After a long hiatus, Rock was found face down in wet leaves, stashed behind the family pet’s gravestones
For some newer readers, you might consider going back to the very first post in October 2021; Rock has been crucial to LittleMe’s growth, always her protector and strong. As Lm gets healthier, crushing her past with a mortar and pestle grain by grain she hid Rock and escaped his wise, solemn advice. Why would she do this to her best cover, her internal bodyguard since she was so small, she couldn’t talk? Rock knows and is upright, straight forward so let him explain why, despite her bravery, she still needs him and always will. ROCK is all knowing, a TRUTH teacher, and he sees what Lm is thinking before she acts. Without him, Lm (despite feeling she can take on the world), well, simply put, she can’t. Lm suffers from childhood trauma, chronic post-traumatic stress disorder, CPTSD, depression, and extreme insecurity because those she loved like BadDad let her down, not once but to the deepest, darkest, unforgettable place that creeps up on her, breaks her and torments her still. “Lm?”. Silence. Damn. “Lm? I’m back, still here for you. Are you under the bed? Are you in the stairwell opening memories without me?”. He waits. He hears a whistle, the kind a small child tries to make but it’s more like a soft blow of wind with a hum. “Come out Lm and let’s talk about what you’ve been up to. “Lm is indeed under the bed. Out stretches her hand from the same old bed she fled to when BadDad memories became too big when she was young. She feels Rock’s gritty surface, whimpers and doesn’t retreat. Rock is everlasting, part of her until her last breath; she wraps her smallest self around him as tears flood the floor. Rock is good at cleaning up messes and doesn’t mind. “We are closer to being one, but Lm you are not ready. I will know when it’s time to merge.” Rock wants to keep her safe and tells her, “Don’t hide me away again, we need each other Lm. Do you understand why now?”. Lm nods her head up and down and wants to articulate “Yes.” She can’t talk right now and is grateful Rock returned. “Tired of keeping up that big girl smile?”. Lm nods again. “I got you. Rock is here. Rest your heartache, leave your longing, stop waiting for the sky to open and for BadDad to hear you, admit his sins, to regret his lies and wrongs. It IS NOT going to happen Lm. He does NOT care and never will because you remind him of who he really is. Rest child. I will stand guard; I will keep you from starving for his love.” Lm lies in her puddle of tears with Rock. She is sorry to admit, she is not even close to being healthy. Rock knows Lm also has much chronic physical pain and is tired of fighting, that she is weary. He assures her she can close her eyes, but he knows he can never stop her dreaming.
She began looking as soon as she could seeforBusesFull of Kids just like littlemeUnloading Children Black as the night sea
Eyes lookin' down at the dry cracked dirt
white kids peeked from behind teacher's skirts
RULES Changed No Playdates,
Same food, different plates
Separate for lunches
Same Lines Different Bunches
Too small to understand? Naw
Madness was made by ole men who wore red, white and blueTheytold white people lies while we watched the news
Vietnam live, TV trays asn' little pot pies
Little children listen to whispers and cries
On the playground we mingled,
We met on the swings, we touched hands, skin and learned to sing
"You pretty, your hair is the colour of sand, you're so nice little "ma'am"
"Don't say that, never again! I am like you, always your friend!"
Wander, Wanderer Still
Life's a climb Up a downward hill
Where are you girls, from the merry-go-round, where are the people who let us all down?
Across the room I was pulled away, told to wait inside as you parted that day
End of school,
Nashville sun full
I'd never see you again
We were puppets of fools who built the scam
DE-Segregation, a word we could not spell
YOU 'RE still fighting your daily hell
I live in a faraway life; I'd still risk anything to be by your side.Causes now, were causes then, oh my what I'd give to bring this to an end
Shootings Shouting Dying Alone
Black America is still my HOME. My skin doesn't match but I was there when we hugged one another, "we best friends"
we touched each other's hair and shared from the start, pulled off the labels 'cause we were smart
It was supposed to be better! Will it ever be that we can find each other and write long letters?
Stupid southern haters, baiters that catered to leaders,
make believers, nothing was real then or now
we were not IN-TE-GRATED
we were used, smoked and baited
put together like N'awlean's blues
Ole mammy, mammy blue
little us, little you
in grade three, cutting out snowflakes for the Christmas tree
It was a sham, just like pot pies an' VietnamI say your names in case you find me, Antonnette, Joyce and tiny Teena
May where you are be good to you
My little friends, I still love you
Lines on paper
Lines of lies
Lines on your forhead
Lines of time
Scars written in blue ink
Signed with red wine
Burning my little self, my littleMe Mind
Scraps of Me
Ripped ON Old Paper
Rewritten, Burn, Burn, Burned.
