After All

Staring at the paint chips in the ceiling,

Not wanting to move because I’m sick and finally cozy.

I’m starving though.

I stretch and claw my way into a half seated position

My mammoth duo of dogs aid me to no avail.

I lie back down,

defeated.

Taking a couple of puffs off my vape,

I rev upward.

I’m hungry dammit.

I stretch and wobble,

the dogs think it’s game on now!

I grab a chair and pull myself up.

Thighs of fire get me cleaned up and fed.

But, looking at me in the end, you would never know the fight.

Southern ladies always are presentable.

After all, we tidy our hair and freshen our lipstick,

even if the house was on fire.

Poetry: Thanksgiving

I forgive myself for idealizations of holidays pastFor quick crying between wishesFor wiping tears on my pumpkin apronFor missing the harvest moon …

Poetry: Thanksgiving

This blog entry by an amazing artist conveys my thoughts exactly. I am alone this Thanksgiving, and it really had me down until I read this piece by sweet Bridgette. You should check out her writings and photos.

And, to those who wonder where the turkey and mash potatoes are- they are in your heart, dear one. Thank each of you who read and support my blog. Your dedication keeps me dedicated. Many thanks and blessings to you all!!!

Love~ Susan

Crying Mary

She’s a no good harlot!

She’s possessed with evil intent.

She paints her face and wears improper clothes.

But, the winds scream Mary.

Why is she this way?

No one but she and her God know what happened to her.

One act of kindness from the Right Person-

She is healed.

And, the wind whispered Mary

My Catholic named is Mary Magdalene.

I know her pain and see through the lies.

Her invisible scars speak to me.

And, I cry MARY!

*giant nod to Jimi

My Mother the Sea Skirting Nymph

Long before she lost her leg,

before five-year-old me scratched her cornea,

before she had her cancerous breast removed,

Mom was a water ballerina.

When our family went on vacation to Sanibel- back before it became trashy and shark ridden,

Mom would put on her simple bathing suit from last year and the one before that and the one before that and so on.

Next, she would put in her weighted fake boob and something was lost from her sparkle.

Then, unable to swim because of all of these stupid things,

she would walk miles up and down the beach collecting sea shells.

As a child, I thought it was her passion.

A shell hard to be unique and lovely in any form to go in Mom’s bucket.

So, day by day, morn til you couldn’t see your hand it was so dark, Mom would trudge the beach always looking out for jellyfish though I am sure dad would have urinated on her.

Mom , barefoot, would dance with the ocean.

Sometimes, a cha cha…other times a fox trot,

but they all seemed a lustful waltz to an 8 year-old me.

Later, in the condo, the two of us would go through her finds!

I loved the spiral ones, because I could hear the ocean I had been swimming in all day.

Mom listened to all of the sea shells

I tried it, too, but heard nothing.

I told Mom she was being silly with me, but she swore she wasn’t.

She’ll after shell, she laid back and listened to her lover’s call.

But, I heard nothing at all.

Heart Ache

As popcorn birthing

My eye is popping, hurting

I can feel the vein

Thumping its way to oblivion

I grab my medicine bag

And produce a green and yellow capsule

Pop it in my mouth and flounce to the floor

Am I having a heart attack?

Should I have taken aspirin, too?

No, there’s some in the med.

I begin to meditate…my emergency meditations

The yogi asks if I responded or reacted

I did both, you fool

The reaction was my response

Did my heart attack me ?

I will never know

Has time passed, no

though the clock says so

I sneeze and, for a millisecond

My heart stops again.

The weird thing is I am in the exact same position as before

Only my chest aches on this stark, old, wooden floor.