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Amy
No ships for me this morning No stroll for me today No bloody marys on the beachNo sunburn on the wayIt’s the tweeting of little songbirdsThe scolding of the squirrelsThe dew thick upon the fescueThe buzzards as they whirlThe mountains call me homeI see them in the distanceThe air has cooled the light has changedThe mosquitoes are persistent My old front porch beckonsAnd I reflect upon this lifeI’ll sit right here with my beerAnd bid the South goodnight…
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Anna.She always seemed so worldy, even though we were the same age. She delighted in being Southern, and knew all about growing a garden even though she lived in a house in a subdivision. She had a raspy smoker’s voice, even at 15, because she smoked. She smoked because her mother smoked, and her mother probably smoked because her father smoked. She was wild; she was as close to free as you can be at sixteen. Maybe it was because she had two older brothers and her mom was tired. Maybe her mom was depressed. Is there a difference?At any rate, Anna rarely said no, and was always available to run to Long John Silvers for a box of crunchies, sunroof open, ashes flying out the window as she shifted with her cigarette clenched between her teeth. There was always some guy hollering, and she, without fail, had a contact for buying cigarettes, booze, or pot. She was one of the first people I ever knew that bleached her hair with more than lemon juice and crossed fingers while laying in a plastic chair in the yard for hours on end.She was a little fast for me, and I didn’t see much of her after she dropped out to complete her GED.Anna had a tinkly laugh, a carefree demeanor, and would give you her last stick of Big Red gum.I saw her…
Oh, y’all. So, I bought this beehive for work. Well, work bought the beehive. For an educational tool. It’s pretty cool, I have posters with pictures and fun facts in the frames. Way more fascinating than the dumb Enviroscape. So I wanted to paint the beehive because it came as unfinished yellow pine. I wanted to paint it traditional white and then paint cute little colorful flowers all over it, like a meadow. And I’ve made two trips to Hobby Lobby for cute little bumblebee adornments and paint. And also, today, I visited Lowe’s for the plain exterior white paint. Did you know they make you pay for the little opener tool? 68 cents! I didn’t get one, I figured I could open it with a screwdriver. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and generally, I can gather the will. After the hassle of getting our tax exemption number input to their system, I have returned to the office with my wares. I take the items back to the supply room where my beehive is stored. I’m not going to paint today because it’s too late in the day to start, it’s dreary and overcast and I’m not dressed for painting, nor do I have a bucket. I envision a sunny day, me out by the picnic table in a smock and beret, paintbrush between my teeth…
On April 25th, 2014, I visited two bedsides at the local hospital. One belonged to a friend who had just delivered a baby, the other a friend who was slipping from this world and reaching for Heaven. One room was joyful, with friends and family packed in among flowers and balloons, the other, quiet and nearly barren. That was a difficult day. But one of my more eloquent friends so gracefully reminded me that it was a great blessing to witness both new beginnings and near departures. So I’m remembering those wise words today. Yesterday afternoon, I was fortunate enough to witness my good friends’ daughter march across the stage, composed but jubilant, in her Valedictorian robe. There was much celebration and a few happy tears for this new adventure in Lindsey’s life. Lindsey is no slacker; she’s been brought up to be kind, first and foremost, and to study hard and work harder. Hard work pays off, and the little squirt is sitting on $50,000 in scholarships, not least of all from our beloved Patron Saint Dolly Parton. Next stop Rocky Top, as her mortarboard proclaimed. 5′ 2″, 105 pounds, and solidly 4.0 (even though she’s really a 10), FFA president and counter help at the Co-op, Lindsey is top of her class both literally and figuratively. She’s went from a timid little grasshopper of a child, to a poised young lady I…
People with a disregard for common courtesy often like to tout that you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. And this is sometimes true. But I know how easy it is to have your feelings hurt if you’re just left out in the cold with no explanation for behavior whatsoever. So here is my explanation. I didn’t call you back because you called later than I care to talk. I didn’t call you back because I already needed to call my aunt back, and I had no intention of doing that, either. I didn’t call you back because I was fixing supper, and I wanted to read a minute, and I still hadn’t showered, and I had an early morning today. I didn’t call you back because I was afraid you’d want to talk a long time. I didn’t call you back because I’d had a busy, socially filled-to-the-brim kind of day already. I didn’t call you back because I had company. I was talking to my neighbor. I didn’t call you back because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to talk to you. And there are your reasons, since you so desire them. So now I hope that the next time you want to ask someone why they didn’t call you back, you’…
