The Poetry Marathon

hope is what we choose

when the world is consumed in chaos

when all our dreams are charred

and the only path is through change

hope is the only choice

twelve cherry plum trees

sprouted from the mother roots

my mouth salivates

scraping the barrel here

asking me to write about pizza

most of which I’d rather not

but then I remember the glorious pizza of my childhood

Shakey’s Pizza Parlor

oh the world has never seen pizza in all its potential glory

unless they experienced pizza in its American infancy

large viewing windows, the better to see the miraculous thin dough discs flung into the air

by white-aproned teenage boys hiding their pimples under a full-on toque blanche

thin crust, thin crust, thin crust

and black-and-white silent films looped to the timing of a player piano

ahh, pizza was never so grand

Running scared

running low

running into

running next to

running two for one

running away

running over

running under

running a meeting

running against

running out

running on borrowed time

and just plain running

On Saturday mornings my son and I feed

over two hundred hot meals to neighbors in need

we plan and we prep and we count all the lunches

we are truly the ones blessed

In the gathering room we gather for everything

even though it might seem crowded sometimes

and it gets too warm in the summer afternoon

because of the windows that point to the south

although I could put up awnings or blinds

but then why have windows, am I right?

Even the pictures on the shelf I have to reposition all the time

so they don’t get faded by the strong sun

Because everything is crowded in the gathering room

and the sun is strong

Listen to a story ’bout a man named Black Tim Villines

a big man living as a hermit in the hills above Bullfrog Hollow

in the days when one black man in the county was one too many.

In the only surviving picture of him, he is wearing overalls with one strap off and

a shapeless hat like the one worn by the father in The Beverly Hillbillies mashed down on his head.

It came to pass that Black Tim, lonely as he was, was holed up in the hills for a reason.

He believed in the legend of the Dover Lights, which spoke of Spanish conquistadors traversing the country who died one by one in the Ozark hills laden down with the spoils of their looting.

Because they were suspicious of each other, they buried their gold and baubles down in the valley with the intention of returning in their spirit state to retrieve the treasures.

Ever since, swinging lights, said to be the oil lamps belonging to the dead soldiers, can be seen on clear and cold nights. One of the lights is red, and that light is said to belong to Black Tim who supposedly died while trying to follow the others’ lights

or maybe he was killed by the conquistadors for getting a little too close to their treasures.

pink tutu black tights

ballerina wants to fly

throws a mean side eye

Soften a brick of regular cream cheese

not any of the non-fat or low-fat variety

Place in a bowl and add the following

three slices onions green

one-third jar of Real Bacon,

Accent salt, no fakin’

Worcestershire sauce

form a ball like a boss

Roll in chopped pecans

chill until it all bonds

Remember the fun times

the pleasure has been mine

Spread my love along

Now I think I’m done.

All the best, Mom

Bless her heart

I keep telling myself I can’t save everybody

When I scolded her eight year old cousin for preparing to eat a pile of Oreo cookies without permission

she cut her 17 year old eyes downward as if she wasn’t going to get involved

When I returned a few minutes later, he had consumed them all

I asked her why she hadn’t intervened

Well, he told me you said it was ok earlier

I looked at her. Did it sound like I was ok with him eating the stack of cookies?

Well, I didn’t know who was telling the truth

I looked at her for a few minutes

Well, you can’t tell me adults don’t lie

Regardless of whether I was or was not lying, you knew my disapproval

What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to take care of him?

I know she was pushing me. I know she was jealous of her cousin getting to move in with me while she is homeless. I know she was playing manipulative games she learned from her mother many years ago before her mother was sent to prison. And yet, I know she secretly longs to find a home with me, too.

Bless her heart.

I keep telling myself I can’t save everybody