if you won’t be coming back this way

paint me a landscape

of Navajo blankets

string a necklace of seashells

with life still in them

sculpt a Manzanita bowl

to hold tears and small truths

capture the sigh of breezes 

in tall pines beyond the open window

replicate your smile

in the iridescence of mica

your eyes in starshowers

across the fat cheeks of the moon

engrave a happy ending

into my long white bones 

and touch my hair to the sun

#author #writer #writerslife #poem #poetry #parting

Trophies (short story)

Lorien strained forward in the crowd at the concession stand. She could hear the engines revving and back-firing as the super-modifieds were started for the A-feature, and she didn't want to miss any of the race.  Squeezing ahead of a man who was still reading the menu on the back wall, she ordered the hot dogs and Cokes for her mother and her friends, then bought a Baby Ruth and a pack of Juicy Fruit with her own money.  She tucked the gum into her purse and hurried toward the grandstand.

Some of the cars were already in line by the time she got back to her seat.  Her mother passed around the food and change while Lorien studied the cars at the starting line.  She was looking for number twenty-six, but L. Ray wasn't on the track yet.

Last Rodeo

hot wind whipped my hair 
across my face
in Cheyenne, Wyoming
where a drunk truck driver
twirled my adolescence
on his sun-tanned arm
raising my skirt and pulse
in street dance frenzy
and I never forgot 
that beautiful bucking horse
that broke his neck 
on a fence he never saw coming



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Puppy Love

DOGGIE PLAYDATE AS METAPHOR FOR ROMANCE

Featuring Carl J and Anne Bonan

ANTICIPATION

WILD ABANDONED PLAY

EVEN IN LOVE YA GOTTA EAT

THE QUIET MOMENT, OR
"WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?"

 #writer #writerslife #author #doggieplaydate #dogsrus #romance #puppylove

What Do You Think YOU'RE Doing?

Anyone ever ask you, "What do you think you're doing?" Not "What are you doing?" That's pretty obvious. But "What do you think you're doing" is a poser. My stepdad asked it regularly. And not just of me.  Of an impatient driver pulling around on the shoulder back in the days when you could cross Kansas at 80 mph. Of some woman struggling to parallel park in a spot he'd been eyeing for half a block. Of my mother, when she'd gather up seemingly empty plates from chicken dinners before he or my Aunt Carolyn or my Aunt Juanita had sucked the marrow from the ends of their drumsticks and wings.

Here's the thing: