Shucking Corn

 We gotta get this corn put up before the days out

Why in the he'll did they order so much of it?

Just like Mama to order all this corn and her be in the hospital

Lord, we gotta laugh, otherwise all we'd do is cry

Jenny Lynn said she'd go to the hospital and sit with Mama

Daddy, sure can't go

He's been drinkinh all night

The bedroom closet is all tore up

Can't hold her, probably never will again, but her smell is all over her clothes

We gonna have bushels of creamed corn for the funeral

I shouldn't have thought that, but I know it's true

My brothers and sisters need to come to their senses and prepare to say goodbye

She ain't coming back after this heartattack

This here's a good crop

It's only June and we got plenty of time for a second go round

Well, Mama,you didn't waste your money this year

If you's sitting right here, you'd say the soil was just right

I look at my brothers and sisters laughing and working, acting a fool

Reckon your soil was good too, Mama

Blank Page

 It stares back at me, almost mocking

Aren't you going to fill me with ink, or do you have nothing to say again?

I stare and stare, but nothing comes

My thoughts are full, but they come in the form of pride, anger, fear, and sadness

Oh wait, I have that story in my head

The one I keep forming in my mind

Each day, I keep telling myself that I'll write it down, but don't

Maybe I can buy a pretty journal and write it down instead of dreaming about it, just a thought

Here's a thought

Stop thinking and write from the heart

Isn't that what they say?

Don't you dare do that, that thing's way too fickle

Just ask the Holy Spirit

He'll help 

When He decides of course

Its His time, not yours

Prayers at the Altar

 Remove my garment stained with sin

Drape me in clothing spun by angels in the whitest of threads

Pluck my eyes out, cleanse them with blood before placing them back in my skull

Bind my hands together, so that the right hand nor the left stray from their tasks

Nail my feet to the path you chose for me

Sew my lips together

Kiss them and breathe on them, so foul language will never escape

Aching Body

Children, more like toddlers run down the hall underneath large blue streamers hosting silhouettes of sea turtles and whale sharks. Chasing after them, my body rebels. At 49, every part of my body moves in protest. Worse yet, there's no comfort in rest. My legs want to swim while me head desires a pillow. Those eight hours of sleep do not exist in my world. When I wake, my back cries out. Guess this old age. My new job is to embrace it.

Dementia

To my window she comes

There's not much time

Tell me your secrets and and I'll carry them with me

Sprinkle them.on the wooden path, on top of your footprints

On good days, I sit at my window.

Open my broken mind, fish out my memories

And speak

Two by two in song, they drink my words and sing

I'm dying, but my body will go on functioning in this world

In the midnight hours, I busy myself

Boxing up memories, bitter and sweet

Rereading books and poems that contain words for stirring emotion

Saying prayers with the hopes of finally getting the meditation right

Once done, I close the box on my life and bury it

Underneath the bottle tree my husband made from the wine we drank

Before the last pile of dirt was out back in place

I beg and pray that I remember one Word, just one

Sprig of Lavender

 Weeds choke the garden, killing  the pumpkins planted only months before

Half neglectful, the gardener begins to read, but only when she's bored

Finds it spiritual even 

The weeding starts on the bank across the driveway

Pumpkins are dead

Let the dead bury the dead, she mutters

When she finally makes it over the side

A calm arrests her olfactory senses

Buried  underneath, beauty thrives

She plucked a sprig of lavender

Devouring its sweetness of romance and promises and in a faint whisper, "God."

Christmas Carol Practice

We clicked going for a 9am practice on a Saturday morning 30 minutes away.

We were late, of course and lost

There were no directions posted in the email for the music room

The only one around to ask for directions was a caffeine starved priest seemingly desperate for peace

His directions were perfect, thankfully.

You could here them, 20 girls not quite in tune singing classic/commercial carols for the elderly

I had flashbacks of my choir days in college and wondered why the girl's voices weren't being whipped into shape

Until I realized it's not about perfection, but joy and fellowship