For me, and perhaps for you other Americans as well, this July 4th has been very different from all the others. I miss being able to travel from “sea to shining shore” to see fireworks, to have BBQ’s that include more family and friends. I miss the president whose mission was to unite us instead of divide us. Tonight before bed, I will watch Hamilton then clothe myself in strength and wake with the determination that America will secure for us a better tomorrow.
My legs move fast
my feet still remember
Mama ran away.
The Charleston ends
my feet, still
I plunk a new recording on Victor Victrola
plant the needle in the grove
turn the crank.
My feet move again
green and yellow squares of rug
melt together
I spin, braid pinging from one shoulder
to the next
like two different suitors
tapping my shoulder
asking to be my dance partner.
Like a wild mushroom,
my skirt puffs
the swoosh of movement says,
“Everything will be alright again.”
I squint to believe.
photo credit
via Mushroom
This crazy world
when times, absurd
the dark hard to endure
take hold, dear mind
of simple, calm
a panacea cure
painting by CD-W
daily word prompt: panacea
clipart by CD-W
Grandma parked her Ferrari
and rushed through the door
of the Moxie Courageous Everything Store.
“I need one sturdy jump rope,
two twenty-pound weights,
elbow and knee pads
and blue roller skates.”
“Will that be all?” the salesman said.
Grandma looked at the ceiling
and then shook her head.
“I need a large sack of forgiveness,
‘No cost,’ I was told,
‘If you give it out freely,
it will lighten your load.'”
He pulled down the sack
from the highest of shelves
and smiled when he said,
“I might give some myself.”
She lifted her items
and knew who she’d call
for the bag wasn’t heavy,
not heavy at all.
Daily word prompt: Moxie
photo credit
A last laugh
a traitor
Deceitful, evil
An hourglass,
Beautifully molded
Perfect, the glass
Coarse grains of sand
now collected
the pediment rests.
A finality of time,
hemorrhaged out
like a single bullet creating two holes
A slashing of both wrists.
(A poem I wrote for one of my characters)
The hail
ripped through my okra,
oh what a storm,
the cucumbers, too
but the onions survived
and so did the corn!
Just for fun:
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 