4 of 52: The Weight

I close my eyes, and I can see it --

the intangible scribble-scrabble

which like the dust enveloping Pig-Pen

floats in my head,

constantly in motion.

There is music behind it, too--

a cacophony of sound bites,

every moment I've tried to forget.

They repeat, and layer, and repeat,

syncopated by my regret.

3 of 52: Mac McGee's

Bright lights stretch down the street and people

push in and out of crowded doorways, shouting

their name to the hostess who turns them away;

booked for hours, simply no room.

Beer flows from the tap and people laugh,

bagpipes playing, reverb bouncing the sound

from ceiling beam to the wooden booth where we sit.

2 of 52: Reunion

From all corners of the country

(north and south, east and west

coast to coast) in cars,

on planes, we travel...

for just one busy weekend

of nostalgic summer leisure, safely ensconced

in small town USA, in high grown trees between

hayfields, in the rural Ohio countryside.

Ice cold beer in hand and plush green grass between our toes

each year one sweet weekend

of laughter, hugs, high fives...

a few days to cement the bonds again

before the season changes,

the leaves fall and the wind blows us a year further

from collegiate simplicity.

Fond memories recalled and new ones created

amongst smiling faces and open arms,

we play catch up and kickball between

lazy swims and afternoon naps--cherishing

the luxury of whispering across the room

to those so familiar outlines when the lights go out.

Reassured that the spark is still there, we lament failures,

losses--we celebrate small victories,

acknowledging dreams become reality and

the history which makes us who we are

with the friends who have become,

inextricably,

family.

1 of 52: City Girl

I remember the hours of playing

curb ball on misty afternoons

just after the rain fall;

black asphalt steaming from the

heat of the day and

apple juice, cool and sweet.

Water keeps dripping rhythms on

the tin drain pipe

as evening saunters in.