Preservation

Stay connected.  Today

feeding Facebook with news-

worthy tweets and snapped chats

tumbled in an instant…

forty-three minutes of

morning scrolling through words

scanning phrases so I

can move on, move into

the next and the next and

stay connected.  Today

is different because

he told me to “look up”

she told me to forget

my phone, and I’ll see how

one generation is

not at fault.  It’s not a

click away from our down-

fall.  Rock ‘n roll still swings

the pendulum and the

devil – he never came.

Stay with me.  Today I

started thinking about

grandmother’s rocking chair

in the kitchen corner

coffee in my hand, just

to make me feel older

than single digits, and

hums from the wall unit

and gears shifting, never

without white noise, never

without my grandfather’s

garden tomatoes fresh

from the morning darkness.

I was thinking about

my grandmother’s crippled

hands holding the wooden

spoon, spooning cornbread from

mixing bowls and Blackburn’s

syrup in mason jars

sweet as the fig tarts in

the orange Tupperware

there in the middle of

her kitchen table.  We

finish conversation

just after 10pm.

Just after I type this

I’ll update my status

and make sure that I stay

connected.  But I start

thinking about my aunt

before cancer erased

the left half of her side

before I lied down in

the shoulder’s crease when she

said she would miss me and

I cried until…She sat

with me in her kitchen

(bright yellow walls made her

happy) and she taught me

lessons, told me advice,

forgot time was passing

past midnight.  I wanted

to remember it all.

I do remember this:

How I learned the meaning

of being connected –

the slow turn of her wrist

smells of Community

a steady hum through coils

waves of her long, grey hair.

These memories cannot

be deleted or be

updated or exceed

the word limit.  They are

what keep me, what shape me,

what I promised you: I

won’t stop writing.  This is

for the women in life
who always stay with me.  

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OLD COPY

Stay connected.  Today

updating the Facebook feed or

typing Twitter characters until

what is Upworthy

must be shared,

this album must be liked,

accept a Friend Request from, who?

Forty-three minutes of morning

scanning words

glancing phrases

so I can move on

move into

the next and the next and…

Stay connected.  Today

will be different because

he told me to “Look Up”

she told me to forget my phone

and I’ll see how that changes

or rearranges the time.

It’s not a generation at fault.

It’s not a click away from our downfall.

Rock ‘n roll still swings the pendulum

and the devil never came. 

Stay with me.  Today

I started thinking about

my grandmother’s rocking chair

kitchen corner

coffee in my hand

just enough to make me feel

older than single digits

the hum of a wall unit and the gears shifting

never without white noise

never without my grandfather’s tomatoes

fresh from the morning darkness

just beyond the utility door.

I’m feeling more connected.

I started thinking about

my grandmother’s crippled hands around

a wooden spoon spooning cornbread mix

from the mixing bowl painted with green and red

and the Blackburn’s syrup in the honey jar

sweet as fig tarts in the plastic orange Tupperware

in the middle of the kitchen table

in the middle of a conversation.

Just after 10pm.

Just after I type this

I’ll update my statuses and iTunes and apps and

make sure I stay connected. 

But I started thinking about

my aunt before cancer erased

the left half of her body

before I lied down in the crease of her shoulder

and she said she would miss me

and I cried until…

she sat with me at her kitchen bar

(bright yellow walls made her happy)

and she taught me lessons and told me advice and

forgot that time was passing past midnight.

I wanted to remember our time

but all I remember is this:

How I learned to stay connected with

the turn of her wrist

the smell of Community

the hum through the coils

the wave of her long, grey hair.

These memories cannot be deleted or updated or

exceed the word limit. 

These memories are 

what keep me

what shape me

(what I promised you:  I won’t stop writing).

This is for the women in my life who will always

stay with me.