someday you will rise again, Bloggy baby

Poor neglected Bloggy, I am sorry I never write in you. I have a feeling your time is coming very soon, though -- I have been on a writing kick and I think it's relentless.

Here's a newish one that I don't like too much, or rather, it still needs a lot of work.

Hi Ray, I Still Love You

I had little use for my mother
in 1972. She prayed
aloud on our porch swing with suntan
hose sliding down past her housedress hem.
She prayed aloud for me for all the world
to hear and click their tongues and thank God
they had sons instead of wild daughters
like Kay Kavanaugh on Craven Street.

Do you remember this, Ray? We laughed
from your Impala at my mother
waiting, raving her prayers that some sense
would return to me. A month later,
September, I should have been in school
with the other tenth graders. But Ray,
you left me there. I had all this love
and a baby growing inside me.

My mother and I sat on the swing
and we both prayed. But her prayer canceled
mine out, I guess, because you never
came back and met Vanessa Rayanne,
who looks so much like you but never
left me. Come take the tears from my eyes,
Ray, because I saved my love for you.
I’m still here swinging, praying, waiting.