Here's an umpteenth draft:












When I was young
my mother said
I reminded her of wading birds
and gave me herons,
one of colored glass
another of sculpted onyx
a third carved out of light wood
that darkened as it aged,
though so slowly
decades passed
before I noticed.

Another blog led me to resurrect this, which I now have as a third draft:













Whiskey on my mind

Fine burn on my tongue
first flush
Warming nose and cheekbones
Stinging mist of
Fine whiskey taken neat
Pure in itself and its
Power to clear
fog behind the eyes

A found poem:

He is weighted with truth
sick, scared, about to die
and he has been horrible
and there are no do-overs
and this heavy man
is the only father
you will ever have.

Another first draft

a bar gives people a reason to be close to each other
barstools are adjacent
the bar is the piece in common
the reason, the excuse, if needed
to be near
to take time to talk of weather
and football
and long lost loves
and what it might mean
to be at home

...as I was saying
just before you interrupted
that's a habit of yours
you know
anyway, as I was saying
the divorce was all planned
and he was to move out on Sunday
but her cough was worse on Wednesday
so he took her to the doctor
and they found spots on her lungs
that they can't yet identify
but she has been smoking for a long time
so he has a bad feeling
and it's Wednesday again
and he hasn't moved out
and she says it would all be easier
if she would just die
wouldn't it
and what was that you were saying
dear?