24 Mar 2019: "In Prison" By Jean Valentine

In prison

without being accused

or reach your family

or have a family            You have

conscience

heart trouble

asthma

manic-depressive

(we lost the baby)

no meds

no one

no window

black water

nail-scratched walls

your pure face turned away

embarrassed

you

who the earth was for.

31 Jul: "Before She Died" by Karen Chase

When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you. As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you. With all the leaves gone almost from the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field. Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field, he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem to you, A stand of hemlock across the lake catches my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.

13 June: "Wheels" by Jim Daniels

Wheels

My brother kept
in a frame on the wall
pictures of every motorcycle, car, truck:
in his rusted out Impala convertible
wearing his cap and gown
waving
in his yellow Barracuda
with a girl leaning into him
waving
on his Honda 350
waving
on his Honda 750 with the boys
holding a beer
waving
in his first rig
wearing a baseball hat backwards
waving
in his Mercury Montego
getting married
waving
in his black LTD
trying to sell real estate
waving
back to driving trucks
a shiny new rig
waving
on his Harley Sportster
with his wife on the back
waving
his son in a car seat
with his own steering wheel
my brother leaning over him
in an old Ford pickup
and they are
waving
holding a wrench a rag
a hose a shammy
waving.

My brother helmetless
rides off on his Harley
waving
my brother's feet
rarely touch the ground-
waving waving
face pressed to the wind
no camera to save him. 

—Jim Daniels