He enters the kitchen,
his skin glistens and
the pungent smell of movement
pushed against the early morning greets me.
I am happy to see him.
He pulls me against his sweaty clothes,
so I fuss as he tightens his embrace –
a thoroughly pleasant ritual.
He gives me our subdivision’s farm report.
“I saw six Harvey* Juniors,
three squished toads
and one lizard entering our garage.”
I pat the stomach of my walking Buda
before he moves toward the shower.
Grand gestures inside a marriage are less
about flowers and candy than acknowledgement
as bare feet stand against worn walking shoes
on kitchen tile on an ordinary day.
Great men need not lead a charge or
command a Fortune Five-Hundred business.
Great men are aware,
count Harveys, toads and lizards,
recognize all joy is in the present.
*Harvey: the fictional rabbit friend of Jimmy Stewart in the movie Harvey.
I was dressing for a date with Ken when I felt a sharp sting on my upper hip. How a wasp found his way into my bedroom will forever be a mystery. I screamed, interrupting the electrical current to the fan lights and cracking a glass on the nightstand. When the wasp flew into the bathroom, I slammed the door behind him. I felt great relief in the restored safety of my bedroom. Ken arrived and I handed him a flyswatter. He killed the beast I knew was bigger than the proverbial bread box. My hero!
KA DOORS—Ann’s 2016 Christmas Poem
[Ka (pronounced kah) is a spiritual entity believed to live within the body during life and to survive it after death. The ka and ba were spiritual entities everyone possessed.]
Egyptian mythology knew ba and ka,
and so do we who mind-wander
beside carved doors touching memories
as real as hieroglyphs in tombs.
Ka doors were false, opening only to the gods.
Weak-kneed and grieving, you held me up by the ka door more than once.
I am grateful for those of you who stayed, some for a lifetime.
My leaded glass door is hinged; “Come on by, y’all.”
If it is true that ka can be passed with a hug,
the Southern life suits enthusiasts willing their life force
into family, friends and kindred spirits.
Personal space exists for the lonely.
My west, front door is blue—fen shui incorrect.
Like the Irish rebels who refused to paint their doors black,
I love opening my blue door to my ka-hugging friends
who sing, laugh, love children, and live passionately.
New friends, I only have one rule in my home—
display good will or leave; the greatest betrayal is to be unkind.
Expressive, barefoot, and existentially relevant memories thrive in my NOW.
I chisel one hieroglyph in my ka door—thanks.
i can lie
in my head
on the silk
sheets of sound
i’m the sax
searched by hands
notes on fire
tongue on reed
speak to me
made to dance
and my ears
blue notes see
oh the force
of the rush
on the silk
sheets of sound
Poet, Ann Everett