America the Insoluble

Family members, Party members, Americans and 

American'ts: There will be no favors!

Some were lovable, some detestable

at best

loving and despising felt passionate.

In the city, at the hearth, families are

making and breaking ties

and promises. 

Some of which, solidify under stress,

Some are just now breaking down,

None with ease,

All with intention.

The residue of a last name, 

hangs like an apostrophe, drops like the 'e',

and is only detectable in the darkest matters,

where love is made, despite the conditions.

Life-like, we all play

our parts, ruin our roles,

and forget our lines

showing our age.

When a kiss is blown

from seven generations away 

and lands on the cheek of resemblance

it all matters more than a passing breeze

to shoot at.

Collectively, granite, like

Love makes mountains, and

flecks of abhoration make ashes 

fly elsewhere. Never to rest

peacefully. 

Blue was expanding.

Touching us all

leaves two hands stained

with family history.

The stars remain
cornered.

Photo of The Atwater Family in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Ritually Custom

'Tis a sensuous tribute to Time

that we caress the Moment,

knowing it curves and gestures

that sink into warm familiar coves,

sucking in all its nectar

as newly brewed.

Again, more, and a gain!

Let us do the steps-

in orderly,

walk with me, mirroring see,

strut through it

then and again

like it is your old house.

Right now, 

exactly like it was

when you remembered what

you came here for.

Tho never was it

the same, all most

re-placed.

Like last Time

bittersweet lingers not long 

enough.

Like seasons and seconds,

more tradition and Time

to do the same.

Plump predictions and ripe fruitions

bursting with Now

smelling like Then

we recognize This

time

as the Rite Time

to harvest

a gain.

Image By Mennonite Church USA Archives (1975 St Catherines Tradition Poster) [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Re-gifting: Oh, that old thing (I think I've had that)

When we do things
absent, mindlessly,

sometimes our former selves

sneak out, like this one, 

in this way;

when yesterday, I was wrapping presents

folding and creasing, pressing 

Scotch™ tape on the folds, I noticed
my own grandmother's hands

there-doing all the work,

while I just watched.

Bewildered. Behind.

This happens at the strangest

times...you may find yourself

triggered by a word

or the way we say-

that thing, that way, that

fires memory cannonballs...

And at certain times its a-scent,

an agreement of essence,

we remember thick as a waft.

Namely, a single note that carries a key

and pulls levers of attention coupled with

spinning axles, smooth and in place.

Our brain goes on, rolling with the ripples,

uninterrupted-until going nowhere in places

seeing both others past-you-go-and comes-and

brings you back here

not knowing how
it got there...

It is a gift of now, knowing.

Lost was the life

that went unnoticed by motion memory.

The set was changed, moved around

by your own history. Draped in black,
this mourning-

which is why we cannot deny we trip

over moved memories

that enclose the past

in my presents

while I am not looking,

sometimes I see

my forgotten family.