Moonstone Memoir

bound by moonstone, they married young

and despite their differences, they loved without an agenda

they lived humbly by their family name, and built with what they could,

I still thank them for that.

greenhouse stroll, class commute, minimum wage

pinewood bed frame was crafted by the hands of a man

who loved a woman with hazelnut woven hair

the fourth post scarred by their initials and wrapped in a heart

telescopes, fairy rings, watercolors

we paid everyday visits to grandpa's nectarine trees

grandma graced us with homegrown zucchini 

their house was our second home 

they always brought us in,

I still thank them for that.

we said goodbye to the place and people that felt like home 

and settled closer to the Atlantic shoreline

graveyard shifts, strawberry milk, campus walks

I was told I was the best reader in my class,

I took a lot of pride in that

skateboard cuts and bruises,

I never recall worrying whether or not I'd heal 

barefoot and bold I defended every living thing,

I guarded with my feet rooted into the floor and arms shouting to the sky

I'd fight those boys if I had to, I would in a heartbeat

burnt oatmeal cookies

she said she was sorry; although, she had no reason to be

she was and still is everything that is good

I built fairy gardens and found comfort sitting under the weeping willow

school was hard, I never liked the loud, I never liked feeling small

I wish I learned to stand up for myself sooner

recess search for sassafras and honeysuckle 

it felt like the world was trying to catch up with us

floral hat boxes, lavender oil, late night re-runs

I took ballet lessons 

but spent more time marveling at the web a spider had spun 
in the corner of our studio than to the lessons themselves 

sneaking bites out of the peaches at the supermarket never got too sweet

I still feel bad I stole those chocolate snowmen, but I laugh about it too

fireflies lit up our backyard,

I still wonder why they visited for only one summer

although their light never lasted long, I'm glad they stayed when they did

my 4th grade class and I stepped into Monet's "The Water Lily Pond" that day at the sculpture grounds,

I hid thinking I would never have to leave

Simon and Garfunkel always knew what to say

so did Cat Stevens, The Smiths, and Tom Rush

time went by

my hair grew longer

my baby teeth were gone

white sage, clear quartz, blank canvases

Mother teaches the importance of kindness,

the beauty in knowledge, to tend to your own spiritual growth, 

and to always become 

Father teaches the importance of education, 

the reward of hard work, to always give, 

and to never let your heart grow old

I have attended funerals, baby blessings, baptisms, and weddings

I have seen love in its best, I have learned all things good are built by careful hands.

My parents built me a childhood with careful hands

I still thank them for that.

(Window by Joel Ryhmer)

wrote this for myself two years ago & I'm hoping it helps someone else the way it helped me

you often forget that your bruises 

soon bloom into daisies

and that this

 impenetrable, starless tunnel

 soon leads to a 

radiant brilliance

. . .

"I'm glad you decided to stay."

"Me too, me too."

(photo name and photographer unknown)

Cinder Block Dialogue

[I took these photos this past summer 

and added subtitle text to make it

 look like screenshots from a foreign film;

 take dialogue into your own interpretation]

Kintsugi: To Join With Gold

may boundless be the broken

alchemy hands heal the flawed design of your frame

ancient eastern philosophy lacquer the hurt with healing

gold seeps through cracks of the rich and rustic

ceramic expansion of the heart, soul, and mind;
a lifetime in the refiners fire

no fracture in our stretch is unable of such sound repair

watch grand trial manifest itself into your most magnificent treasure

brilliance be the outcome, for you are your greatest masterpiece

(Repaired Heart, Kintsugi study 1 & 2 by TJ Volonis)

The Old Man With a Steel Guitar Heart

my mother hugged the man with a steel guitar heart that Christmas Eve;
I will never stop asking this world:

why must some souls grow to be so lonely?

handshakes instead of hugs
brittle bones begging for longevity
hair needle-spun from Halley's comet
off-white walls hold hands with obsolete photographs
home of the expired living
fluorescent lights bounce off blue veins
thrums stirring young hearts trapped in old bodies
repetition hymn of heartache falling out of bleached teeth
open hearts, listening ears, patient feet grounded in folding chairs

some questions don't have answers yet, 
so in the meantime I'll live by theory

heal his heart with the peach orchards that held the sun
fogs of nicotine coating turquoise carpet
gardenias guarding the sidewalk
dinosaur fossil show and tell
hugs instead of handshakes

I sometimes wish I was an earthquake, I'd uproot all this heartache; you know I would.

Although, no matter the age,
or how much the strums of a lifetime may sting;
you cannot mistake this God gifted music

  (I could not find the name of this photo or the photographer)

                                                   

Ode To Self-Love

it does not take the comfort of two souls to build a home, but only one.

if you should ever long for another, remember: you were born whole, not a half

do not let the company of someone else's warmth be what inspires the ignite of your fire

your flame was always innate - nourish it and watch it be the sun

many will see you as an answer to embrace,
with teeth flashed, palms open, and bones broken

whether or not their intent be pure,
we were all comprised up as questions that were never meant to find perfect reason

do not forget the depth in your earth,
you are what the thunder smites as the complete and the courageous

so I listened to the hum of my heart:

        I am,

             I am,

                   I am.   

(artwork above by Edvard Munch, 1909)

The Botanical Burial of The Baobab Tree

plant this seed in desert soil, with hands buried beneath the earth in the formation of prayer

here I rest evermore being diamond by lullabies of cosmic and temporal realms painted by a lineage of blood streaked ancestry

inside this holy cavity, I give myself to the branches that loom fruit of velvet; every brim pulling at the crown of the stars - kissing them with god woven nectar

golden horizon threaded through your bark, may hollow bird bones mark my grave - a promise to be given back to whence I was born

blessed be this burial, let my lashes lap up the dust

scar the bark with the initial of your heart to feed this barren terrain

glorified, let my frame immortalize the songbird of my soul

for this exalted cultivation

this tranquil home

    (photograph above by Eric Ross)

Dads + Fedoras = Fedorable Dad (Hat Assignment)

Gather 'round kids, I have a story to tell you.

Several months ago my Dad had this brilliant/hilarious/effective tactic to get me to clean my room. He told me that if I didn't clean my room, then the next time we went on an outing together he would wear his fedora and buy a Brony t-shirt to wear with it. Although I thought this was more so out of humor than it was seriousness, I sometimes forget my father is a man who feeds off the satire of comical irony. He will stop at nothing; I have lived with him my entire lifetime. I know the ways. Though he may be a comical, ironic wizard, it sure can be daunting and in many ways pretty admirable in the sense he does what he wants.  I think he mainly wears the hat to make me cringe and to bug me - which is pretty funny. 

In the end I did clean my room and did not have to face the wrath of my middle aged father parading in a children's television show t-shirt targeted for 4-7 year olds whilst tipping his pin stripe matte gray fedora. 

I think it's funny when dads wear fedoras. And these dads are certainly no Gene Kelly, Bing Cosby, Michael Jackson, Indiana Jones, etc. - these dads are the stereotypical barbecue dads that wear tennis shoes with white tube socks and khaki pants. Although, my dad is more of a hemp pant and Birkenstock kind of guy - still not quite fitting to wear with a fedora. 

Shoutout to all the dads who embrace their inner fashion diva. Shine on you crazy diamonds.