Crumpled pieces of you
All that you did
Only I knew
Candles lit, dripping at night
YOU ARE PAPER
I stop your rewrites here
Lies in the fire
Lies ancient, Lies new
Kindling. one, three, two
Memoirs of Time, Flickery, flick
In the flames you will go, blow blow below
One line at a time, one lie at a time, one lifetime blistered
by my Father of Crime.
In the smallest of moments, in the hands of the keepers of Time, I am lost in my vivid dreams, my memories of another me, another you, are like digging through a shoebox of polaroids stuffed in the back of my mind. You look through me, not inside me; my own struggle is real, a curse with a cause. I pull my strength from a place so coven, a spiraling space that wedges between me before and me now. I want you to know this fierce attempt to feel alive, better than I truly am and carry me like a small girl afraid of rough waters. Words fling about, nothing to you, yet everything to me. I long for you to revisit me, my depth of consciousness, my blood pumping through my heart. Listen to my love, my emerging crone, LISTEN to the time passing through us, see my bravery, my determination to be part of an unleashed continuance. Mortality is a shell, a clause embedded in our soul, in the fine print. Perhaps some may be aware in flashes dismissed, yet I am in that flash of light we cannot dance in again. I see, breathe each breath too exposed to life’s inevitable pain. I walk with such consciousness, entirely engulfed in each glance, each movement of your eyes, your being; I am amuck in a cast of my own spell. Slipping backwards into the wanderer I have always been I ask again, I plead once more, look through our Love, savour the youthful reminders, hold on to me, to US, come with me as I cross this new threshold of time. I enter with faith a chapter unknown; in my hands I hold a piece of vitality, a bit of curiosity, a smudge of fear. Do not take my time, my devotion in vain. Each touch, every hurried second my eyes are open so wide, a destiny born into my gut, unshakable and relentless it is never off duty. Scroll again through all you know of you, of the course of life, togetherness and ask yourself again and again, ” where are we?”. In that instant let me guide you back, BACK to me and without measure, allow me to take your hand to my heart and walk forward as far as the clock, the silence of being allows. See the beauty, grasp our unknown and open this next door with me. Hold it open, help me step into hope, discard the pain and see me, you, us into the new realm of Love.
Each word in your brain has rolled through someone else’s also; mathematically it all adds up to who decides to believe in their own thoughts or who dismisses them not deeming their ideas worthy of following through with. Issaac Newton, Alfred Einstein, even THE Ben and Jerry who gave us our first taste of Chunky Monkey weren’t all knowing. What they were is quite simple, they were determined. None of them were afraid of being wrong or failing. There is still room for enlightenment as Marcus Aurelius would argue, God is all knowing, and we can’t possibly meet that Fantasia like phenomenon without having Faith. Faith is basically, hope. Hope is what we have when we are lost and need to be found, tired and need a hand, and Belief is when we truly think that Ben and Jerry, Newton, Einstein and God have one thing we lack. What is that thing? The dark and unanswered thoughts that rumble through our brains before bed, the tears we shed in silence, the fear of being dead or living fully as we are meant to live? What makes people need to hear from another repetition of old adages, religious philosophies, scientific explorations uncovered and more on phenomenal happenings? No two snowflakes are alike, but each snowflake has one thing in common, it’s a snowflake! No two brains or humans are alike, yet we are all part of an extraordinary experiment called life. Share your thoughts, the ego can fear rejection however the soul needs exceptions, the brain needs to question and solve. Our hands need to be held as we go through the same yucky crud that thousands upon hundreds of thousands have also gone through. Roll out those emotions through ArT, through words, through meanderings in the desert or forests, talk to your neighbour, run what’s in your head by another and there will be the likelihood of finding someone who believes in you just as much as I believe in Ben and Jerry’s.
