Writings

This page will display some of my published writings along with their provenance and where they were published. I may also include some WIPS for comment.

 A Successful Failure

Below is my first nationally published poem. I wrote it in about two minutes and entered it in the Writer’s Digest Poetry contest in 1974. It came in tenth place. I was trying to capture the wonder of a little child as she marveled at nature. The judge mistook it for a poem in the negro dialect, which of course was not my intention. He must have been nervous about the poem because his entire column that month was about my poem and why he picked it. Of course, he didn’t know my race, which made it a little less dicey. Even today, people who knew me back then often recite the first two lines when they see me approach.

Frogs

Frogs is funny,

Yeah dey is!

Dey hops around and says “gee whiz.”

I likes the green ones in the trees,

I bet dey thinks dey bumblebees!

Some is big, and some is small

If you ax me, I likes them all.

I likes to see their floating eggs,

An’ I loves to eat they crispy legs.

Family Secrets

Just in time for the holidays, I’ve dredged up this story about holiday get-togethers. This was published in Blackheart Magazine about this time in 2017. It had been a year since 2016 election, and people were still reeling over the result. I was astounded at the level of vitriol over a man who was going to be around for four years, eight at the most. Love the president or hate him, I don’t care, but threatening to blow up the White House I thought was a little over the top. Then I heard that people were being dis-invited from their family’s holiday gatherings based upon whom they voted for. I thought, “Of all the problems effecting families today, the person in the White House is way down the list.” When I wrote this, I had no idea how strong a symbol the MAGA hat would become for both sides of the political spectrum. I guess I was prescient in that respect….

Family Secrets

            Mary Ann was chopping onions, but that was only part of the reason she was crying. She was listening to her sister Christine and their mother talk about their vacations. Mom and Dad had spent a week at St. Kitts. Her sister and her family were planning a trip to Squaw Valley in February. As she listened to them talk effusively about their lives, it only reminded her of the mess of her own.  She grabbed a paper towel off the roll and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

            “Gracious, dear,” said Gramma, who was at the other end of the counter rolling out the yeast rolls. “Whatever is the matter?”

            “Oh, it’s nothing, Gramma.” She poured herself another glass of wine.

“It’s obviously not nothing, honey, tell me, what’s the matter.” Mom and Christine had stopped their work and were gaping at her.

            “It’s nothing we can’t handle,” she said.

  “Is it your marriage?”

            “No ma’am it’s nothing like that.”

            “Well”, Christine said, “Whatever it is, I’m sure that when you step on that cruise ship in January you’ll forget all your troubles.”

            “We’re not going on a cruise this year,” she said.

            “I thought it was a tradition,” Mom said.

            “No, we’re not going. We can’t.”

            “You can’t? Is one of you sick?”

            “No, its not like that.”

            “Then what on earth is it?”

            “We’re about to lose the house.”

            “No, you’re not!” said Gramma.

            “Yes, it’s true. Frank hasn’t worked since June, I mean, he has picked up some odd jobs and such but he hasn’t made enough money to pay the bills. And in August they cut back my hours at the clinic. We’ve been living hand to mouth for months. It took all we had to come here.”

            “How far behind are you?” Christine asked.

            “Two and a half months. We have to make a lump sum payment by December 12th or they put the house up for auction.”

            “That’s not going to happen,” Gramma said.

            “I don’t see how we can stop it.”

“I’ll talk to your grandpa. Something we never told you. We saved up quite a sum to put you girls through college, not knowing you would both get full scholarships. We let the money sit there in case of emergencies.  This sounds like an emergency to me. We never told you this, but we almost lost our house when you were a little girl. It was while we were separated and before John inherited the business. John’s dad kind of fired him because he didn’t think he was motivated. He had to take a job at another tire store for minimum wage ‘till they worked things out. I told him to go make up with his father or I would leave him for good. He finally went back to work with his father and we were able to save the house at the very last minute.

  Let me know how much you need. I’ll talk to John and he’ll speak to your husband and we’ll work it out. No daughter of mine’s going to be put out on the street.”

Mary Ann sniffled. “Thank you, Gramma.”

“I’m just glad we are in a position to help. More wine?”

“Sure.”

The ladies formed a circle around Mary Ann and they all hugged and then went back to work just in time for four year old Simon to come though the kitchen chasing his six year old cousin Elaina. They made one loop around the island and went out the back door with the admonitions of their mothers following them.

            The sisters’ husbands were in the den soaking up beer and the smells from the kitchen while watching the pregame show. Coach Dungy was waxing philosophical about the Lions’ defensive regime.

            Alan, Christine’s oldest son came into the room staring at his I phone, thumbs working like the valves on a ‘36 Ford V8 with a revenuer chasing it.

