All the fears
Noted, logged, cataloged
At the end of my book
Under the back-cover flap
I’ve tallied them up.
Two years, twenty seven days
Spent worrying about meals.
Three thousand four hundred and two
Thoughts on car wrecks.
Eight hundred minutes
Clutching at the fear of heights.
I wrote them all down.
I can see how I spent my whole life.
Accounted for in little terrors.
I’m standing over my connection
Stirring melted marshmallows and butter
Making food for someone else.
The one thing of mine that’s a connection to the past
Of horse-theives and tangled branches.
We both stood over this pan, I’m sure.
Stirring up truths, looking for our base, past what’s there,
Watching it get covered again.
Me and Grandma,
I’ve got her thoughts because I use her stuff.
Every Sunday, just the same
We’d call Mom to set a time
To meet at the McDonald’s
Halfway between the houses
She’d run late for every which way reason
Dad would say I’m going over to that
Mexican place across the street
I’m sad when you guys leave
It cheers me up
Forty five minutes each way
To cart you around
It’s not your fault your father lives in the country