Curled around a group of birches, Casper’s tail sparkled in the morning sun. His thick, weathered skin was like brass gone green, he needed a good cleaning, his spikes were tipped with bits of the forests depths it had swept through for months. Leafy remnants, spider’s webs, dried clumps of mud and more. Casper needed a bath. In his heart he longed for his mother who had taught him to fly when small; together they’d play in a hidden lake in another forest, diving while making thunderous splashes, refreshing their moods along with cleansing themselves all at once. He’d lost his desire to travel after his mother died, often losing days to grieving. At night he would find some solace in the gaiety of the forest fairies zipping about in whirls of colour, the plump trolls who were busying themselves with dutiful quests to prepare for winter amused him, especially when they strapped themselves upon gangly beetles like cowboys off for a rodeo. Often the fairies would light upon his long-arched nose causing him to smile, even if only for a very little bit. Their fanciful colours brightened the darkness within the forest as well as his heavy heart, quieting his sadness. As the beetles marched one by one back to their nooks in dead oak trees, the trolls who had dismantled quickly carried on with their purpose. With tiny mounds of moss gathered for insulation, bound twigs hoisted up on their shoulders like seasoned lumberjacks, they were diligently focused on strengthening the walls in their miniscule cosy cottage as the frosty winds would soon be upon them all. Casper yawned letting out a steamy sigh; this warmed the trolls who had snuggled up to sleep away the new day rising and could already be heard snoring. Casper stood, breaking tree limbs with his large body, causing creatures to scurry quickly before he took a step. He was not up for a roar nor a test of his powers. He was hungry and had a very picky diet for a dragon of his size. He snacked on nuts, berries and occasional bird’s eggs which had hatched but still had some gooey insides and crunch to them. He never was able to kill the critters around him. He was, as much as a dragon could be, gentle. His one hankering however was fish. With his mother he would swoop down in the fresh lake, open his jaws wide like a giant whale at sea then let the water into his mouth, using his clenched teeth as a filter the small fish swam straight into his belly. His mother said that small fish were good for his health. Today he would try and lift his wings, fly to the hidden lake and revive his thirst again. In a meadow, he sprang into the sky, flocks of geese screeched and redirected their course as he flapped his velvety wings. He circled the lake slowly and was just about to make a heavy dive when he saw a small, yet taller than normal looking troll. He knew that the aftermath of his landing would hit the being like a tsunami so he settled carefully in a just big enough opening on the ground where he could have a closer look. This troll had water running from its eyes and curly rust coloured hair.
Casper had never seen such a smooth skinned troll. The trolls he knew had warts and thick red noses, wore rabbit fur robes and boots made of birch bark. This troll was spotted like a poisonous mushroom, had dark blue cloth from his waist down to his bare feet. Casper had not seen a troll’s feet or toes nor cared to. On his upper body was a red as a cherry cloth that covered the troll’s arms and neck. In his hand he held a stick with a string attached. Casper was quite impressed, being cautious not to make the sighing sound that made new creatures run away. He watched until the troll began to shiver as the sun was now lowering behind the tall firs around them. Why did the troll not run to his cottage, seek warmth and comfort like the other trolls from his forest? Casper carefully moved toward the water, still on the other side of the lake from this spotted creature. He quietly lapped up some water, or so he thought, and it caused a rather noticeable wave on the opposite shore. The troll jumped up, then leapt backwards and looked up and saw Casper’s big emerald eyes and made a sound that was like nothing he’d ever heard. It was so high pitched it made his senses heighten and he felt a bit frightened. “Mooooom!”, a sound came out of the mouth that reminded him of a baby dragon’s cry when left in the nest alone. Casper lowered his body and remained still intending to show that he meant no harm. Neither moved. The troll inched backwards and hid behind some brush, regularly peering out and having another peak at Casper. Night was coming fast; would this troll be okay in the darkness alone? Casper always slept in his own forest where all the creatures knew him, and he felt welcomed. Suddenly the troll threw a stone across the water, and it skipped and bounced like magic. Casper turned to see the troll do it again and again. Casper picked up a stone and tried but it just sunk to the bottom quickly. The troll made loud noises again, “Mooooom! It’s a dragon, a real dragon!” Casper waited to see another troll, but no one came. The troll was obviously beginning to shake more either in fear