Uncle Phil, the bachelor, asked, “You got a girlfriend yet, Al?”

“Christ, No,” he said.

“Aren’t you looking?”

“You don’t know, do you?”

Alan’s dad said, “He’s got some issues.”

“I don’t have issues dad, I’m gay. Don’t act like it’s something to be ashamed of.”

“I didn’t know,” said Phil.

“I thought Mom told everybody and their brother.”

“Not me. But I’m okay with it though.”

They watched the Lions warm up for a while.

Phil asked Sam, Christine’s husband, if his son Toby was coming over for dinner.

“Nah, he has to work,” Frank said.

            “I thought he was at State.”

“Well, he was,” Sam said, “but he’s home now.”

“He graduated early?”

“Nah, he kinda’ got, uh, kicked out.”

“Kicked out? What’d he do; get caught cheating on his final or something?”

“No, he—well, he kinda got accused of sexual assault.”

“He what?”

“He says it was all a big misunderstanding.”

Phil said to Adam, “I heard you got a drone for your birthday. Did you bring it?”

“Yeah, Alan said wanna fly it?”

“Sure.”

            “You’re awful quiet today, Mary Ann’s husband, Frank said to Sam as the Lions kicked off.

            “Got A lot on my mind.”

            “What’s the matter? Somethin’ I can help with?”

            “Nah, it’s Christine.”

“Is she alright?”

“Not exactly. He glanced toward the kitchen to make sure no one was coming. You remember back in April when she had that wreck?”

“I thought she didn’t get hurt.”

“Well, she didn’t, at first, then she started having back spasms. Went to the doctor and he gave her some Oxy’s,” he whispered—"and she got addicted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “It must run in the family.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mary Ann’s become quite a lush since I lost my job. She stays half in the bag all the time. They took half her clients away and gave them to other caseworkers after one of them smelled alcohol on her breath for the second time. They said one more time and she’s history.”

Back in the kitchen things were coming together to the point that Christine thought it would be OK to go out on the back porch and have a smoke. Mary Ann said, “I’ll come with you.”

They stood next to the picnic table on the part of the porch that wasn’t screened in, listening to the acorns ricocheting off the tin roof.

“It’s so sad that she lost the election,” Mary Ann said.

“I know, right?”

“And they’ve been through so much.”

“So sad. I never thought we could elect such a buffoon to the White House.”

Christine took a medicine bottle out of her sweater pocket and popped a couple of pills washing them down with some soda she had brought out with her.”

“What are you taking medicine for?” Mary Ann Aske

“Oh, it’s just some ibuprofen. I have a headache.”

“You have a prescription for ibuprofen?”

“No, I just put it in an old medicine bottle for the trip. We have this great big bottle at home, and I didn’t want to bring the whole thing.”

“You get a lot of headaches?”

“About once a week.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I have.”

They watched a solid white cat tiptoeing across the top of the stockade fence at the back of the property. They could see the smoke rising on the other side.

Christine exhaled a cloud of smoke which hung in the damp air like a spider web.

“Mom thinks dad is cheating on her.” Mary Ann said.

“I know. I’m the one who told her.”

“How did you find out?”

“I saw dad and some strange woman eating at a restaurant over in Hayesville. He was supposed to be working late. We have a vet over there and I was walking to the car with Frodo after his flea dip and I looked in the window of this little restaurant and saw them.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“Look, it’s bad enough that Mom knows. I didn’t want to broadcast it.”

Christine tossed her cigarette out into the yard. It made a hissing sound on the wet brown oak leaves covering the sidewalk.

“Maybe it was a business meeting.”

“Honey, they weren’t talking business, at least not the kind you do at the office, usually.”

Their grandfather’s car pulled into the garage behind the house. Their father and grandfather got out in their camouflage suits and retrieved their shotguns from the trunk.

“You guys get anything?” Mary Ann asked across the yard.

“Nah,” Grandpa said, “Too many city slickers out there. They scared off all the ducks.”

“Come inside and get cleaned up, Christine said. It’s almost time to eat.”

In the den, as he second quarter wound down on the TV, Sam asked Frank, “Where’s Chrissie? I saw her come in with you but I haven’t seen her since.”

“She’s laying down on her great grandma’s bed. She isn’t feeling well.

“It’s not serious, is it?” He asked.

“Well, Kinda. She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

“Shhhhhh!” we’re trying to keep it a secret.”

“What is she now, eighteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Who’s the father?”

“We don’t know, and she won’t tell us. We confiscated her phone and found pictures of some guy’s wanker on it, among other things. We turned it over to the police. Now she won’t talk to us.”

“It’s all the rage with the kids these days. Sexting, I mean,” said Sam.

“That’s what I hear.”

