Day 8: I Am a Soldier

I am a soldier

Though sometimes when I finish a book

I kiss the cover like a tender forehead

I am a soldier

Though more than I'd like to admit,

I hear my mom's words when she sees a beggar:

"That's some momma's baby."

I am a soldier

Though I found wild blackberries out on the trail

Stained my mouth purple eating them, talked to the squirrels

I am a soldier

Though the three minutes of coral sunset with the windows down

Felt like the most important moment of today

I am a soldier

Though sometimes I feel it necessary and proper

To skip the alarms, the work, the plan

And do some kissing, a whole lot of kissing

Day 7: Neighborhood Ditty

Black pavement holdin' heat
Itty bitty slappin' feet
Hopscotch, skates and trick-or-treat
Twirlin’ down the empty street

One-step two-step cha-cha-cha
Lift ‘em up, the ground’s lava
Same time tomorrow, see'ya at the seesaw

Run on home and kiss your ma

Day 6: Buck Up, Cowgirl

Had a history professor from my part of the South

Knew it the moment he opened his mouth

Told me George Washington loved to show off his calves

Thought of my daddy's Appalachian talk

Farm-built legs stronger than a founding father

Knew a poet from Tennessee,

Bible-belt man with a haircut each week

Told me about Dubliners, got me into the abstract

Found his old thesis from Kentucky; I couldn't help it.

Learned my favorite redneck in velcro, orthopedic shoes 

Knew more about Percy Shelley and crystal meth than I'd ever seen

Maybe everything's a mirror when you're lonely,

Like cowboys seeing mirages of water out in the desert

Seeing fathers in any man with a southern drawl

But I hear them speak to me, they know my name

They say "Buck up, cowgirl!”

Day 5: On Laughter

Please refrain from telling jokes around me.
I am far too busy for the tee-hees, 
The chuckles, and god forbid
The giggles.

I am booked and busy, with no time 
Blocked out for your wisecracks.
9am is serious-o'clock, 
I will be away with a frown on my face.

At noon I have an appointment with the council
Of my stuffy, uptight friends.

I must make rent,
I must eat my spinach,
I must run on my hamster wheel.

There is simply no time to jest,
Do not poke the bear.
This frown is not going anywhere.
Leave the stick exactly where it is;
Yes, I want it there.

Day 4: Humidity Song

Droplets suffocating, wild daisies flowering

Relentless dew taking everything, devouring

Water with no origin, suffocating heat

Bearing bulbs that could bloom through concrete

Day 3: Diner Angel

Lipstick-stained mugs and bite marks etched in bread

It’s all proof, footprints and bodies still warm
I wonder what my favorite security guard thinks about
As he sits at my bar watching the clock with a steaming mug
I want to ask the people lying in wait what they’re stalling on
While the cars come and go

I watch the traffic slip by, the reflections of lonely folks

Clinging to their mugs like they'll file for divorce

I etch my Vitruvian Man on a napkin

As I conduct my study in humanity

Cleaning spills, kissing things better

Absolving the tipsy truckers
With coffee creamer and questions I hope they’re waiting to be asked

They show up in my dreams later, with the names I give them

Maybe I appear in theirs, with that good hot stuff and tolerant, open hands

Day 2: Split Soles

My dad kept tools in an ammo box from 'Nam

That smelled like rust and decade-old sweat

So he had duct-tape ready for my cleats

Coming apart minutes before the match,

Splitting right under my shin-guards and size-4 feet

Sat me on the curb and took a knee,

Grabbed my foot like I was Cinderella on spikes,

Tied me in electrical tape until my foot was numb.

Thumped my little leg to say "Let's go,"

And the spikes split through the adhesive as I stood up.

I was his makeshift princess

Ready to play, ready to knock some teeth out

Hadn't learned about shame yet,

Or that other kids had new things

But nothing feels sturdier than quick and dirty

Faith you can't buy

Some things never change; busted shoes,

The feeling that anything's good enough.

His old toolbox sits in the back of my car,

Nothing's never been proper about me

Mystery bruises, filthy shoes, gappy teeth

Riding till the wheels fall off