or due to having no birch boots like most trolls on his small white feet. Casper decided to let out a warming sigh which would roll across the lake and perhaps comfort him. A steam rose above the darkening lake and the troll felt the sensation, his shivering stopped, and his mouth opened wide without a sound. Then it yelled, “Are you a good dragon?” Casper couldn’t speak this being’s tongue and blew warm sighs of air again. “Thank you for warming me up, I mean unless you are about to eat me for dinner!” The troll jumped behind the bush again and called out, “Moooom!” Casper decided he should swim to the same side to have a better look. He rose carefully from the lake and laid his head upon the rocky edge. The troll looked out at him and threw a stone bigger than the others and it hit Casper in the eye. Casper made an “Ouch” sound that dragons make when hurt. “Oh. I hurt you?”; the strange troll emerged once again and began to babble on with so much speed that Casper wished he could shut down his sensitive hearing. Instead, he chose to move carefully down the stony shore onto softer ground and lay on his side to feign sleep. Perhaps the troll would stop making so much nonsensical noise now, however he kept one eye slightly open to be sure this weird little troll wasn’t going to throw more rocks at him. Darkness had come and the moon was not full. Casper’s eyes saw easily in the darkness, but not the trolls. He continued to pretend to sleep and felt the troll tug on his tail then rub his wings gently. The bothersome troll crawled up on his back and crept up his long neck then looked down at Casper’s eyelids. He felt the troll touch the place where the rock had hit him and in a low tone say, “Poor dragon, poor me, poor us.” Casper tried to be still, yet the trolls little cold feet tickled tremendously. He opened his eyes and there was the troll hanging upside down peering into his giant emerald eye. “Please don’t sleep, I’m scared!” Gibberish again. Water fell from the troll’s eyes and landed into Casper’s. A warm, faintly familiar magical moment happened right then and there. In that very second Casper understood. This troll missed his mother, too. Once more he let out a sigh to warm the air and the troll ran down his arched-nose and stood as close as he could in front of Casper’s good eye. Casper could see the troll’s face very well and sensed his desperation and stared wearily back at him. His thoughts were both kind and grouchy. “I never had my dinner because of you, so can you please get off my nose, close your eyes and sleep now?” Since dragon’s can’t speak his own irritation was unnoticed, quickly he softened and felt the tingling of sadness for his new, seemingly unshakable companion. “Please stay awake dragon!” Casper doubted he could make any sound so complicated but gave it a try with just one wish upon the twinkling stars above, “Make this most unusual, loud small toad of a troll disappear.” To his surprise the troll crawled on top of his head, slid down his neck then nestled in the softness of his left wing. Casper worked up the courage and sighed, feeling love rise from his heart and flow out easily. Without much effort he simply cared. No noise came from the troll. He turned his big head down and made out the wee one in his wing. He was fast asleep. Casper thanked the stars for granting him peace and carefully closed his eyes to rest. It was the first time in a very long, long time that Casper felt a sense of comfort inside and together they slept in peace. Dawn woke Casper and he looked down to check on the troll. What? He wasn’t there? Suddenly he heard a new sound, a windy sound that was quite jolly. He looked about and there at the lake’s edge was the little one with the stick he’d had when he first noticed him. He had a long string dangling into the water; he saw the stick jerk downwards then in one swift move the troll yanked the stick out of the water and there, flopping on the end was a small fish. The troll made more giddy sounds and put the fish on a large flat stone. Casper was ravenous by now and knew that one small fish might feed the troll but never him. He let out his morning soft roar and the little troll ran toward him. “I have to eat, and I can’t give up on my mom finding me.” He screamed loudly, “Moooom!” several times and then the water in his eyes began to fall. Casper so wanted to help the pathetic, lanky troll. Casper nudged with his nose as carefully as a giant dragon could for the troll to move away from the lake. He kept nudging him until he was safely away from the flood he was about to create. The troll understood Casper had good reason and obliged. Casper immersed his head under the water, opened his mouth allowing the fish to swim in, and for the first time he didn’t swallow them rather he spat them all out onto the shoreline and there were hundreds of them flapping about. He went down again and took a big belly full for himself then sighed with smelly warm fish breath toward the hungry troll. When the troll saw all the fish, he was exuberant, yet instead of eating them he began picking up downed tree limbs, pushing them into a pile, and striking two stones