My grandmother laughing

My grandmother laughing
Cigarette in mid drag
Was a sparkle
My grandmother laughing
Anytime
Instead of crying
Was a gift
Lamby, lover
This is what she called me
Her eyes twinkling
“Sit with me sugar,” she’d say
beckoning me to the land
of channel #5 meets Merit Menthols
a dreamy combination
of pleasure and sin.

full moon full

Four lovely women and a dog on a sofa early Sunday evening. One playing a small blue guitar, two stroking a soft golden Maisy girl doggy, one perched on the arm of the sofa. Conversations shimmer like the last rays of sun filtering through the tree's dancing leaves. Slow, ambling conversations float like the full moon or an orange warmth above the glowing campfire. Love can be like that. Simple, peaceful, uncomplicated.... nothing to grab onto, yet enough of it for everyone.

a kind of forgetting

all day, all of this day spent in love. i don't remember if i've ever known such a thing. in fact, i know i haven't. but she was with me all day, literally, physically, and i didn't and don't want it to stop, and it's strange to look outside and realize a whole day has passed, a whole day, and how funny it is that's it's just felt like minutes, i'm telling you, minutes, and i wonder why that is, and why i still can't get enough, and how it isn't like that obsessive kind of love, it doesn't feel like that, because if it did i wouldn't be eating, i'd be losing weight, disappearing, sallow or jaundiced with swollen glands, that kind of not eating, and we ate today, several meals, full ones, we ate and ate well, so it isn't obsession, can't be, even though i'm still hungry, thirsty, aching, even though i am all these things, it feels like the right kind of hunger and thirst and ache, for some reason, a whole day passing and still, it feels right, and i am relieved because i didn't know love could be like this, wanted to believe it but couldn't, and yet, and yet, it's here, the right kind of hunger and thirst and ache. it's here.

Inchworm

I was out in my back yard, wearing my leather jacket—it was coldish—and there this inching thing, this little green crawly, bunching itself up and unbunching, scrunching and unscrunching, propelling itself, propelling, propelling. Just a little thing it was, just a little inch-long critter pulsing ahead, steadfast, speeding over my shoulder to far-off lands.

Here is my own tiny tiny, my own itty bitty, my own little pulsing, offered to the women of 27 Powers.