Waking at Aunt Ruth’s Farm
Dawn sneaks in softly
past the edges of the blind,
pushing tilled earth scents through a half-opened window.
Damp farm breath hovers,
settling on the back of my neck,
like a sleeping lover, exhaling too close.
Syncopated tick of irrigation stutters in the distance,
the percussive map of time on Aunt Ruth’s farm.
Dust, trapped in Brownian motion, rides a tentative sunbeam,
waiting for me to wake.
**
Waiting for Rain in Texas
Deep in the heat of the day,
storm clouds swell;
they bruise the far horizon,
hovering,
just out of hope’s reach.
Leaves, curled in fetal position,
gasp for breath.
A wizened lizard, drunk on heat,
leans against my shoe,
looking for camouflage.
Everything
waiting for rain in Texas.
**
Daddy Was a Travelin’ Man
In the space between day and night,
make me a child again.
Play me a bluesy jug band tune,
dance your trumpet ‘round the room.
Toss a nickel in the air
and catch it behind your back.
Slip it in my pocket,
before I know it’s there.
Swoop me high above your head
and stand me on your shoulders.
Kiss my barefoot piglet toes and
swing me to the ground.
Sit with me on the front porch stoop,
prop your feet on your canvas duffle.
Take out your deck of cards
and teach me a magic trick.
Tell me the story of when I was born
and how you picked my name.
Take off your hat,
sit back down,
and tell me one more time.
