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Campsis radicans

That house still haunts me;
the absences I feel are extreme.
Brad has kept the trumpet vines,
electric and intense like himself.
He pulled the irises that were once
lining the paths and taking breath
away from visitors as they passed.
The enormous black-purple blooms,
now towering only in our memory.
He inherited too much and not enough,
spending time and money adjusting,
spreading out and stamping his energy
onto the places that had been our center.
He’s added alcohol to the room where
my grandma’s last moments began,
highlighting the permanence of it all.
Where there was once an annual
display of daisies and cleomes,
a chainlink box sits, overgrown with
those intense trumpet vines.
The garden is all wild and unkempt,
like he’s trying to preserve something
that cannot be contained or suppressed.
Life spills out from our dark spots.
The house was full of undue pressures,
now settled into a gritty beauty.
The roots will continue to grow,
the trumpet vines will spread,
and one day my nephew’s children
will wipe tears from their eyes when
they visit a house that meant so much.
And they’ll talk about the intensity
and how much they’d give to have it back.

Notes

Written 20 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Campsis radicans” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

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Triticum aestivum

Soon enough we’ll be old and nostalgic.
You’ll talk about the prices of wheat and corn
like you grew up on a farm
instead of being a spectator at the rodeo.
I won’t understand the language of agriculture,
but I won’t care because you’ll remind me of mom.

Notes

Written 20 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma

Brian Fuchs, “Triticum aestivum” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

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My father called a number of times yesterday. Today has been a very bittersweet mixed emotion kind of day. Good news should always come first: the condo is gone. Finally. For those who know that I have been trying to sell it for nearly a full year, will know that this comes as a great relief! The check was cut and now plane tickets can finally be purchased so I can go home for a couple of weeks. It was a great relief in theory, but I was not filled with any emotion after hearing that it was finalized. Really… nothing.

Child Services was called to my brother’s house. My brother was in the middle of installing a new toilet and the house had been left chaotic in the wake of my sister-in-law’s latest fit. It was decided, based entirely on the fact that the house was messy (not dirty or dangerous), that the kids should not live in that house. My parents were the obvious choice, having raised the two since they were born. However, the agent assigned to the case, accused my parents of having lied about the living situation several months ago. My brother and family were living with my parents, but when visited by Child Services, the house was very clean and it was assumed that there couldn’t be 6 people living in the house. Not that my parents were even interviewed or asked about anything at all. Now, this is where the problem exists. My parents, who act as both of the kids’ parents, were told they were not as fit to take care of them as the other grandmother, who has seen the kids 3 or 4 times this year.

Letter writing is in order.

Being in the system is really hard. The kids will be followed until they are 18, based entirely on a nosey neighbor and a messy house. It hurts me to know that my parents have something else to deal with. The last thing they need is more stress.

I wanted to vent about all of this to Heather, but we were ambushed by someone else. She has her own problems, and one drink too many. The evening became about her completely. I am exhausted by it. And somehow, I will miss her when she moves.

Image: vintage illustration of fox (from McGill Library via Unsplash)

Featured Image Art: Javad Alizadeh, “Ocean of Sorrow”