The hopes I had for the end of June
were to be content with my life
and the gray area surrounding my existence
being neither employed nor in school
while accepting what has happened to me the past seventeen years
and eventually what will for roughly the next seventy.
What I’ve learned the past month since graduation is that
it’s my turn to be an adult
with complex emotions and intrusive thoughts.
If I were a man, I’d probably have a five o’ clock shadow.
That’s all from me, folks. 

I’ve tried for so long

to recognize when 

expressing my opinion 

is a fight or a win

I developed a sense

whether right or wrong

of staying out of places

where I don’t belong

But still it’s so hard

to give logic a pass

cause a friend may suffer

if I look like an ass

and say what I’m thinking 

when nobody’s asked

though it looks like the story

is clearly a mask

Dedicated to the James Still Cabin, Hindman Settlement School

Even before you were born. You were born, still
in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. You were dew-bound leaf
weighing a nearby tree and Mr. Still wrote something down
then looked up, straight into you, and you both knew you
before you were named. He practiced the naming.

That’s when anyone could have pointed you out
as what you really are; wild, untamed ribbon of creek,
leaf vein swinging, salty tear, beckoning wind. 

And now, again, at the desk that’s been waiting for you
since you moved into humanhood. Quiet in this house
built by the words of a woman.The nerve of Lucy Furman.
Sit still and listen until you see them where you were
You be the namer. It’s your turn to try to be tamed.

The little red truck, its relentless

Time won’t ask if you’re ready to mend,
It just moves forward, friend by friend.
Some wounds don’t close, they just grow kind—
A softer scar, a stronger mind.

what matters most
is having a good soul 
don’t let them shatter hope 
truth’s like a dagger in your throat
what matters most 
is the passion in your soul 
making someone else feel less alone 
we’re all messes yes i know 
what’s all that stressin for
that’s all we ever known 
your truest self did you let it grow
or did you just let it go 
for some car or some home 
for some silver or some gold 
the best things in life 
can’t be bought or sold 
the best things in life 
aren’t things at all 
cut the strings let it fall
this puppet show 
entertain us for follows 
make us more vain and hollow 
don’t go against the grain 
best do what you’re told 
if you want some fame 
if you want out of that hole 
you’ve dug your ditch 
you love to bitch 
about the actions of others 
but how are you taking care 
of your sisters and brothers
of this world 
you can’t make it fair 
but we can make it more 
than it is 

Where were you

The thing no one tells you
about fulfilling dreams 
is not that it is like 
hunting mythic creatures;
no, the fact they leave out
is which creature you hunt
and why its difficulties doom you.
Oh, what you would give
to attract another unicorn
in a deep crystal clearing,
yet you find unicorns on the daily
even as the world crushes your own horns
for potions that prick every curiosity.
The dream instead merges and morphs
and flits and flutters
as readily as the morning sun and the clouds,
but the only truth that keeps your dream alive
is not knowing the truth 
or not knowing your dream–
or not knowing if you cannot achieve it.

Our farm was only four acres; but it was cross-fenced,
and we had this big, old barn and a fruit orchard,
which fed us and the livestock, too. Sounds idyllic;
but whether it was or wasn’t, we were just surviving.  
  
Every week, without fail, the kids and I went to the
livestock sale barn. We’d pack a lunch and be all
excited just thinking about what we might bring home.
Livestock that we’d would love on and treat with respect,
even though none were thought of as pets.  
 
The meat we received from these animals would be preserved,
either salted, canned, dried, or frozen so we’d have it
come winter. Perhaps some today don’t think about
the origin of food before it gets to the stores, but we knew,
since we raised most of it ourselves out of necessity.
 
Some animals were resold to create a positive cash flow,
and that was a win-win situation in my book. Our nanny goats
provided us with the cutest little baby goats, plus fresh milk.
And the rabbits gave us lots and lots of baby rabbits,
but since I could neither kill nor eat them, they were sold.
 
Poco, our woeful Basset Hound had the most beautiful howl,
and it kept away predators and salesmen. The barn cats
caught mice, keeping the feed barrels clean and mouse-free.
We got to eat lamb, veal, duck, beef, pork, and even barbequed
goat, which was delicious. We had a vegetable garden, too.
 
Since we didn’t own a truck or a trailer, we hauled our animals
in the trunk of the car, but put a tarp on the floor, in case
“somebody” got messy. Hauling animals this way was weird
but also a necessity, so we dubbed our little car, Noah’s Ark.
Though our Ark didn’t save any animals, it surely did save us.
 
We had a special routine for baby goats, lambs and calves, since they were
tall and had to travel while lying down. We would ease the trunk shut ‘til
it clicked, then bee-line for home, where it was all-hands-on-deck,
getting each animal safely housed, caged, or corralled, not leaving
any alone in the trunk, where they would, for sure, stand up and go pee. 
 
Most of our critters came home this way, including a box of newborn piglets
whose mama had died; scores of bummer calves, with long tongues
searching for a teat (though it seemed any elbow or sleeve would do);
orphaned lambs, with their baaing, and showing off pale pink tongues;
so many mouths to feed, but such fun to watch them romp and play.  

And there were the squealing weaner pigs, which made my children
want to cover their ears with both hands, and cute baby goats who
loved tasting shirttails and collars; and liked racing across the yard
with the children when they played tag, and loved most of all
to follow my daughter, probably because of her flying pigtails.  

We brought chickens and ducks home inside boxes, too, with covers
on them so none could fly out, though all our birds, including geese
and guineas, had been bought through the local call-in radio show.
And now, I am thrilled to say we finally bought a truck, but I don’t think
I’d ever like to see another livestock auction unless I keep both hands
in my pockets or else take my grandkids along.