Too Close for Comfort

My sister Jeanne with Mama in 1964

Writing sent me into the world of social media and it’s pushing me back out there again. I found it easy to fall off the grid and back into my life on the farm. We had a nice crop of foals this year, an abundance of tomatoes, and the hens are continuing to lay, even in July’s oppressive heat.

Summer nights are my favorite. When the light softens near sunset, I walk for an hour or two. Until the chickens roost and coyotes appear near the tree line. Night reminds me of childhood games of kick-the-can. Mama calling and calling for me to “get in the house.” And like a coyote, I’d hide until she’d find me behind a tree or a bush and order me inside.

Speaking of Mama, her health is declining. She needs my daily care, and I’m happy to give it (though she can be exasperating at times). Writing about my childhood reminds me that she was once young and energetic—an ambitious businesswoman who thrived in a man’s world. The men are all gone now, so she spends her days in her pajamas. And she sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.

Today, I’d like to page back to October 1962. My family had recently moved to Louisiana from McAllen, Texas. And my big sister Jeanne (pronounced Jean) was terrified of our new landscape, our stepfather Roger, and Cuba. So click here and follow me over to Tweetspeak Poetry if you’d like to read, “Too Close for Comfort.” And come back next Friday for “Sweet Talk.”