My Mother

Was a little blonde toddler
with large sky-blue eyes
Born to Ernie Green and Sally Martin
in a modest home in Fort Worth, Texas
then passed off at three to an aunt and uncle

She was charming, cute, she couldn’t get
enough of that thing we call love
She grew into a bright adolescent,
achieved high marks in school
She slept on handmade pillow cases
and played with redwood dollhouses
her Daddy made her

As a teenager she started noticing older men and
the way they looked at her in her cheerleading skirt
She started sneaking out of the house

When she was home she ate wholesome meals
and after dinner her artist mother would photograph
her wearing vintage gowns with fur collars
in black-and-white film
Her mother thought
she was just beautiful
And she was

At eighteen she was in so deep her
parents persuaded her to join the Army
She did but was sent home after two weeks
for bad conduct

My mother met my Dad on a camping trip
and attached to him like a leach
He didn’t mind at all and next
thing you knew they were pregnant
My father proposed while sitting with her
inside the Nova and they wed down
at the courthouse, she wore a blue dress,
I’ve seen pictures

A year or so later, after I was born,
my mother looked around the little house
with the fire needing stoked and the
baby needing fed and she said,
I’m nineteen, to helk with this
She flew the coop and changed her name
from Darlene to Brenda

Sometimes I imagine she’d chosen to stay,
and got a decent job as a nurse or a receptionist
down at one of Crescent City’s little clinics or something

That didn’t happen
but I do want her to know,
We never wanted you to go

Not Coping Well At All

Don’t look at me
Don’t talk to me
I don’t trust you
What reason do I have to?

You came around but
then you let me drown
only offering your hand
when I had already reached the shore

Don’t open your clear eyes
Keep ’em closed,
fixed upon the trail ahead of you
I’ll forge my own path
You shouldn’t even have spoke

I Love Him (You Fill In The Rest)

Years ago, I was listening to the radio in my kitchen
A song came on, and it just had the most pleasant sound
Its chorus said something like,
I love you like a mountain
I had to stop right there and rest my knuckles on the counter top,
and soak in those words and that haunting tune

I kept thinking of those lyrics,
of that song,
for days, months, years
and I thought of him,
I thought of saying that to him,
saying,
I
Love
You
Like
A
Mountain,
but we didn’t really know each other back then.

Like a mountain
With its peaks and meadows
and its birds and sky, hidden behind the treetops
With its black conifers and yellow-leaved aspen,
looking like butterflies,
frozen in time on the horizon.
You are as mysterious,
as sacred,
as powerful as a mountain
and I love you like a mountain.

Tonight,
I listened to that same song again
I watched outside our window
as the hills faded to black
and the trees faded to black
and I thought to myself,
to no surprise,
I still love him like a mountain
Only now, I can sing it out loud,
I love you like a mountain,
We came up the same,
we were both the same

I Love You Like A Mountain, by Timber Timbre:

Pinterest.com Hater

Love. It.
Too cute!!
I NEED this. Where can I get it?!?!
My husband and I HAVE to go here!
Totally love this!
I make this cake every 4th of July!
Every girl NEEDS at LEAST one pair of red shoes
Eek! I can’t wait until we go there! Just one more month!
Got these in pink for my wedding!
Love, love, love!
I love beagles!!
Where can I buy these?!?
I totally had these in middle school
Perfect for my trip to Paris someday!
We have the same hair color<3
OMG she’s so pretty
love bun hair, so classic and pretty!
I ate grits this morning…lol
Looks like my hair if I don’t straighten it
Jenna, this one reminded me of you:)
She’s SO beautiful
I wish I could do this, my hair’s too thin
Would DIE for that body
OMG, plaid capris, yessss

Ladies…shut the fuck up.

Premonitions Of Yellowstone

A dream:

I veer off-course one day as I’m out running errands.
I decide to drive to Yellowstone National Park.
I call and tell my boyfriend:
I’m driving to Yellowstone, so that when we
decide to go together, we’ll know how to get there!

