The fragrance of coffee has always represented God's providence to our family.

It is my mom's hard work.

It is my dad's willingness to let go.

It is the warm, welcome-home smell of mom's apron after long hours.

It is the early morning dedication of dad doing the laundry.

There breathes a ghost

whose name rings Mercy

and she

is full

of you.

There sleeps a woman without color, possessing a light she has almost let go.

She is giving up.

Her right hand closely held a letter that now falls to the floor.

Her left hand offers cigarette smoke; vapors, rough but sweet.

She rests, body sinking into the mattress.

Her sandals strap her feet, wearing them for the last time.

Her family waits and watches over her from the painting above her bed.

Still life.

For letting me see

Your brown eyes well

With memory tears

When this holiday afternoon

You so excitedly presented

Your life’s résumé

Your treasured naval yearbook

Faded blue, from 1946

Carefully designed and printed

By your own hand

Inked with clean letters

And handsome thumbnail portraits

You bring out the bravery in me.

The deep belly laughter over the phone, gusto and charm.

The certainty in a hope unseen.

The yes I can, it’s my chance.

The belief in greater things. And not just on Sunday.

You are the one that builds me up, encourages me.

Bring you a smile if that were all I could do to say thank you.

Anytime. Anytime.

Because.

You bring out the holy spill of truth in me.

The there will be better days than this,

The love of yellow light,

The I don’t care about what they say.

The go get ’em tiger,

The fierce determination to overcome,

The fact that I matter too in me.

The trust in letting go in me.

The spontaneity of 2am pancakes,

The art of worship and the living of drama,

The appreciation of a good four-letter word in me.

The drive to take another step up the mountain,

The curiosity to explore even further what it means to be alive,

You bring out the fight in me.

The dream of an orange sky apocalypse survived,

The dare to breathe again,

The bipolar queen of August in me.

The cowgirl, the teacher, the confidant,

The daughter of a football fan in me.

Dear friend, my happy brother,

I am the dimension between time and space that asks to be heard,

that says out loud I have a voice.

I say you are unlike any other, completely unique.

I want to hear you sing alone.

I want to see you kiss your mother on the cheek.

I want to dismiss all my day and night terrors, knives and demons,

and build model airplanes with you instead. Because.

You bring out the bravery in me, whether or not you try.

As my striped socks step across the cold hospital floor,

I think: I’m a princess.

Keep my feet within the dimensions of each tile,

Don’t let them see my face.

I think I’m a princess.

Listen to Amy as she tells me to be gentle.

Don’t let them see my face.

Let the water from the faucet run.

Listen to Amy as she tells me to be gentle.

The tests all say I’m abnormal, I’m psychotic.

Let the water from the faucet run.

Spirits and angels haunt the halls.

The tests all say I’m abnormal, I’m psychotic.

Indigo patterns decorate my mind, my sister guards my heart.

Spirits and angels haunt the halls.

Singing alleluia to the dawn and to the dusk, brings me closer home.

Indigo patterns decorate my mind, my sister guards my heart.

Keep my feet within the dimensions of each tile.

Singing alleluia to the dawn and to the dusk brings me closer home

As my striped socks step across the cold hospital floor.

As my striped socks step across the cold hospital floor,

I think: I’m a princess.

Keep my feet within the dimensions of each tile,

Don’t let them see my face.

I think I’m a princess.

Listen to Amy as she tells me to be gentle.

Don’t let them see my face.

Let the water from the faucet run.

Listen to Amy as she tells me to be gentle.

The tests all say I’m abnormal, I’m psychotic.

Let the water from the faucet run.

Spirits and angels haunt the halls.

The tests all say I’m abnormal, I’m psychotic.

Indigo patterns decorate my mind, my sister guards my heart.

Spirits and angels haunt the halls.

Singing alleluia to the dawn and to the dusk, brings me closer home.

Indigo patterns decorate my mind, my sister guards my heart.

Keep my feet within the dimensions of each tile.

