What if,
instead of losing
weight,
I want to grow more
greatness?
What if,/
instead of trimming
my figure,
I want to expand
the world’s knowledge
and insight?
Who will be
my coach,
my trainer,
getting in my face,
screaming at me,
“Once more.
Once more!
You got this.
You got this!
Push it.
Push it!”
When you follow the/
Lord’s promptings you may learn why/
you had to do it.
When your child tells you:/
“We are all losers!”, it’s time/
that you prove her wrong.
Giant red cedars./
Moss. Ferns. Rain. Gray skies. Traffic.
I don’t miss a thing.
You try to save cash,/
but sometimes you have to pay/
for mistakes you make.
You have proclaimed it:
We can stand, wit to wit.
But now, see my postings erased.
Such pained bantering is not my taste.
I apologize … and quit.
It’s interesting/
how people read mean meanings/
when no mean is meant.
She who must proclaim/
herself a great muse is not/
likely to be one.
I got the lady/
in red’s phone number though I/
would do nichts with it.
Cleaning house
in service
for those who can’t
or won’t,
I play an old tape.
Hell yeah!
It’s Mahalia
Jackson,
Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
I can’t contain
the torrent of tears
as I clean
even more earnestly
because that’s all I can do now.
Now that I’ve left.
Now that I’ve ripped
lives apart.
This used to be
my city,
my town,
my house,
my family,
my life.
This music brought joy
down the stairs.
I have tapes.
I have videos.
This used to be everything
I lived for.
But now,
I’m cleaning the living room,
and
there is no room.