening
to that?
THIS
is what we listen to.
You like it. You do.

Forget your books and
Your journals, forget
Your great relationship with
Your mom.
Be angry, be distant, live
Your world through TV
and Ipod and computer
Screens.
Never lift your eyes to the sky
And wonder.

You're weird. You're different.
Boys will never want you, because
You're not pretty enough, not cool enough,
Not SAME enough.

Guess what world?
I'm not listening to you.
I will not live my life according
To your standardized rules.
I will not break down
I will not give in
I will not
Surrender.

Thoughts

Hey,
This is
Slightly more
Than ironic:

I told myself
I needed a
Break, that I
Was gettin'
In too deep.

Others didn't see
It that way, said
I was crazy to
Even try.

So I tried.
And the funny
Thing is that
The more I
Try to push
You out of my
Life the more you
Seem to be a part
Of it.

I
Can't
Not
Think
About
You, and it's
Driving
Me
Nuts.

The strangest things:
Khakis, a bad joke,
my morning cup of
Coffee, a stupid cartoon
Mouse, and of course,
Your celestial twin
Make it impossible
Not to
"THINK".

This is Tupelo

The air hangs heavy
Over all who linger there.
The soft whine of honeybees
And the curious questions
Drift over the morning like new butterflies.

The trickling fountain spills itself over
The carved marble plaques
Bearing each year of his short life.
Inside the little clapboard church
We sit,
Trying to imagine a little
Blonde-haired boy
Sitting enraptured in the very first row.

Now up the front steps
Of the whitewashed shotgun shack
Where father, mother, and boy
Shared one bed, two rooms, and three shares
Of a single piece of bread.

The floor is worn thin where many
Feet have walked, and the mirror above
The dresser is cracked and dull with age.
And in the kitchen, beside the rusted ice box,
Stands a straightbacked high chair,
Where once sat a doe-eyed, crooked-mouthed
Toddler who could not have imagined
What life might hold for him
One day.

All the other houses that called this one
"Neighbor"
Have gone, replaced by hills and trees, and
A little grove where a statue of
Their thirteen-year-old hero stands,
Guitar in hand.

The bronzed figure has been captured
Midstride,
His ever-watching eyes fixed just ahead,
Watching the little chapel
Which bears his name, where inside a
Soul can sit, rest, and wrap themselves
In the voice that echoes within these walls.

This is a place of peace.
This is a place for saying hello.
This is where I come to experience
The extraordinary.
This
Is Tupelo.

Ode to a Free Spirit

It never ceases
To amaze me
How beautifully
Happy
You are, how much
You embrace life.

And you don't see
it, because it's simply
How you are.

Your laugh breaks
The clouds above
The darkest of days.

Your heart and your love
Could charm the pants
Off of any old Scrooge.

Your strong spirit and
Your tough core act as
The world's strongest
Shield for the
Disadvantaged, broken,
Helpless people that
You love so dearly.

And your friendship.
Your friendship came to me
At a time that I needed it most.
You love me for the things
That I didn't even know were
Inside.

Thank you.

Free

I open
a book, or
pick up
a pen, and
I'm free.

I plug myself
In to Elvis'
Rich angel
Voice, shut out
The world, and
I'm free.

I dwell on
My wishes, my
Secrets and
Dreams, think
About you, and
I'm free.

I close my
Eyes, drift into
Sleep and
Give myself
Over to the
Night, and
I'm free.

Treasures

Cleaning behind
the bookshelf today
I found
Three wiffle balls
A ping-pong ball
Three chewed pens
And a tuft of black fur.

I'd been humming
To myself
Up til now, but I
Stopped then,
Potential tears
Stinging my eyes.

I stood silent for
A minute or so
In silent vigal
For the old friend
Who had
Hidden his treasures
Behind the bookshelf.

Raw

Running
Waking up to the
Copper
Taste of blood.

Breaking
Wringing myself out
So
Completely I can't
Breathe.

Singing
So loudly I escape
All
Of the hurt I can't
Face.

Laughing
So hard it feels
I
Might burst with
Joy.

Living
So briskly, at a
Pace
That fits me
Well.

Something to Think About

I weigh
A lot of things
On my mind
Especially now.

I wonder on
Hate and
Love and
How to tell
the difference.

I look back on the years
We knew together
And am
Astonished
To find that I
Feel no pain.

I ponder spending
My life
With a man who
Already has a wife,
A subject
That, admittedly,
Hurts
Much more than
The reality of
An ended friendship.

I sit
And I wonder
What if?

Story

One year ago
We knew nothing about
eachother.
I didn't exist in
your eyes
and  I thought
you were something
to be scorned.

Then there was
that first time.
You, high above the crowd.
Me, far below with tears
Streaming down my
face.

I was wrong about
you and it only
took three seconds
to realize it.

A year and three months
later
We're long-distance
friends
Who share a common
love.
You see something in me
That I rarely see
myself.

And I see something in you
That I thought I'd never find.

Ich Bin Starker

I am a strong
woman.
I have love
and I have my
tears, my laughter
and I am able to
see the beautiful
things of this world.

You are weak.
Your self-centered
Evil, twisted, hateful
Soul
Will not consume me,
Will not bring me down.

You hold on with blackened
Rotted claws of fear and loathing
And the raw NEED
to just have something to be
angry about.

I am not angry.
I watched your words unread
burn and fuel my self-worth
because I
already knew what
they would say.

Your hate is dead among
the embers.
I will not tolerate.
I will not listen.

I am stronger.

Eternity

I've always believed
in heaven
but not like they say
in church.
My heaven has no
gates
no heavenly choir
and no white robes.

My heaven is a deep
lush forest
With trees and grass
and sunshine
That goes on forever.
Birds sing, animals
call, and every once
in awhile
It rains.

And in that heaven
My loved ones are
all there, their bodies
and faces as strong
and beautiful
as they were in the
prime of their lives.

There are no wrinkles
No weakened eyes
In fact, no weaknesses
at all.

My favorite thought of
heaven
is arriving in this grove
of eternal trees and seeing
that tall man with blue-black
hair and blue eyes and the most
reassuring smile
on his face.

And in this man's arms
is Scooter,
sleek and Persian
And plump as he was in
life.
Green eyes radiant
and his whole body shaking
with his happy
Purrs.