Rescue Remedy

It was a natural stress reliever, meant to discreetly calm a middle-aged woman’s anxiety. Just two spritzes on the tongue, and all would be right with the world. Mother toted this “Rescue Remedy” about with her for a few days on the recommendation of one of her teacher-friends. Daddy thought it a silly trick of advertising, not something his wife ought to own. So, he read the label and let my mother, who has only ever drank as a courtesy to pushy hosts, know that her little spray bottle was not just flower petals and stardust, but also 27% alcohol.

Be my Light

Fresh cut grasses tease my thighs

as I kneel in darkness to pray

below the 10:20, cloud-thickened sky.

Casting off deliberate thought,

truer words thank Him

and ask Him to “be my light.”

Here, our starless night

betrays herself, allowing a lone star

to glimmer for me.

One mississippi two mississippi

And it hides anew.

Failed Neighborliness

It was a crumby van in handicapped parking, branded with “Need a Ride?” and a telephone number. Its driver’s finger fished for the latch, blindly trying to pop the hood to add coolant. As I passed with my canvas grocery bags, I offered help while silently trying to decide if I’d ever successfully opened my own car’s hood. After the woman engaged in some argumentative banter with her teenaged daughter, the latch was pronounced unopenable (her “redneck husband” had wired it shut). As she released me from my failed neighborliness, she thanked me.

“Oh, I didn’t do anything...”

“You cared.”