photo by MPP, Boonton Diner
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Bashful Johnny Cakes
Category: desserts
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Ha!! Me, too…
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Abelard and Heloise activism Americana animals Anne Boleyn astrolabe astronomy baseball writing battle beauty belief bibliophilia biology books botany California cartography cemeteries childhood Christmas chronology cinema civility coffee comedy comfort communication confections corsets crime criminal behavior dance death desserts destruction deviance digital art digital photography divinity domestic violence drawing ecology education electoral process English epicuriosity epidemeology Europe fairy tales family fashion fauna feminism festivities fiction film food forensics fucking funerals furniture geneology geography girl stuff good reads government government and a lack thereof gratitude Halloween happiness health Hell history holidays human behavior iconography Jazz journalism kindness kinetics Lent life literature local color love poetry medicine mindfulness mortuary sciences mourning muse museums Music mythology nature non-fiction Ohio ornithology painting pandemics papyrus parenthood parenting Paris performance photography physics poetic theory politics pop culture produce psychology public broadcasting publishing punk puppies reading red hair in the morning, fucker grab a cab relationship studies relationships religious studies reproductive rights rituals romance science science writing seasons self-care self-love sex sexism sexuality shitty shit shooting stars Short Stories slang society sociology sociopathology Southern Gothic Southern Living suicide technology thanatology the arts The British Royal Crown theatre theism theology tomes traditions travel writing Uncategorized Urban Legends vice war waste weddings women words writing
Poof* Take MY water
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no demons may cross my cumberland gap
you can’t get from her desert south west to kentucky
the archway of plenary indulgence is not her path
demons choked on fear and comeuppance lose their way
oh ye of little faith
was there ever any doubt
Jesus was from Elyria
that Ostara was from Kentucky
and that Lazarus was from Newark, NJ
but he got stuck in traffic for 10 years
on the high roads of rt. 80
you are a book
i have kept open
in dimmest candlelight
long past
the reason of midnight
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Americana cinema civility coffee comfort dance death desserts destruction divinity domestic violence ecology electoral process English fairy tales family forensics fucking funerals geneology government and a lack thereof horror human behavior humanity humor iconography infidelity insects Jazz journalism kindness kinetics life literature local color love love poetry medicine mindfulness mortuary science mourning non-fiction ornithology painting pandemics parenthood Paris performance photography physics poetic theory poetry pop culture psychology publishing punk reading relationship studies rituals romance science science writing self-care self-love sex sexism sexuality shitty shit shooting stars Short Stories slang society sociology sociopathology Southern Gothic Southern Living suicide technology thanatology the arts theatre theism theology tomes traditions travel travel writing Uncategorized Urban Legends vice waste weddings womens studies words writing
Paris in the rain
a woman’s life
is too tenuous
delicate
billowy
spider web
close call on I-75
in preterm labor
on the way to the
Paris airport
in the rain
fragile
beautiful
precious
sacrosanct
finite
for bad friends
bad family
bad coffee
bad shoes
bad mattresses
bad jobs
bad husbands
bad debt
and bad dick
learn this by 30 for maximum
enjoyment
future
female
conquerors
of a dying planet
he expected me
to be true
though everything about him
was a lie
men are
comfort
food
every day
with him
was the last day
i walked into our backyard and spoke
to the witch hazel tree this morning
she was the closest woman i could find
beneath a sun that decided to shine
for the first time in a week
witch hazel calms angry skin
soothes redness and inflammation
her fleshy bark turned to me as i told her our story
though she already knew the words
she had felt the earth around her roots quake as i screamed
for the baby i tried to give you who is buried perpetually at our feet
for the day i walked out on you in a restaurant
to not hurt you with my sharpened tongue
i didn’t want to lash out at you for wounds i’m still nursing
that you didn’t inflict
the way you had the nerve to follow me
and when our eyes met
you smiled because you love my damaged heart perfectly
i told the witch hazel tree all of this
her buds bloomed yellow petals for an answer
right in front of me
-i love you, James