When Death Feels Right

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What have you done,

asking self two or three times this week alone (read one thousand times)

this is not the place of wide open spaces
never-ending horizons

you don’t even like trees,
yet here you are

almost like you were compelled
without understanding

it seems so dark
without
sun

yet this shadowed place seems purposed

breathing deep under the scattered oaks,
rot fills my nostrils

decaying leaves beneath feet
decaying dreams waste away

soul festers
trusting new passion will take root
deep within this fertile earth,
fertile spirit

inhale
exhale
breath deep under the scattered oaks

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The Scrubbing of Stains

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This is a new thing for me
this lounging to the roar of the john deere

I take it all in
the hum
the sky
the glories of cut grass

seriously,
is there anything more dizzy
than the smell of green

yes, I could get used to this
side of mowing

it’s always been therapy
the noise
deafening the uglies in my head

but, like all things
change is here, and
releasing must take place
lest my knees be permanently grass stained

let go or be drug, dragged?
who cares

during my lounging
I found myself smiling at the sun
you know, big toothy grin smile

who freaking smiles at the sun

he was feeling giddy, the sun
eighties in august just doesn’t happen

in this land of red barren

I drink it in
all this lush green
like a smoothie for the soul

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#23 grass
anvilsandedelweiss august scavenger hunt

Click Your Heels

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We would have buried her in her boots
except she didn’t want to be buried.

She’d been ready to head home long ago
but flesh had refused to release soul.

The instructions were to burn the body
the one that gave her hell all those years,
scatter the remains among the sunflowers, and
stuff the chihuahua and put him on the mantel.

That damned chihuahua lived another ten years,
it was run over by a herd of buffalo
so there was nothing left to take to the taxidermist.

Gloriously ironic, considering it’s how she always wanted to go.

She said those boots held power
a magic of sorts
though none of us really believed her

until those boots were drug out of the incinerator
unscathed.

Guess she’d held the power to go home all along.

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#37 boots
anvilsandedelweiss august scavenger hunt

The Last Laugh

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I probably shouldn’t have teased them
knowing how hard they had tried

the creaking of floors
the slamming of doors

spooks at their cheesiest

feeling spirited
I swung the boldest of the aspirations around
dipping him right in front of the coyote skull on the coffee table

my mockery only infuriated them

upping the tempo
they showed up in my dreams
mimicking the image of my father

a true ghost, turning white sheets
to red, haunting childhood bed

I bow to my opponent

I probably shouldn’t have teased them
knowing how hard they had tried

the creaking of floors
the slamming of doors

insomnia makes a terrible dance partner.

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#38 ghosts
anvilsandedelweiss august scavenger hunt

Releasing the Rotting Corpses

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It confuses her

when she has trouble remembering
silly things really

the paprika on the deviled eggs
her daughter’s phone number
when her husband will be leaving town

she’s had years of practice
pushing things deep
vile things mostly

so it shouldn’t surprise her
when the mind takes captive
the silly things

releasing the rotting corpses
flashing its no vacancy sign

she’s a master at not remembering
except when she forgets
to not remember.

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#19 remembering
anvilsandedelweiss august scavenger hunt

Rescue

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It’s always there

when she mows the lawn,
shops for bags of dried beans,
but mostly, when wind
brawls with bone.

She sees it even in her sleep,
when sleep comes

and chooses to stay.

Her escape.
Her rescue. 

She even touched it a few months ago,
the sand sifted through her fingers
returning all too quickly to desert’s floor.

This same floor she paces
where soul meets weary

drowning in maternal doubt. 

 

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#14 drowning
anvilsandedelweiss august scavenger hunt

Just Look For the Dust

down a red dirt road

She stayed away,

for weeks

hoping the day would come

and pass without notice.

 

Denial

she can be dangerous,

her blindfold a bogus comfort.

 

She never really meant to forget.

 

Sun was setting

and despite the impending darkness

she refused to make other provisions.

 

Until that twist of panic

won over

she strained to see the way before her.

 

Not knowing

tends to distort the horizon.

 

If the trail fades away

and another path must be taken,

she hopes to see you somewhere down her red dirt road.

 

Just look for the dust.