honored to have my prose poem We’ll Always Have the High Chair
published in Free Lit Magazine
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to the accessibility of literature for readers and the enrichment of writing for writers.” – Free Lit Magazine
We’ll Always Have the High Chair
We laughed. Chuckled while swimming in the YMCA pool. In my kitchen or yours. During our walks. Shopping and smiling. Over coffee.
Dad often asked, “How can you always have so much to talk about? What the hell is so funny all the time?”
Constant conversations. Endless phone calls when we lived only a few miles from one another. And now, I can’t remember much. What did we talk about, mom? What was always so funny all the time?
I’d give anything to hear you laugh again.
I remember when Caroline was five months old. You and I decided to try my first born in her new high chair. She was a tiny baby, and had what we called a minnow-head. We placed her in the chair. She tilted sideways and that bitty head slid to the far corner. There she sat grinning with those sweet bow lips. From that moment, whenever either of us said, Remember the high chair, we’d laugh.
This morning, you keep spitting out your meds. Don’t seem to remember why you need to swallow them. With a despondent voice I ask, Remember the high chair?
Your eyes crinkle as drool dribbles down your chin.
I rarely post videos. When I do, they’re musically driven.
I adore Helen Humes, spitfire R&B diva’s version of, “Drive Me Daddy,” a ‘let’s-go-let-it-go,’ song.
Through this song, Miss Hume’s captures a fearless, life-affirming style!
I can’t help but smile, smirk and sing along.
DRIVE ME DADDY – MISS HELEN HUMES
THOUGHTS OUT TO TEXAS THIS MORNING
so many struggling
wanting more than ‘millimoments’ of euphoria
wondering where to find this fickle contentment
a promised aftereffect of the human condition
we’re not supposed to be searching
cheerful reflection is too deep in the wishing well
perhaps earth isn’t designed for constant contentment
wouldn’t sunup be iridescent blue
stars illuminate pathways to lovers
tides even-flow with the heavens
happiness is more like the wind
rustling leaves and racing clouds
we took solace in these haphazard thermals
where seeds still take root
winged beasts soar
and cool air displaces sweating flesh
let’s not search for happiness
let’s take comfort in its randomness
knowing we’ll all eventually be found
I’ve published this little gal a few times, she keeps wanting to be seen…
The simplicity of a dog’s tail measuring more than temperature. How that tail remains alert until its owner unearths a treasure. A perfect ball – mushy, once yellow – perfect just the same. It’s Mojo’s treasure. The purity of finding bliss. Wind be damned. The grey sky an extemporaneous play with an early curtain call. How Mojo’s tail flies – a noble waving banner from the winning side. The captivating colors of victory unfurl. Mojo’s tail is happy as is he – by extension…
May you dream of finding singular happiness in the simple things…
Mojo’s pics snapped this blustery morning.
Red wolf (endangered) with a happy tail created last week with marker and pencil.
For the last six days, my home was filled with family and friends. My pantry, garage and fridge were packed with food. Twenty-six people shared Thanksgiving at my table(s). Including my immediate family, nineteen people slept under my roof until saturday. It was – as promised – our annual Thanksgivingpalooza. But, the past few days of insanity, loudness and laughter were wrapped up warmly in homemade applesauce, 3 turkeys and a ham.
I sit here now alone in my studio tapping keys to speak. The dishwasher is the only thing chattering. My mom and dad left about an hour ago. The giant husband and delicate daughter are both at work. The big son is at a friend’s house. I’m here with Rocky the Shepherd and Mojo the Dachshund wishing they’d kept up with their ESL lessons. Rocky is a bit sad like me. Mojo is happy because he’s no longer being carried like a strapless handbag.
Every year as much as I wish for peace and quiet by day four of Thanksgivingpalooza, I realize it’s only the quiet that returns. Peace can be loud, insane and crazy wrapped up warmly in homemade applesauce, 3 turkeys and a ham.
Thank you. May you dream of a life filled with friends, family and warm applesauce.
Sad Clown created a month ago, waiting for the right moment to share…