YELLOW ROSES

of Texas, fashioned into wreaths,
intertwined with rodeo lariats
draped over easels, hung on walls
standing up by a podium, they spelled out
your name to honor the cowboy way of life.

A true horseman. A heeler, the one
who ropes the back legs after your partner
has roped the head of the running steer.
All your hours of practice, bruises, pain,
and miles of highway to compete across
the southern states, to win silver belt buckles.

Is it any wonder that the other cowboys
cried so hard, so long. To many you were like
their father, brother, uncle, boss, best friend.
If you look in the books about the meanings
of colors, flowers, or symbols you will find-
yellow roses stand for friendship and joy,
we know that the book isn't totally right.

RUNNING SHOES

Sorted in categories, by sport, brand, color, then by price.
Easy to see the differences between what he wanted and
cheaper, more sensible sneakers, less colors, less flash and
less money. And I have to say, I’ve come to the point where
it’s more important to have the ones you want. Rather than
deliberate cost, spend time speaking of how very expensive
it has all become, or worrying if they’ll last a whole year.
Instead I remember when he wore the other size ten,
how he’d run through the aisles of the store celebrating his
new found speed, all because he laced up a brand new pair.
This time we the get the ones he wants and don’t think about
saving the fifteen dollars, only about the annual photo I’ll take
of him, that same spot in our kitchen, another first day of school.

LONESOME HIGHWAY

Too many hours to spend driving,
the thoughts we’ve all had traveling
north and south on this Highway 81.
Over the years, all the miles logged
by our family, cursed for having roots
in two places, almost seven hundred
miles apart for the last fifty some years.

We ride back now,the end of summer,
the end of another funeral, my father’s
this time, and each green mile marker
brings a memory back to me. Words of
advice, his stories, moments shared,
the history of us all who keep on going
up and down this road, reading the signs.
Roanoke, Harrisonburg, Winchester and
each trip we say to one another after
a long deep breath or exhausted sigh-
“My God, Virginia is a really big state.”

THE BOY GETS SAD

when we come to this point each year,
when he has to say thanks and good bye,
when he knows it will be another year
before we travel to the South to see you
and spend a week living with you.

You’d be the perfect image
if they were still allowed to show
the Marlboro Man in commercials.
Solitary cowboy, hard working, fearless.
Living your life, on your terms,
not having to answer to anyone.

“At this point, I don’t miss many things”
is what you tell us when we all ride together
alongside all the acres of property,
the multiple homes, packed barns, garages.

You are tired now, five in the morning
way too early, you sleep in your chair easily
so when the dark comes you finish your nap,
try not to think about the next seventy days.
You will put up the fight of your life, again.
Harvesting the crops you are proud of and
then you’ll wonder why you put yourself through it.

Next year, we hope to see you again
and we know that we are one of the things
that you truly miss as we are about to drive away.
And this time I make sure that I hug you too,
because it may be the first time, it could be the last.
And I don’t want to say that I never hugged my father.

Originally posted about a year ago.

In memory of my father,(1959-2009).

WHEN I CROSS THAT STATE LINE

this time will be different, I suppose.
I may not hit the car horn repeatedly.
I may not make my usual announcement
of “Look, there it is, we made it again!”
But I know I’ll stop and sit to think
of you and how it was that I came to
know you. Yes, mistakes were made
but it wasn’t that hard to find you.
Just pick up a phone, keep in contact,
get to know one another, care about
each other and feel like a family too.
Because it was such a great ride, I have
to hit the horn, holler and celebrate you.