nobody's baby

smile at me

i'll turn away

give me candy

see it smash the floor

kiss me

if you want a raspberry in your ear

massage these teething gums

consider yourself bit

change my diaper

but be sure to close your mouth...

give me a puppy

you know i'll pull its tail

bring other kids to play with

heh, these toys are all mine

let your best friend hold me

dare me to whitewash her new outfit

hold me while you read to me

don't even think you'll get through one sentence

you can smack my hand if i reach for something bad

and, well, i guess i'll just deal with it

but

just between you and me

if you do all that stuff anyway

you'll own me

chroot jail

you are who you say
as far as you know

entire conscious life
like witness protection

phantom footprint

incarceration
usually protects
those outside

force field fishbowl

girls play house
boys just play

twist of phase

believing is seeing
even if they find you
wish them godspeed

so tempted to long
for less importance

rhythms of life
desks to pews
meals and adventures

fevered pursuit
chasing home

over horizon
past land and sea
then sky

wide open
never vacuous

space

Competition III

"I've got knackwurst," I offer inquisitively while gesturing toward the freezer. I could have not been less prepared for the giggle that followed as it reached slightly into her deeper register, let alone the unadulterated mischief in that grin.

She had surprised me by stopping by with a copy of Bringing Up Baby on a perfectly lazy afternoon, although, I wasn't feeling lazy. I would have assumed she would be out riding on a day like this, or at least have someone else in mind. The movie had come up in a conversation one time, how you can never get tired of Hepburn and Grant in that one, picking it apart line by line, scene by scene.

I had been catching up on the fall yard work when I startle to a knock on the wheelbarrow a few feet behind me. After gathering a few wits I say, "You have a way of making entrances, no?"

She chuckles. "Now now, who am I to disappoint?"

Standing there feeling green as grass I smile mostly out of sheer disbelief.

"Hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Oh,it'll be here..." as I gesture toward my rake, suddenly needing to convince us both plus the birds and bugs that I've reached a good stopping point.

After meandering about the garden we sat on the porch for just a few minutes before I hear her tummy growl. "Sounds like someone hasn't had lunch yet either," I probe.

"Yah...I was...gonna offer Applebees or something," which brought upon friendly debate over whether to just fix something, I've got plenty on hand to work with, and the discussion brings us into my living room and kitchen, how so quickly her presence makes my house a new world altogether.

"I'm serious, knackers are great wrapped in a slice of wheat and maybe some Dijon, heck, you saw how many onions came up this year. If you want we can put the movie in..."

She playfully pokes my ribs. "Deal."

As I reach into the freezer she gently catches my forearm and asks, "So are they like brats?"

"They're milder, kinda like a hot dog but grown up."

Smiling, "Umm...how about we just cook one of them?"

I glance away and muse, "So we each start at an end and meet in the middle?"

Handover mouth, she nearly loses herself in a laugh that could almost betaken for guilt, eventually turning away and bracing herself on the counter. "No silly just cut it in half." She gasps, still fighting bursts of giggles, and gestures out back in a manner that could only bring to mind Diane Keaton. "How about some of those other veggies...from the garden?"

I have to sigh, just watching her for a second. "Deal."

Crossfire

Day by day, night after night
Blinded by the neon light
Hurry here, hustling there
No one's got the time to spare
Money's tight, nothing free
Won't somebody come and rescue me

I am stranded, caught in the crossfire
Stranded, caught in the crossfire

Tooth for tooth, eye for an eye
Sell your soul just to bop on by
Beggin' for a dollar, stealin' a dime
Come on can't you see that I'm

Stranded, caught in the crossfire
I am stranded, caught in the crossfire

I need some, kind of kindness
Some kind of sympathy, oh no
Save the strong, lose the weak
Never turning the other cheek
Trust nobody, don't be no fool
Whatever happened to the golden rule

Carter/Ellsworth/Layton/Shannon/Wynans - 1989

muck in the stud

on a cold afternoon somewhere in your youth
seated on the couch with miles in between
she's lifeless as the bare trees outside
having cried the salt out of her tears

she's wearing the sweater you gave her
in a baffling manner of statement
the aroma of her house always seemed foreign
yet that never stopped you from charging in

if you love me this, if you love me that
why can't she just be happy?
finally she breathes out a sigh and turns away
and it gets just a tad chillier in here

Competition II

"I've watched the kids over the years," then, a pause.

My turn to take a deep breath, seemingly sympathetic.

"Actually...hmm, it's their families I usually notice," as her eyebrows bounce in a sort of revelation. Her lips purse. "You know, a horse doesn't care about the same things people do."

