I’ll be somewhere else for Christmas

In December of 1998 my father made an unusual holiday journey. Less than a year earlier he’d been diagnosed with melanoma which eventually laid siege to his brain… Read more on the Baptist News Global website.

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Bedrock Love

leopard-skin-tall

In my dreams we are Fred and Ginger.
We dip.
We twirl.
We glide cheek to cheek
in a pool of blue light,

you in that smart top hat,
me in chiffon and stilettos.
People gaze at us with longing.
How elegant! they exclaim.
How effortless!

In the real world of course
you and I are not Fred and Ginger
we are not even close.
On our best days we are
maybe Fred and Wilma

punching a time-clock down at
the quarry; padding around on
chubby square feet;
wearing the skin of some
prehistoric thing.

You grin and say Let’s go for
ribs at the drive-in.
And as we race off
in that car with
stone wheels

and no floorboard
I think What a lucky girl
I am, living this
Yabba Dabba Doo life
with you.

I Have Regrets

1971-06-25-life-ad-baby-oil-ali-macgrawThat first perm comes to mind,
followed by twenty years of scrunch and fuzz
and photographs I’d like
to bury in the backyard.

And all those summers
at the beach, my pink,
immortal skin glazed
with baby oil. That was
a mistake for sure.

Also I should have listened
to my father when he said
beware of credit cards
and check the engine oil
now and then.

There are of course darker offenses:
affirmations undeclared
encouragements withheld
anger unleashed.

Yes, I have regrets.

But not among them
is that brilliant afternoon by the bay
when the preacher said Do you,
and we said Of course, though

we could not have known then
all that our vows
would supply and demand.
Even so, years later

as I consider this life we have made,
my prevailing regret
is that this blasted thesaurus
doesn’t contain a word

coming anywhere close
to the relief I feel
in knowing you and I
belong to each other.