Grandma

Wasn't it last week 

We huddled on your couch and you let me cut your hair discussing how your mother always told you eventually you have to leave room on earth for your grandkids 

I saw a few long hairs on your chin and tried to cut them too without you noticing 

You said "sometimes I just ask the good Lord to take me" 

But also discussed how you're trying to cut back on sugar (attempting to lose the extra weight) 

----- 

None of us can prepare

For the last day

Only for the one we are marinating in 

It is also her heart

You can force no one to live 

Say all you want to to manipulate her to eat

But you cannot force anyone to use their esophagus 

__ she learned how to kill herself this way from her brother 

A woman

Someone once told me, 

If you want to learn about a woman

Ask her to tell you about her Mother 

So I asked her, tell me about your Mother, what is she like?

"She is a lot like you, actually" 

She replied, brushing her blue hair past her shoulder, and looking at the wall. 

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, she is adventurous. And you feel safe to be yourself around her. And one time, one time we went to a movie, and she cheered outloud during a scene." 

__the way students perceive you

.

I asked God what he thought about it 

I said "God what do you think about it?" 

& He said 

"You must love still" 

& 

"I've already taken care of it." 

First glances

It was in the aisle at meijer 

I immediately sized him

Up 

His rouge beard hair, shaggy salt and pepper hair hidden under a hat, a Jean jacket from the 80's tucking him in 

I thought he must be looking at flowers 

Hopeful to find just the right thing to woo a woman in his single, discontent, disheveled life 

Passing him, I took in the details

And found quickly it was not blooms that had caught

His eye

Instead I found his head was cocked upward toward a bookshelf, and as I passed I glanced in his cart to see it full of birdseed for wild birds 

And I thought

I bet I would like this man 

I bet he has a lot to talk about 

Spring

There are some who understand the way of the geese 

The north

The south

The going 

Wild with wind

Loud with bellowing 

I met a woman who had geese in her veins 

If you saw her you would know

"Yes, yes, this is who she spoke about. "

I don't know why they call them wild geese 

Aren't they all wild 

Stranger, friend.

"Hello"

I say simply, using his name. 

He never looks at me. Even now he looks past me at the chapters of cookies lining the back wall and I wonder if he even heard me. 

"Thank you for serving today," he says, letting the wind of his suit coat brush my arm. 

It is always this way, 

Even

Last week when I touched his wife's belly in the dessert line and remarked at the color of his childs hair and how dark it's become 

Still his eyes travel past me, never on me 

Never resting on me 

I wonder sometimes 

Have I offended him in some way 

Or is it his careful way of making sure to stay home 

Or a habit he's created to protect himself from further conversation 

Maybe he hates small talk as much as I do

Tom.

There are always ham and cheese sandwiches sitting there on clear rigid trays 

The ham is pink, flesh 

Dead, unmoving 

Probably sitting there overnight in the fridge covered up waiting for today when everyone will walk by carefully touching the surface 

Weeping 

I see her press her head against his chest 

It stays there 

Going bright red and wet within seconds as she chases her chin up and down as if saying yes

Reliving a memory they just shared with her 

I can see her crawling beneath the sheets 

Trying  to see if his scent still lives there 

Wishing she'd never complained about the crusty salsa bowl

Or the dirty boxers left out in public places of the home 

Faith walks by, says a few words about her grief 

Her eyes are puffy, & well up with water 

She is balancing a plate of salad 

With a ham sandwich, the bread sitting on it crookedly 

I wish I could fix it

all of it

I heard two stories today 

One about how he trained for Israel 

His large frame steadily moving

Preparing 

His hair cropped across the top like a stage 

And how he tromped through the backyard to his neighbors to find the high schoolers skating on an ice rink 

The music blaring 

His intent had been to shut them down 

But as he stood there, watching (it was two a.m.) he realized that boys will be boys and I think he remembered being their same age once 

He simply waved 

Said how you boys doing 

And turned, Tromping back over the yard to home 

We all stand 

Arms crossed awkwardly not look to hovering or brooding but also 

Not too happy at the same time 

We hide desserts in back rooms carefully selected 

Casually walking passed the tables of salads 

And ham sandwiches 

Hoping the carrots will be gone so we can refill them 

There were plenty of sandwiches left 

I'll have you know 

Homer

There may be death in this lifetime 

Grief 

An abundance of weeping 

But 

When I am captured by this 

May I find that still there are pine trees 

Unending clouds trading shapes 

Let me find the tangled hands of branches 

The organ of the ocean and how it beats and beats and beats on the sand 

I have found that mountains are the same as anxiety medicine and the warmth of sun, consistent like the way our body ages or the way a wave can change the texture of a rock

This wild earth can tame a soul 

__ how Homer changed me 

Homer I love you

When we got here there were a lot of things happening 

Lindsey putting pieces of her ex husband back together in the other room, bits if electricity running through Jana's body, her, draping herself carefully into the bathwater, the room smelling like eucalyptuses, damp like after a rain. Emerging, she embalms herself in a full flannel pajama set and sprawls across my bed, whittling a series of thoughts together. 

Jeannie, is plugged into a wall, attached to a devise sucking her breastmilk from her very soul, reading facts about Alaska, about caribou, discussing the size of her belly after children. She sits there with her soft skin exposed, her long dark poneytail climbing over her collarbone down past her boob. 

Maybe it is not Homer that I love but the people who came here with me