together. Casper must have seemed curious as the troll looked up and tried to explain fire by gesticulating the shape of flames and making noises that came out like POOF! Casper nudged a fish that had stopped flopping toward him. The troll shook his head and kept on with his task. Casper decided if he ate the fish then maybe the troll would eat the others brought up for him. In one quick lick the fish was gone. The stubborn troll kept at his strange task when suddenly a small spark appeared. Casper now realised that the troll wanted fire, like the ones in his forests made when they stayed up on special nights and played their wooden flutes and danced. Casper nudged the troll to move back, he was more assertive now and the troll understood to run. Casper took in a deep breath then with all his might he roared, fire shot out of his nostrils and the fish, well, they were without a doubt baked. He then watched as the small, thin and obviously starving troll munch on them spitting out the bones which Casper licked up and found quite tasty. There were far too many fish for one small troll. Casper knew the feeling of hunger, of missing a mother and yet, he could not stay in this forest for long as he recalled his mother always coaching him to look about for strange creatures who did not like dragons. As much as he wanted to help the small waif, he knew he had to return to his own forest. He tried as much as a dragon can to communicate with the little eyes as green as his own, with rusty curls falling over his forehead, tiny brown spots on his nose and cheeks, with the cold bare feet and teeny toes. Troll studied Casper. He was clearly trying, too. Just in that second of what one might call friendship, one full of caring and tenderness, trust and newness a loud clanging noise came from the far side of the lake. Casper had never been that far, and his tail thumped shaking the ground beneath them. The troll looked up and with his high-pitched scream called out to the noise. “I’m here! Next, they heard a sound that echoed with a deep stern voice, “Benny? Stay put boy and we will come to you”. The troll had water in his eyes and rubbed Casper’s nose, “You must go, they will hurt you.” Casper did not move. Then the boy pushed Casper as hard as he could repeatedly. Casper realised the small troll was nudging him for good reason, urging him to go. “No one will believe me when I try to say you are gentle.” The sounds from the troll were more like a plea now and Casper recalled once again his mother’s instructions. “This is not our forest; creatures here don’t like dragons.” Casper’s emerald eyes were full of water, too; his tears were like buckets of rain forming small ponds. He stood and was much higher than the treeline, there he could see a group of taller creatures like his wee troll coming fast. He bent down and let his friend kiss his eyelids then sprung up from the opening from where he had his first glimpse of this new, quite loveable strange new creature. Benny waved with both sadness and joy, for he had made a memory no one would ever believe and soon he, unlike Casper, would be reunited with his mother. Casper’s heart still felt warm for this special troll had given him reason to care again. The late morning sun shone beautifully upon his wings reflecting a deep purple hue. Good things can still happen and just for fun he roared as loud as he could in a very long time. Although nearing his own forest, the lost troll could hear Casper and jumped into his mother’s arms and said, “I really was saved by a dragon!”; the mother smiled at her sweet son’s vivid imagination and held him tight. Casper vowed to return to the lake now, perhaps the spotted troll would, too. As he lay gently down in his usual spot in his own forest, fairies circled around him, delighted he was back. The small trolls in their rabbit fur coats and birch boots looked at him with relief. They too needed his warm sighs to lull them to sleep. Benny promised his mother to never run off from camp on his own to fish again without telling a grown-up. However, he knew, without a doubt he would return one day and so would Casper.
Moon Light, Cold Eye of Eternal, Emerging Goddess, Aware of Me, a Coyote’s howl under Frosty Pines; Moon Light, Cold Eye of Universal Goddess, Aware of You, too. She Shines on Gray Wolverines, Bones from Wings, Buried Beneath Barren Aspen Who Sleep. Moon Light Still, Our Oasis! Mighty Universe Releases Tiny Drops of Mystery Moon Light Glow, Embossing the Frozen Creek, Jagged Brightness Decorates the Peaks. Moon Light Dusts the flightless, hooved tracks with brightness. Moon Light, Cold Eye of Goddess, Aware of All Beneath This Hard Dirt Who Lay Quietly, Stolen or Willingly. Do You Still Seek Love? Do you Hear Midnight Yelps of Hyper Furry Runts Leaping Above? Listen, do you hear the Hungry Deer, Moose Meandering Above You in the Moon Light? Can You Smell the Love of the Almighty Breath of Eternal Life; Are You Aware of the Moon Light Dusting Your Grave, Touching Your Shrine Bouncing and Playing in Your Spirit? Lyrical Lunar Moon, Night Light Cold Tunes Of Old Songs Sung by the REnewed Oasis in the Night Goddess of Our Deeper Sight.