Singing alleluia to the dawn and to the dusk brings me closer home

As my striped socks step across the cold hospital floor.

Dainty child, lovely girl,

You’re quiet and laugh inside.

Playing on the carousel,

You’ve found a place.

You’re quiet and laugh inside.

Small pink lips, big blue eyes,

You’ve found a place.

The world is staying young for you.

Small pink lips, big blue eyes,

You have the face of a doll.

The world is staying young for you.

Around and around, it spins for you.

You have the face of a doll,

Playing on the carousel.

Around and around you spin for the world,

Dainty child, lovely girl.

We hike up to the waterfall.

I forgot to pack the trail mix.

You are thinking of Steinbeck. I am

thinking of liquid yellow leaves.

I forgot to pack the trail mix.

You are the man who dreams

thinking of liquid yellow leaves.

You are the man with open story palms.

You are the man who dreams.

I am the woman who listens to silence.

You are the man with open story palms.

I am the woman who loses her boot.

You are the man who listens to silence.

You are the man who hangs up his hammock.

You are the man who looks for my boot

his extended palms with his fingertips glowing.

I am the woman who sits in your hammock.

You are the man who shouts down below

that my boot has fallen and the dirt is slipping.

I am the woman with a bare foot.

I am the woman who shouts.

I am the one who is thinking of Steinbeck.

You are the man with a bare foot.

You are the man in the coat of many colors.

You are the man who is thinking of Steinbeck.

You are the narrative of natives.

You are the man in the coat of many colors

resting in your hammock on a Sunday afternoon.

You are the narrative of natives.

Hopi could’ve been your tribe,

chanting around the fire pit.

You are the native who believes in timshel.

Hopi could’ve been your tribe,

the buffalo your brother.

You are the native who believes in timshel

the sunlight follows you.

The buffalo your brother:

“You are wiser than your teacher.

The sunlight follows you.

What are looking for now?”

You are wiser than your teacher

and I am not a foolish woman:

What are you looking for now?

My palms sweat with twilight fatigue,

and I am not a foolish woman.

You are the man I’m thankful to know;

my palms sweat with twilight fatigue.

You are the heir of warm earth.

You are the man I’m thankful to know

to a degree that does not matter.

You are the heir of warm earth:

bless your hands in mountain mud.

To a man, I want to know

men you could turn into,

bless your hands in mountain mud,

make them brown and grainy.

Men you could turn into

a professor teaching in a city

called house of bread

a place of rest named Belém.

The professor of hungry students

faces the challenge, the task, to sit at your desk.

You are the Wise Crow Medicine Man, who

was any chief’s oldest son.

Our friend gives you a sharp knife,

shows how the useful blades cut.

Was any chief’s oldest son

golden and bold as you? You run and

show how the useful blades cut.

You are thinking of Steinbeck. I am

golden and bold as you. You run and

we hike up to the waterfall.

Voices chat over morning tables: sleeping babies, broken coffee mugs, wedding plans. Who’s tallest, who’s shortest. C’est la vie. She’s still not awake yet? Maybe I should drop something. Inspiration leaks from the kitchen sink. She has to leave soon. But first, cinnamon hot chocolate. She hopes she won’t get a ticket on the 5, on her way to Bakersfield. Speedometer will know better than the flow of traffic. I’m sorry, officer. I need to get windshield wipers. Get behind the trucks, too focused on getting to where they need to be.

Turn on music, dance around like a freak. “The Electric Feel.” Despicable Me is advertising adoption: “Be a good daddy today.” My favorite line is happiness is like a room without a roof. Laughing over YouTube videos. I need to listen to more soulful sounds: John Legend. You could walk me to my car. I mean, I could. I don’t have a bra on, but I could. Stirring spoon clatters against the pot on the stove. Long Meadow Way,

I’ll put it on the fridge.

Our one egg. I want to eat breakfast, but I don’t want to eat breakfast at the same time.

I thought about sleeping out here this morning, but I didn’t want her to be without a place. I don’t want to leave the old, but I want something new.