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Amy
I wonder If people lay on their deathbed And wish they had added salt To their green beans And put butter on their biscuits And idled awhile longer In the bath I wonder If they wish They had jumped from an airplane Or seen the ocean one more time Or ordered a filet Instead of the pork chop I wonder If they think calories and carbs Are still important Or hugging that friend a minute longer And splurging on fresh cut flowers Just to brighten a dreary day I wonder If they think of things left unsaid Or things they shouldn’t have said Or maybe one last cigarette One last swallow of liquor One last kiss from the one they loved best I wonder Why it takes Death To slow us down To speculate And prioritize…
I have something to say. I know, I’ve ALWAYS got something to say, but this is serious for a change. Do any of you REALLY think you can change anyone’s minds about politics, about masks, about anything of consequence right now? You cannot reason with fear and I believe that most of us are scared for one reason or another currently. Half of us are on edge about the political climate and the unrest of so many citizens. The other half of us are scared of catching Covid. Neither side can stand to listen to the other for any amount of time and we’re all shoving it down each others’ throats 24/7. I’m a firm believer in the freedom of speech. I may not agree with everything you say, but I’ll defend your right to say it. However, we’re all in this together whether we like it or not. It’s gotten so bad two really good friends of mine deleted their accounts simply because they can’t take the unrelenting pressure of debate in their news feed. I’m not telling you anything new. All y’all see it, two or three posts on one side of the fence, two or three on the other. Back and forth, back and forth. Back. And. FORTH. I think some of you are just trying to fit in. Did you not learn to be…
I just want to be myself Completely myself, always Not pieces of myself I think about the women who barely smile in pictures Who never light their “fancy” candles Who always say no to seconds and dessert Who refuse to wear their real diamond earrings And never go swimming because of how they think their legs and butt look in a swimsuit How do you stand it? I grin so big my face hurts I never have fancy candles My dirty diamonds still sparkle My legs are chalk white and my hind end is fat But I won’t let that stop me I will always laugh too hard Too loudly Too long And probably snort and get myself started again I get BBQ sauce and powdered sugar all over everything I own and I don’t even care I will make cookies just for me And I will post ridiculous memes And bad poetry And I will text you inappropriate jokes all hours of the day and night Because sometimes I can’t sleep The moon knows there are things I’m not finished thinking about It has recently occurred to me That I deny myself nothing And why should I My happiness can come first And if I want to sing while I cook And dance while I brush my teeth And not mop my floors for two weeks It’s ok I can do that And if I had a tail I wouldn’t hide it It…
It is always easier To write a poem Than a story Because a poem can have several Interpretations And you can look as hard as you want to But still not find the true one Is it better to start the day off Like a dog With no expectations Of what the day will hold Or should we expect the very best scenario And then be disappointed when it’s everything but And then what Because that’s what typically happens But sometimes Just sometimes It’s even better…
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I was idly scrolling through Facebook tonight. It has become a time-consuming bad habit during the Q. I could be using this time to read, or throw out receipts after checking them against my bank statements, or cleaning baseboards. But no. I’m watching TikTok videos that y’all share (because I refuse to download the app), or laughing at inappropriate memes, or rolling my eyes at y’all trying to convince one another that A) our only “safe” option is staying shut down until flu season or B) that China is trying to kill us by selling us hospital-grade masks that actually recirculate deadly carbon dioxide. I don’t even know anymore. But I do know that I’m not missing people breathing on me in line….but I miss hugs and impromptu drinks with friends at the local watering hole more. So anyway. Back to this post. My hair is, to put it bluntly, crazy. It’s virtually untame-able without the aid of an industrial can of hairspray and a flat iron jacked up to the highest setting. I don’t even try. I’ve just been embracing my curls as they fall after I shake them upside down and scrunch a handful of mousse liberally into them. Seriously. That’s my styling regimen. Some days I get lucky and it looks like I tried. Most days I look like I stuck my…
My hair was the wrong color So I dyed it And I felt much better I wouldn’t put up with it So I left And I took my horse And the cookie dough I couldn’t stand it And I told them so And they didn’t take me seriously So I left And I was happy For a time You were all I dreamed of But it was an illusion And I thought I could fight it But you wouldn’t stand beside me And so I sent you on your way Do you see the pattern I finally do I have a low tolerance for bullshit And I won’t put up with it Not for five minutes Not for forty years And I don’t trust any of you…
Sometimes I have words, sometimes I don’t. But I know that by writing it, I’m much more likely to get it right than if I try to say it with my mouth. I usually have an idea of what I want to talk about before I sit down to write. Sometimes I have to look at writing prompts to kick-start my motor. Since I’m not getting out a whole lot, I’m limited on subjects. Y’all can only read so much about my dog. One of my favorite columnists could benefit from this notion. I sometimes think if I have to read one more article about baseball or his dead daddy (who’s been gone way longer than he was ever here) I’m gonna send him a list of other stuff to write about. Just when I can’t take any more, he’ll pop off one about pound cake or some old lady eating alone at Cracker Barrel or something, and I’m good for another month or so. Anyway….yesterday I wrote about the herbicide thing. Well, really it was about women needing to pull themselves up by their flip-flop straps and believe in themselves what needs to be done, can be done. BY THEM. Sure, it’s nice to have a man around for the gunky parts of life, like plumbing, or the parts you just don’…
I sat on the porch today, watching birds. It wasn’t like I didn’t have anything else to do. But I like to watch birds. I’ve thought many times, as no doubt many of you have, about what it would be like to fly. More specifically, what it would be like to be a bird. In the past, I’ve thought I would most like to be a hummingbird. They’re fast, they’re tiny, they’re brilliantly colored, everybody likes them, and they hover like a helicopter and can fly backwards. Lots of friendly people feed them sugar water, which, I imagine, is the avian equivalent of Mountain Dew. This all sounds quite ideal to me. However, I have been giving this more thought. Hummingbirds have to fly south for winter. That’s a long way for such a little bird. And I don’t hear them do a lot of chirping. Which made me think about the mockingbird. Mockingbirds aren’t stuck with one birdsong throughout their lives. They’re gifted and continuously chatter with over twenty different voices. As much as I like to talk, this would be peerless. And, as an added bonus, they’re the state bird. But then I got to feeling guilty, because about the time I landed on being a mockingbird, the barn swallows showed up, calling and darting through the sky, chasing bugs. I love swallows so…