At night I close my eyes yet am wide awake wanting a miracle to make you happy, to be whole and live the life you want to live. To unlock the chains of stigmatism, of bigotry and divisiveness I would slay fiercely. I want to wake to see you smiling, holding the hand of another, laughing and having plans that don’t include me. I want you to be loved as I love you, your heart to feel cosy and warm; I want this life to begin for you with acceptance and commitment. Will the barriers which bind you to unhappiness release you soon; will the sun shine and your warm brown eyes have no tears? I lay solemn, my pledge to see you through your journey unwaivering. I would be lying to myself and to the grand altruism deemed LOVE if I said it will all be okay. I don’t know if it will be okay, that you will thrive or that this world will give you what you need. My heart is heavy, my mind restless; I never stop thinking about you becoming who you are without more pain. I would pray, yet my beckoning turns sour when each day I see your soft eyes vulnerable. The God I once knew would not cast such pain on you. Goodnight my love. May you sleep and dream of rainbows and all the things that keep you strong; I close my eyes yet my heart is open for you every hour, every breath and will never be calm until I know you are satisfied.
On the street lives a man, a cardboard box his shroud, amidst the musty smells, a lonesome moan in a passing crowd.
Ties, white shirts, most briefcase clad, hot dogs on the go,
fifty cents for a drink is very cheap you know.
Wrapped in plastic, his form emerges
and satirizes the bunch.
Some give him five or ten cents then hurry off to lunch.
He stuffs his profits in his coat and straightens up his boxes.
He crawls back inside, covers up like a wolf among the foxes.
Night falls once again, his belly cries and intensifies his urges.
The flag blows haphazardly in the midnight breeze, the US Capital
illuminated casts shadows on the trees. Lover's laugh, walk briskly through the winding streets; the man watches carefully everyone he meets. Five cents, ten cents it adds up in the end, tomorrow is Memorial Day, he'll have a buck by then. A soldier once in Vietnam, his friends and faith were killed, he returned to his country another being, his hopes unfulfilled. No hometown parade or pretty blonde waited, his fantasies were abated. His mind full of gun shots fired, men bleeding in the trenches, his heart felt numb his soul was seized, abandoned in death's clenches. Lonely, dehumanized, questioning his life, ne'r was he ever graced from his fear or strife. Old, now sick, he slithers down beside a fancy car, college kids laugh as they leave a Georgetown bar. Shameless now, bloodshot tears he stumbles to his haven, rolls up in bubble wrap, a treasure he's been saving. Underneath this cardboard hut lies a wounded heart indeed, a US soldier who fought in 'Nam whose soul was left to bleed.
Sitting with my Grandma, “Shhhh! Now listen”. Her smile is remembered. Loretta Lynn singing on the small television, being interviewed and my admiring her long dark hair. My cousins were restless and sent outside with sweet tea, moon pies and I stayed beside her. The Grand Ole Opry! Being poor and working one’s way to the top is an achievement many country music fans, or mindful humans can appreciate. I didn’t feel poor or that life was a struggle; Grandma came from a very well-mannered family and kept us close, often saying,”not our people”, when I asked questions about others I was all in a quandary with. “Mind your business; we have enough with each other.” I always wondered how Loretta Lynn knew anything about coalminers; all dolled up with ribbons in her hair, long braids and frilly, detailed dresses she did not seem to me to be simple or wanting in anyway. It’s dark tonight on Sweden’s west coast and my days in Nashville seem light years away; I want to believe that Loretta is soaring above us, having a look at Mars, smiling and humming in peace. Women become strong through experience, fighting for their words to be heard and sung. I feel a warmth, a sense of peace knowing she had such a good life by just being herself. What if we all could just be humble, gracious, kind and appreciate of our lives? Wouldn’t that be something? I can’t play a guitar. If I could I would take my hidden wings, stuff banana and chocolate moon pies, RC cola and warm grits with butter and salt into my backpack, strap my Fender over my shoulder and rise amongst the stars. There I’d see Mrs. Loretta waiting and she’d pat the ground beside her, invite me to sit down and we’d sing with her long dark hair flowing in sync with eternity. Actually, I think she wouldn’t care whether I could play guitar. I can carry a tune. She may be our best example of “the salt of the earth”, now an iconic memory that changed music and hearts forever. Maybe Grandma would be there, too and I’d surprise her with all my southern goodies. We wouldn’t be tired, or sick or old. Just three strong women, free from adversity and strife sipping our cola, eating warm grits and unwrapping moon pies on Mars.
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