This is what happens when promises are made that cannot be delivered. I gave you weapons. I gave you training. I gave you a plan of governance. I never gave you peace and stability in your own country. I put your sons and daughters on a plane as refugees. Your wife went too and now in desperation you cling to the fuselage.
Young man who administered the shot told me it would be over soon. He was talking about the pandemic. He liked my hat. I told him it was my keep covid off my hair hat. He said good and shot me in the arm.
dVerse quadrille on the word bother. This is a prose poem quadrille.
Today I counted twelve poop piles— some on the parking strip, some partially hidden in grass, more in the park. I really wanted to find one more to make it a dirty dozen but I gave up knowing it was already on the bottom of someone’s shoe. So I hope to do some shit shaming here and go for a walk where people pick up their dogs’ poo.
NaPpWriMo prompt to go on a rant.
Mother made cookies. Peanut butter cookies. She would roll some dough in her hand, make a ball, and place each ball on the cookie sheet. With a fork she would crisscross each one flat. When out of the oven we ate them warm or dipped in cold milk. Every time I bake peanut butter cookies I do the same. I add more peanut butter but I roll the dough in my hand, press the fork and think of mother who loved baking peanut butter cookies for my sisters and me.
NaPoWriMo prompt to write about a habit I got from my mom. I love making peanut butter cookies (and chocolate chip).
..…when it is over said and done…..
I packed my bags before the way out was too distant. The longer I stayed the greater the possibility of maybe this time, maybe tomorrow, I would walk out the door. This time would be different; a perfect opportunity, a break through in a time of near disparition.
It had been five months since I had traveled. Was flying safe? Was driving safe? Would I accidentally walk into someone else’s sneeze? Touch a surface that hadn’t been Cloroxed? Where would I eat? How will I get water?
So many questions and now a hurricane was rolling through the gulf. Evacuating made it possible. Evacuating blew me out of the house, into the car and down the road. Evacuating meant I could leave everything behind in an instant, hoping I will return another time.
dVerse prompt on verbing. Evacuating— evacuate now— so many people evacuating from fire and hurricane. I was planning on leaving before the need to evacuate. Quote from Allison Adele Hedge Coke from “A Time”
There are fish in the water so the fishermen put out their boats, night and day. The nets bring a haul, both large and small, and when the boat is full, it is pulled ashore and the fish are released onto land in baskets and buckets. Some are smoked right on the beach, while others are spiced and fried. Who knows where the rest of the fish go.
The Jamestown Fishing Harbor Project has began with the demolition of existing structures at the site of the Chinese funded $60 million Jamestown Fishing Harbor Complex. There will be dredging of 118,000 cubic meters in the harbor basin and shipping channels; construction of hydraulic structures, seawall, a breakwater, and supporting facilities including a fish market and a processing area. Who knows where the rest of the people will go.
dVerse prompt on boat. On May 21, 2020, the demolition of over 400 temporary and permanent structures occurred at Jamestown fishing community. Is this neocolonialism or a move to benefit the Ghanaian people?
Photo taken in Jamestown in September 2019.
In a dream, there are horses and women are riding them. The horses are huge like none I have ever seen before. (They are like the elephant is to the mahout.). They are coming forward. The riders look so small and the horses are so large. They are not running. They are not trotting. They are stepping, coming boldly with strength and power. I can still see them in my dream. My analytical mind takes me out of the dream and I think of what I was taught by culture, by history. The woman must be on her high horse. Knock the woman off of her high horse. Woman, do not listen to that. That is not the voice of God. The women are coming on their horses.
NaPoWriMo to write about a dream. This dream was so visual I can still see it.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” Charles Dickens
I am on the road going home. Now it is getting complicated. The world is experiencing a pandemic. My home state of Washington is a hotspot for the virus. Hopefully they will not quarantine the whole state but I imagine that could happen. Right now I am in Arizona because New Mexico has closed its state parks.
We were told in the morning that all campers had to be out by 5pm. That was at City of Rocks, a geological phenomenon, volcanic in nature, of monolithic stones in an outcropping out in the southeast of New Mexico. It is remote, out of the way but met the criteria of 100+ people gathering. We ate breakfast, packed up, hit the highway to Arizona.
My favorite camping in Arizona is Chochise Stronghold. It is where Chochise held up to keep the Dragoon’s and the US Calvary at bay. The terrain protected the people. If I can’t go home, I want to be at Chochise Stronghold. He is buried here somewhere in the Dragoon Mountains. Nobody knows or will tell the exact location, but the history draws me to this place even though there are only pit toilets.
I can’t get my mind off of the history of small pox. My grandmother lived through a small pox epidemic when she was a child but her mother and sisters died. I hope my genetics will get me through this pandemic of Coronavirus. Right now I have my health, my supplies. I could probably stay out here for a month. There is a stream running where I could boil water. Wash my body, my hair.
We are going day by day, watching the news feed on the internet. Nobody really knows what is going on. They say China has it under control. Italy not so much. People are dying in their homes. If you watch a documentary on the Spanish Flu of 1918, it is very sobering, so being proactive is understandable. It all seems to be the worst of times.
a season of change
happening the world over
now we wait it out
a little satire comparing kudzu to racism
It’s called the front porch vine. It grows over everything and makes for comfort with its shade. Easy to propagate, just get the right tools. The roots are huge and spreading, deep-rooted and hard to pull out. Pretty much were rid of it, ten years may pass, and here it is again.
There are lots of uses for it. It can bring folks together like a festival, a klan or even a government. Folks use it for their own advantage and many like to profit from it. It can get stirred up into a drink. It is warm and feels good. Takes the craving off of everything else when drinking kudzu tea.