This time of anticipation

has me already missing those little things

which I no longer shall receive.

The crate of grapefruit and oranges.

The ground whole grain grits.

The cornmeal both fine and coarse,

yellow and white, whole germ and milled,

refrigerated, frozen,  given away,

rarely cooked.

But when it was, an honor sent.


The curried pear relish.

The bon voyage gift.

Tokens marking

me as a daughter



is her name, little pageant girl

behind which…

everyone  sees these youngest girls shaking their booties

(please reference toddlers and tiaras. TLC)

Imagine, fairy tales and  Walmart dazzle

the ultimate mirror,


where’s Oscar when we need him?

“we are best friends, the same person…”

she is a mini me. crying,

I don’t want to do this any more, or

a daughter who didn’t want highlights,

saying no.

to no avail.


Daily Musings

The will to act is seen
dispersed in stacks of things,
the inside feelings creeping out
in action paused,
a battle awaits the vanquishing.

In sleep I venture once again
east of third and north of south,
where houses to fix can still be found,
though rough streets ride the peripheries.

Inside my rooms aside the shore.
Some boxes packed.
Do I stay?

But this is what I do,
though chances are few to find.
A neat and tidy room spars, emerges and recedes.