And now a Friday treat from Just Capshunz featuring animals that are not cats. Wild, huh?
Friday, July 5, 2013
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Monday, July 1, 2013
Five minutes of naught but
copperized air between me
and our home star:
My allotment for the year.
We are laced together
by narrative and saying yeah
to one another's memory.
What could go wrong?
I am ravenous for wind on my neck,
the smell of soil,
finding folks of my own inclination,
locking my door.
Now as I hear the ball drop
and run down the channel to
a final click, number announced,
I know exactly what the loss
will be. Nothing for it
but to face the approach
with heat on my cheeks,
fingers curled in faith,
lips repeating love.
Maggie Jochild, 4:15 am, 29 June 2013
Sunday, June 30, 2013
All the stories a family shapes and reshapes
are mine alone now. Scraps surfacing
without anyone to reminisce over:
the time daddy chased a peeping tom
pounding down the gravel beside the trailer,
me having caught his face at my window,
and guns suddenly emerging from beneath
my parents' pillows. Or the goat, Blossom,
who became a pet we let sleep in the kitchen
at night. The chihuahua who would only come
if you yelled "Hush!" Mama's cherry pies,
the string of poodles with French whore names,
Daddy's fried quail, the unexplainable joke about
Van Horn, Grandmommy's seizures, what Bill said
when he broke his arm, the poinsettia that took over --
all now up to me to remember, save or set free.
My attic needs purging but Sundays I miss them
fierce, miss the smell of dumplings, bickering over
what to watch, somebody hogging the couch, and
people who knew what I looked like that first day
of first grade, brown dress and red ribbon, a dime
for the week's milk tight in my fist, as I prepared
to live without them.
by Maggie Jochild, written 3:15 p.m., 30 June 2013