I often stand On the old pecan field Grazing the newest grass. I know better then To dig in deep For truffles Or winter roots. For the moment I leave A print in the earth My time there will ‘come Unsettled. I’m told it’s to hide The dirt that’s inside Is shoddy And of shallow … Continue reading The Old Pecan Field
Car and Fuzzy Have to be In the same room As him. Three is all About tragedy. The other The elder Is older now. The first baby I ever held Now rides a bike And sasses back Because Mom Says no To more robots. The first The man Who holds me close Dreams of the … Continue reading My Boys Right Now
Ah, son of star I see you, up there, blinking and wavering from the constant burn. What you wouldn't give to fall from heaven and dive into the ocean. But the ocean is vast and dark and cold, and so very unlike the family of stars. Burning, as they may, from the essence of their … Continue reading Son of Star
You have my summers, My pre-school years, And all the baby moments Still trapped behind ears. Broad fingers giving illusions That your hands are big, Fit for holding A baby. You say I was one Once. An angel. Hands to hold an angel. But I came in to hug you Now, then, not long at … Continue reading Grandpa
He left behind a metal shop, this man who nature calls my father. All lasers, all tech, all connected via motherboards and towers full of chips. And I can't help but think, this was his. This was his world, where he dreamed, where he created... what? Why do I know so little? If someone were … Continue reading Metal Shop
Sometimes I like to pretend my cat has feelings for me. Maybe it's because my cranium spouts mucous like the blowhole of a whale, and that, for some reason makes me yearn for feline affection. But colds aren't so bad. At least it isn't getting close and personal to the way God designed your innards … Continue reading Cats and Colds
Travel to the mountains and tell me what it means to fill your lungs with ice and air, rocks, dirt, chasms, hills, and tell me there's no God again. Cradle me and whisper warmth from a fire that's not yours, then wrap me in a blanket, nevermind I say the wool will burn, and throw … Continue reading To Us Ericksons
Author T.S. Lowe 