It was halftime when Gramma stuck her head into the den and said, “Table’s set.”

Grandpa went to the door and called the kids. The adults all stood around the big table.

“Grandpa, will you do the honors?”

Grandma said, “Where’s the kids?”

“They’re washing up. They’ll be here in a minute.”

“Let’s hold hands,” Grandpa said, “Heavenly father, we thank you for this day and for giving us this food. We thank you that the long election campaign is over, and we pray that the right decision was reached by the people, as we understand that the Lord moves in mysterious ways. But mostly, we thank you for the ability of our family to gather together, some of whom, sadly, we see much too infrequently, to reminisce and find fellowship and love in each other, Amen. “What the hell?

Grandpa had been the first to look up as the others were saying their Amens.

Little Simon standing in the doorway to the dining room. His shoes were untied. His jeans had muddy knees. There was a newly created hole in his T-shirt with “Holy Terror” and a picture of a T. Rex Screen printed on it.

His head was half swallowed by a bright red ball cap. On the cap were the words “Make America Great Again.”

“Son of a bitch,” Frank said.

“Where did you get that?” Gramma said.

“Uncle Phil gave it to me.”

They all stared at Phil as if he has just shat in the gravy.

Christine said, “Phil, do you mean to tell me you voted for that intolerant racist womanizer?’”

“Well, Phil said, sheepishly.

“Why?” Grandma said

“Well I—“

“I can’t believe you would be so stupid!” Said Mary Ann, after all she and her husband have done for this country.”

“No wonder you never responded to all my political posts on Facebook. You were holding out on me.” Christine said.

“I think Facebook is a waste of time. Besides, I just didn’t—“

“You didn’t what?”

“I-“

“You didn’t what?” she asked again.

“I didn’t think—“

“That’s right!” Gramma, said, “You didn’t think. And I don’t think there’s room for you at my table.”

He looked at the faces around the table. They were all glaring at him except his dad, who was standing with his hands in his pockets rocking back and forth looking down at his plate.

“You can eat in the living room.” Gramma said.

Phil got his plate and ate standing up on the hearth in front of the gas logs, hopeful of not getting food on the carpet, which still smelled slightly of cleaning fluid. He could see the table in the dining room and he could feel the iciness coming from there. Once in a while, someone would cut their eyes at him and utter a few syllables in a low voice, but other than that all was quiet. He finished his plate and took it to the kitchen and returned to the dining room. No one looked up.

“Well, I guess I’ll skip dessert, he said, “I brought a cake from the Cheesecake Factory, but y’all can have it.”

No one said a word. He got his scarf from the hall tree.

“I’ll see him out,” dad said.

He put his hand on Phil’s shoulder as they walked to the car. Behind them he heard Simon scream. Someone opened the door and tossed the red hat into the mud.

At the car, his dad faced him and patted him on the shoulders. He wrapped the scarf around his son’s neck. “Your mother thinks I’m cheating on her,” he said, “I guess you heard.”

“Mary Ann told me,” he said.

“Well, I’m not.” He said. He looked at Phil expectantly. “Do you remember when your mother and I were separated?”
            “I was young.”

“I found out she was cheating on me. I went to a Realtor’s conference in Charlottesville and while I was gone she ran into an old boy friend just home from the army. Your mother and I were apart for a year and a half. Would have been more but the guy died in a motorcycle crash and she begged me to come back.

“While we were apart I got a call from an old college team mate. He wanted me to be godfather to his daughter. I saw her about once a month. When she was twelve years old they moved out of state, but we kept in touch. I even went to her graduation from Duke. Joe died a few months ago and she came into town to do some paperwork on some property he still has in the area. We shared a meal, that’s all.

“Of course, your mother doesn’t want to believe me. Her memory hasn’t been the same since she had that stroke.”

“She had a stroke?”

“It was a mild one. They said there would be few ill effects. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to worry you, being up in Chicago and not able to do anything.”

They stood silently for a moment. A cool breeze caused dad to shiver and cross his arms.

“You want the hat?” Dad asked, cocking his head toward the red cap lying upside down in the mud puddle.

“Nah. I’ve got two more of ‘em.”

Dad hugged his son and said he wished he could stay longer.

“I’m sorry I ruined the dinner,” Phil said.

“It’s okay,” Dad whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “I voted for him too.”

End

As we near Valentine’s Day I have revived this old poem from years ago. I wrote this in the early ‘70’s. I was experimenting with the Shakespearian sonnet. It was around this time of year. I was remembering my grammar school days when we all seemed obligated to buy those cheap valentines and pass them out to all our classmates, even the ones we didn’t like. I lost this poem for several years and could only remember about 10 lines. I revived it in 2007, patched it up with some new lines to replace the ones I forgot, and submitted it to the Petigru Review, where it was published. If it comes across as a little sentimental, remember I was much younger when I wrote it. But I like the ways I snuck in the brand name of one of the most popular Valentine cards.