When I’m almost to Yellowstone,
I roll down my window,
The air is arid,
sky clear,
it’s warm outside

I arrive and book into a hotel that’s busy and full
There are suitcases, and children are running a-muck.
I go inside my room,
there is a spectacular view.
I notice two guitars leaning against the wall
and I sit to write a poem about it.
I draw back the curtains.
I want to write about the view:
Taupe plateaus dusted with late spring grass…

Looking out at the view,
I’m shocked to see a yellow-eyed coyote
running down a wide lane of road, coming from the park,
and heading straight for the hotel!
The coyote (pronounced ky-oat) comes in through my open door —
I jump up on the countertop.
A man who works for the hotel comes in and shoos him away
The coyote comes back and again I jump up on the countertop,
again the old man in a red plaid shirt shoos him away
The coyote had wild eyes
He was playful and puppy-like
I sit to write a poem about the coyote.

As I am writing,
I begin to slowly emerge from my dream
Lying on my bed, hands down at my sides,
I can hardly believe I’m not really at Yellowstone!
I can hardly believe that my hands are idle,
that there is no poem, and
there is no coyote.
But I was gonna find out how to get there!
So we could go again, together, soon!

Yellowstone was warm
and fresh

Are You My Mother?

My Dad was married twice.
Each marriage lasted one year.
He says he’ll never get married again.
He and his girlfriend Sis have been together
for what, ten years?
She’s still married to Billy McNabb

My Dad has had a whole slew of interesting relationships
I was around to witness most of them,
though I never did meet the lady he picked up on Greyhound,
the family says she was a real piece of work,
and not in a good way.
I’ll tell you a little something about the rest of them…

My mother:
My mother was the first woman my Dad was ever with
My Dad kept a journal,
at 21 years old, he wrote:
Met a nice girl named Darlene.
I invited her to my campsite and she’s been here ever since.

Both of them were quick to the draw,
my Dad proposed and my mother got pregnant.
Actually it was the other way around.
Thereafter she couldn’t keep it in her pants so it didn’t work out
She’d decorated the house in a dutch theme with little windmills
and wooden shoes and everything but then she left one day and
I overheard someone say she was out “jumping trains”

A few years later my Dad met Suzanne.
Suzanne was a real independent woman,
nothing like my mother.
She had a house and a son my age.
Suzanne had a beautiful olive complexion and a nice ass.
She went to church.
She made sure I took baths.
She towel dried my hair once,
put me in a clean pair of her stretch pants. They were gray.
Things were just wonderful until she met someone else.
My Dad was man enough to attend their wedding,
where I was the flower girl.
I cried but my Dad assured me they had always
been friends more than anything else.
I thought those must’ve been her words, not his.
I’d seen him in her bed after all.
I remember she kept a cookie jar up on the counter,
it was shaped like a strawberry.
Sure enough it always had cookies or candy in it.
Suzanne was a good woman.

My Dad had a girlfriend whose name I will not disclose.
She was the laziest sonofabitch you’ve ever met,
but she raised a ruckus in bed.
She had ropes tied to the frame of her bed,
Her kids showed them to me one time.
She was big into romance novels, erotic movies, and paganism
She claimed that the song “Pretty Woman” was written for her
I doubt it.

Cher.
Cher was a heroine addict from out of town,
that’s about all I remember about her.
She spent a lot of time nodding off on the couch

Lisa,
Marriage #2
Lisa is a main character in my memoir.
My family liked to call her the “Wicked Witch of the West”
behind my Dad’s back
She’s dead now, rest her soul,
freak accident involving a heavy entertainment center.

My Dad’s current girlfriend, Sis,
was a god-send
She’ll talk your ear off in her thick southern accent
She’s from Louisiana, a true lowlander;
born and raised in a floating shack on the bayou.
Sis cares.
Sis loves.
But Sis is one crazy mother%^&er.

Lisa was in it for the money, if you can imagine that.
My mother took and took and took love, trying to
fill up all that empty space inside of her.
She couldn’t give any back.
Sis is a good woman and I’m glad she’s around.
Her real name is Lillian, but don’t tell her I told you that.
Sometimes she talks in the third person and calls herself “Sissy”:
Sissy got yo’ back

All my Dad ever wanted was for a woman to stay
When he’s with a woman,
he only has eyes for her
He still goes to see Pretty Woman sometimes
but not for the reason you’re thinking.
She pays him cash for doing her yard work.