Red Dirt Of Home

red dirt of Manati

survives    I plant the flowers

for you, daddy

the red dust on your boots

on the porch tiles

after you brushed out your khakis

there was always some left

in the cuffs of those work pants

today I whisper to your bones

look at your granddaughters

dad, one has your hazel eyes

one your blond hair

our hands stained red

the land you loved

I know you, I understand

we rinse our hands

water running red

splattering manicured toes

wipe dry on our shorts

they clean their hands meticulously

I keep the dirt 

under my nails

just a bit 

of home, of you

it is how 

I survive

Fire In The Sky

I almost forgot how the light dazzles the clouds. Fire in the sky on the first Monday after we changed our clocks. We say FALL back one hour. Silly Americans, how we play with time as if we can manipulate the universe.

November Sky

Some people believe in miracles. Days are random as I pace through life. Until the universe conspires to stop me, awaken me, to the simple treasure of an early November sunset. I am humbled by the gesture of light shearing the clouds, painting them yellow to red to gray. Just for me, as I wait in the ONLY lane to turn and drive into the sky.