Skip

I remember invincible

somewhere between the ages

of six and thirty years old

I remember believing I

didn’t need to wear a coat on

thirty degree days

that eating pretzels and icing

was a balanced meal,

and the drama

the over the top

outrageous

“Oh My God” drama

that I was able to live through.

I remember my brother

older, bigger and somewhat wiser.

it didn’t matter we picked with each other

at every opportunity

punched each other when no one was looking

fought over the last piece of everything

    We were suppose to      We were the youngest,

the oldest,

together we were one

when my two sister always

“knew it all”       “had it all”

sat comfortably in the middle of my parents eyes

Skip and I

were the beginning

the end

the trial and error

the part people never remembered

until they thought nothing was left

I remember the strokes

his funeral

the kryptonite

that grounded a super man.

the way my mother wept

the loss my father found                                                              

the brother      no longer invincible

the fight for the peace

no longer left

* * * * * * * * *

She had an artist spirit

the kind that is easy to love

hard to heal from

life’s worries

were weightless

inside her salvation

of frozen drinks

sun-burnt beaches

and wave watching

at the squint of daylight

she would stand        ankle deep

and welcome their charge        

the in

the out

again and again

the out

hours she’d spend

on the lip of a salt watered

rinse that sanitized her soul

by sunset

the world was upright again

fear, frustration

dissolved like the crayons

discarded on her dash

forgotten, set to the side

when she searched through a box

for new colors

wanting prettier pictures

she needed to blend

all shades of red

to push the pastels past

corners

ignoring the edge

she dreamed that way

in a yellowed scent

sweet and sharp

her mind grew from this

vulnerable vine

she drew everyday

off the waves

in the world

without a hue

* * * * * * * * *

I’ve known love

cut it before

it cuts me

sliced at the thickest

vein

drawn the most blood

I’ve been their

seen how fast one

alone

can drain

two

can die

when there is nothing left

to say       to do

every drop is gone

wrung dry

I know the difference

in applying pressure

how hard to push or

clasp

when to lift the corner

of a bandage

check

to see if the bleeding has stopped

know when best

to rip it off clean

I’ve been the bandage

believed it just might need

to be changed

listened to the salve

a story supplies

when arteries are punctured

and spew

the warmest of liquids

when they have holes

not even a finger

or foreign object

can fill

* * * * * * * * *

art

give a child a white piece of paper

a fresh box

of Crayola crayons

a 24 pack

waxy and bright

let them have glitter, glue sticks

pipe cleaners          paint

and then         watch

have them make

Paper Mache’ puppets

use yarn for hair

affix bubble eyes

draw on the mouth

scraps from Joann’s              tissue paper

an old towel

tie it at the base

hot glue guns cost $5.99

mixed matched buttons         a penny a piece          

and socks

lone lost socks

surfacing from the basket

in the cellar

present possibilities galore

it’s art

the prettiest parts

spilling outside the lines

always showing up

on over-exposed film

painted with 

fingers sometimes       toes

at age 8

my art teacher would give

me an unmolded lump of clay

by the time it arrived home

dented and dug at

my mother would say

It’s an ashtray