"I think I see where you're going," as I nod and take another hit of ever-more-tepid hydration.

"Yeah, it's as though there's something these kids, well, at least some of them, won't get otherwise. I hate to sound overly class-conscious but...I don't know, you can just tell, I can feel it in my belly I guess."

I sigh.

"So...yeah."

After a moment I jump back in, "I hope you don't mind," helplessly fumbling for the predicate.

Her smile patiently beckons.

"I know the last thing you want is praise...still, I can't help but admire that," all the while feeling my own smile transcend gravity, let alone any hope of restraint.

She looks away for a second and returns with, "Thanks." Gently squeezing my arm she adds, "I had better see how they're doing."

"Good luck. And, thank you, " which earns me one last smile, lingering just a bit as she went. I'll admit it was pretty easy to get caught up in those in those well-worn jeans after she looked away. After recovering a bit, I check her progress from a safer distance and nearly make out a song in those meandering, carefree, almost prancing steps as they navigate the uneven terrain.

Before long I dump the rest of the water and mosey on up to the office in case anything needs attention, such as leftovers from lunch or some potable coffee. While standing around with the owners I learn that this meet was one of the best ever attended at the farm. That's something you like to hear, you know, publicity never hurts.

As we're cleaning up and tearing down I see she's absorbed herself with the riders, and I mean completely absorbed. Not that I would expect glances or even a vibe, but I can't remember seeing someone so clearly, well, in their element, just listening and hugging and congratulating, even as most, representing those with special ribbons and without, are on their way.

Without a doubt the remainder of that evening fulfilled what the beginning had promised, still picture-perfect. Funny, I didn't even listen to music or a game on the drive home. Then, all I could do was sit on the porch, with a mug of broth, and help the neighbors' old beagle watch headlights go by.

F C A F

Some hymns are just made to end with a drawn out root chord, and the last one we played together begged me to regress through the F major on my bass. Easy enough even for my relative lack of experience at the time, requiring only 3 strings and 3 fingers to bring it on home.

She had joined our worship group a year prior after her first year of grad studies and was now saying goodbye to pursue what lies ahead. She didn't settle at our church immediately upon coming to town, just got acquainted, and some of us feared some of the older ones may have scared her off by urging her to play piano for us. But in the springtime she came around regularly and became one of the College/Career staples as we were labeled.

Thinking back I can't decide whether her determination outweighed my possible mixed signals, or whether her signals themselves were even mixed. Before she joined us I would email her, never knowing fully why, just to say hi. After a while I even came up with a playful pet name. She seemed to enjoy the emails and we got along well; it just felt good to make a new friend with things in common.

But after a while...hmm...and, I don't fault her for confusion, it's just the way it is sometimes. A mutual friend told me she denied any interest beyond purely social, but then, why did things at times seem awkward when I would simply be polite? Why the insistent tone asking for someone to rub my shoulders or sit by me...and, why did she ask to meet my parents that time? And I realize she has an older brother, so how does that fit into the mix...is this just fraternal? Heh, am I actually off the hook here?

Later that day there was a potluck for various reasons, partly to give her a proper sendoff She gave a surprisingly clever and witty speech, then again, not a phenomenal fact given her parents are public figures. As she got ready to leave we kinda side-hugged and she tearfully whispered, to the effect that, it's hard to leave, as I would discover for myself in a few years when stepping out.

As it turns out she got a job offer in my home town and asked me for the lowdown. It wasn't long before we time out, as I have come to call it, and she meets someone, and it wasn't long before emails faded into the sunset as she was becoming more and more convinced that she had found her long-sought prince. Far as I know, she really, really did.

Back in the heyday of that worship team, I had related to someone how she and I would sometimes stay after practice to go through random hymns. And yes, I got the expected comment, sounds like you two make beautiful music together.

Oh how hope rings eternal in the heart of hearts....

But the thing is, God knows, that remark insinuated things that I only entertain in dreams or near-sleep moments when my more visceral ambitions are offstage. Think about it, how the heck can I remember arpeggiating a stupid F chord, note for note, on that platform over 6 years later?

I've observed a variety of personalities over the years, both public and private, to this conclusion...seems we all pursue a legacy, a type of fulfillment by which we spend and accomplish our life toward a purpose, be it clear in one's mind or otherwise. For many it's to live on through direct heirs and for others it's, well, not so much that. A poem is never finished, only abandoned, they say, and a work of art to some is a living being that may even transcend the life span of the artist.

And, how our hopes play out, even as we realize least.