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



#writer #writerslife #author #rodeo #cheyennewyoming #poetry

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:

Space Dust and Human Ashes (Part One)

Look closely at your hand. Everything you see there has been on this planet in some form since the beginning of earth time. That used to blow. me. away. The outcropping of new life forms and new lives from the original blue bobble we call home as we dance about in our galaxy. (You can see how I try to grasp this concept in "Space Travelers," below.) And yet . . .

Trash Talk and Bob's Bread

I saw this adorable clip on Facebook a few days ago, definitely worth a watch if you’d like to get a few more of your happy synapses snapping. It’s of triplet girls--about three years old--dancing around the driveway in their anticipation of giving their trash collection guys each a cold Gatorade.  http://www.fox29.com/news/152141850-story

I found this especially endearing in light of my recent attempt to show gratitude--FAIL. 

What You Wish For

Mugging with Mother a few months before the accident.

All I ever wished for was to be a writer. (And that elusive pony.) At 10, I wrote my first book: The World and I. Fully illustrated. And then there followed a looong, dry spell.

My dreams of a writing life didn't begin to materialize until Wichita State University established its MFA program, and I went back to school--a divorced mother of three with a weekly study-work schedule of 110 hours. My mentor and life-long friend, Distinguished Professor Bienvenido Nuqui Santos, told me I was writing to find my mother, who was killed in a car wreck when I was 26.