I watched himAs he sat In the top of a dead tree limbStill strong enough to bear his weightGazingFor at least three hoursFor movement And the drizzle continuedI eventually missed his swoopRocketing earthboundOr as he took to the wingHungryAnd still in searchOf that elusive mealA victimOut scavenging himself…
Thankful, Day 20I’m thankful for my Aunt Bren. She has always been my fun aunt, the one who made me feel so grown up by taking me to nice restaurants, and buying me trendy clothes, and encouraging me to participate in activities that would determine other aspects of my life. She set an example of reading for pleasure, always with a book in her hand on the couch when Uncle Dale was watching TV. I looked forward to the nights I spent at their house (exempting the eve of the juvenile deer hunt) because we would stay up late, just talking or playing cards. Uncle Dale always thought it was so funny that we look so much alike: curly hair, glasses, fair skin…and another, um, attribute that I won’t mention here 🤣 People always thought I was their kid.And I’m thankful for her sisters for always including me when they get together for holidays. That bunch is lively!! I can’t imagine growing up with four sisters. They share a very strong will but that’s where the similarities end. And that’s what makes it fun being around them.Of course I still enjoy spending time with my Aunt Brenda. Of course she influenced me heavily, seeing as how I spent so much time around her in my formative years. We both enjoy poking around antique stores and craft shows. We discuss books we’re reading (our tastes…
Thankful, Day 6 I think I’ve talked about divisions before. Like, when you’re having a conversation with someone (or maybe just one in your head), about when something happened. I’ll often say, “Let’s see. That was when I was working at the Co-Op the first time.” So that means between 2001 & 2005. Or I might say, “That was after I got married.” Okay, so after 2012. Y’all probably use the birth of your children to figure stuff out. Our biggest life changing moment should be the day we are saved. That is a truly life altering day if you’re living right. So this day is one of extreme importance as well, a day that lives in my mind as a mark on time. It is the day I lost my Uncle Dale. One year I have been without his guidance, his stories, his pestering, his laughs. One year has passed since I’ve told him any tall tales of my own, or eaten his grilled chicken and deer steaks, or performed a requested chore. One whole year I’ve lived with a new hole in my heart. As he would say, “All I know to tell you is you’re gonna have to get tough, Pilgrim.” But all I’ve ever been was wimpy little girl. However, in the spirit of being thankful, I can say…
I could write about unrequited loveOr barely suppressed hateFor I have both in spadesThis unseasonable November dayBut maybe I won’t write about either- Since it’s expectedAnd will purge insteadOf the act of cleaning my teethMeticulously Or how about How badly I desire Oreo cookiesPerhaps I should be the one to sayThat really the leaves weren’t that striking this yearAt leastNot where I stoodBut you are still waiting aren’t youFor me to fulfill the emotionHeld in checkShould I tell-Neither are a secretNot in the traditional sense But noIt’s like how I have been wanting to watch a movieBut I won’t Because then you wouldn’t have your poemAnd have your poem you shallI don’t remember what I set out to doBecause it is now January All the color faded from the worldAll the glitter and sparkles packed awayFor another yearAnd where will it find meI sat out On my birthdayThe halfway point almostAnd gathered my courageAnd walked to the edge of the yielding limbAnd JUMPEDI couldn’t bring my words backI didn’t want to anywayAnd even though they weren’t repeatedI still know the truthEven though you pretend you don’t And yesterday Proved something else I thought I knewBut it turned my stomach unexpectedly More words that have been spokenAnd won’t go backYears of loaded looks Harmless flirtingBut is it harmless, really?So here I am Writing more wordsConvincing myself it’s all realThat love still existsBut it rarely comes…
I wish I could hate himThat’s what the poems would sayIf the poets were honestBecause it’s too hardI don’t have the energyTo be ScarlettNor do I haveThe sensibility I can’t help my heartAnd it rarely helps meBut the poets will gather their willAnd their quillsAnd find a quiet cornerOr perhaps a bench under a willow treeTo bleed their soulAnd maybeIf they really meant itThey’d put rocks in their pocketsAnd walk steadilyTill they were over their headsDying beautifully And tragically Just like their poem said they wouldProbably the daffodilIn their lapel Wouldn’t even lose a petalAs they flung themselves off a cliffBut me?In a rageMy hair wild and unbound and unbrushedFlinging crockeryAnd maybe a high heeled shoeSpitting venomSo harshlyMy throat would be sore for daysHaving a plan that involvesKerosene and a matchbookFrom a bar calledThe Wayward ThistleAnd a knife clenched between my teethAnd yetI remember to be a ladyAnd so I sit placidly With my sonnetsWriting about unrequited loveAnd bourbon cherriesBecause peaches are overdoneJust like roses…