Valentine

My heart is not a box of chocolate treats

Wrapped up in crimson knotted velvet twine.

It hangs within my heaving chest and beats

Against my soul. This is no valentine.

My thumping heart; No paper card, store-bought,

With sentimental wit. I cannot give

My beating heart away as afterthought

For it must be the reason that I live.

I do not love for momentary bliss,

Nor pass out fragrant roses on a lark,

I kiss you not merely for this

Hour, but it is meant to be my love’s hallmark.

This is no crude and frivolous display,

This loving beating heart I give today

Annabelle’s Heart

This story came to me as many do while listening to a news story. It was a story about a woman whose child received a life-saving transplant and had remained friends with the donor’s family for over twenty years. I wondered how that would affect the two families, how would their relationship progress, and how would the two families approach the relationship. This was published in Catfish Stew Literary Journal.

Annabelle frightened her. Why did her mother keep inviting them over? Whenever she asked, her mother changed the subject. Though she was three years older, she was so thin and frail it seemed that the light could shine through her, that if touched, she might shatter.

“Can I stay in my room this time, Mommy?”

            “Most certainly not. If you want to take Annabelle to your room and play, that’s fine, but you are going to treat her like a very important guest. Do you understand?”

“She‘s mean. She steals stuff. Last time she took one of sissy’s Barbies.”

“Material things are not what’s important. We had this discussion the last time, remember?         

There was not much time. Fluffybunny was in his usual station between the pillows on her bed. She snatched him. She went into the closet and got her Barbies; the ones that belonged to her and the ones that had belonged to her sissy, Jo Ellen. She grabbed her favorite Goosebumps editions.

 While her mommy was busy making those little cucumber sandwiches she made for company, Mary Ann crept down the hall and stashed the items in the bathroom closet. Back in her room, she hid a few other possessions under her bed. She took other toys and books and hid them in sundry places around the house —in the laundry room, in closets, even in sissy’s vacant bedroom, normally off-limits. She was careful to hide the framed photo of Jo Ellen, since Annabelle had shown particular interest in it the last time.

By the time the doorbell rang, Mary Ann had hidden most of her favorite items. Only a few outgrown or broken toys were visible in the closet.

Annabelle surprised her. She was no longer the thin, pale girl she had seen six months ago. She had filled out. Her cheeks were a rosy color, and she seemed to have much more energy than before.

“Why don’t you and Annabelle go play in your room,” Mary Ann’s mommy said, “while Ms. Weatherby and I talk out here?” That was fine with Mary Ann. Ms. Weatherby smelled bad. Her mother said it was from smoking cigarettes.

Annabelle followed her a little too closely, she thought, as they climbed the stairs.

“You want to play Minecraft?” Mary Ann asked.

“Nope.” Annabelle looked around the room as if searching for something lost.

 “You want to watch TV?”

“Where’s the picture of Jo Ellen?”

“You remember her name?”

“My momma talks about her all the time. Where’s your Barbies?”

“They’re put away.”

Annabelle looked around the room some more, then focused on a fringed red, heart-shaped pillow with “Jo Ellen” embroidered on it. It was on the bed next to one that said “Mary Ann.”

“I want that,” said Annabelle, picking up the pillow.

“You can’t have it.”

“I want it,” she said, clasping it to her chest.

“My grandma made it for my sissy,” She reached for it.

“It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine!”  Annabelle said, twisting away.

“I’m gonna tell!” Mary Ann ran from the room.

Her Mommy and Ms. Weatherby were sitting on the couch, a spray of photographs splayed out before them. Their eyes were red and wet. Crumpled tissues littered the table. The medicine smell of their drinks stung Mary Ann’s nostrils. She saw that Ms. Weatherby was using a saucer for an ashtray, since there were none in the house.

“What is it, honey?” her mommy asked.

“Annabelle got sissy’s pillow.”

“That girl ̶ “ Ms. Weatherby said.

 Mary Ann noticed one of the photographs. “That’s Jo Ellen.”

“Yes, honey. Remember that day at the lake? That’s the last photo we took of her before the accident.”

She looked at another picture: A frail little girl in a hospital bed, a huge white bandage in the middle of her chest. She was looking at the camera and smiling through her oxygen mask.

“Is that Annabelle?”

“Yes, honey,” Ms. Weatherby said. That was her first day out of ICU after the transplant.”

“Transplant?”

“What about the pillow, honey?” her mother asked.

Mary Ann looked from one photo to the other, then back again. A spark of recognition expanding in her brain.

 “Um ̶  Is it OK if she keeps it?”

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