I am trying to be good

Walking alone

In the soft spring rain

Slight smile to each cautious passerby

I journey off the concrete path

Onto the muddy floor of the woods

I say hello to early may apples glistening with raindrops

Parallel deer tracks by the creek

Wondering if they are watching me from

Their foreign privet post

An arboretum stretches out before me

Calling me out to converse as I study their bark

And blooms

And twig patterns

I am trying

to be so good

Alone amongst the blooming pink redbuds

Our annual kinship is a welcome haven

From exhaust and challenges

In the distance the buffalo still roam close together in their herd

Inside the fence of Shelby Farms

No one tells them to be good

No one needs to hug them, slap them on the back, or shake their hand

They just keep roaming across their assigned land

Paying for a veteran meal or two

Loving people in every hue

America unity is within you

Pouring kerosene on a gasoline fire

Only makes the flames grow higher

Understanding your pain

Can make us whole again

So I will stand from every sideline

Stand from a city balcony

Stand from a Tennessee cornfield

Fist raised from a heated sidewalk and say:

"How wonderful it would be

for hatred to give way to love and unity!"*

Feeling Red, Feeling White, Feeling Blue

America unity is within you

Glory, Glory....to you

America you know what YOU NEED TO DO!

*An adaptation of Representative John Lewis’ words

#Unityfor America #Peace #Blacklivesmatter #Alllivesmatter #love #AnthemforAmerica

By Sara Leslie Camacho FB page:Unity Anthem for America You Tube: Leslie Camacho

Trudging down thru the cold, crowded sidewalks

Just past the guitar twangs echoing out of Robert’s Western World

Towards his favorite spot near Margaritaville

A thin gloved Saxophonist plays out into the tourist revelry

They give him an appreciative nod to his jazzy songs

Some dance a little jig as they pass by

Some throw spare bills and coins into his velvet lined case

One lady asks for a hug as if to get closer to his youth

“That’s my song!” another drunken passerby says

(Whatever melody will keep the melancholy away)

Tonight he turned fifteen

Tonight he plays for the world

For Mark Kaufman

Sara Leslie Camacho, aged 53, copyright 2016

I pulled the old black case out of the basement closet, dragging it up two flights of stairs to pack what my daughter might need for rehab. How can the objects I put in there tell her how much I want her to quit putting heroin in her veins and put LOVE in her heart instead. Please respond to your program, and not die by the randomness of a drug overdose.

I packed a childhood pillowcase hoping she would remember how innocent she was. I wrote inspirational quotes on notecards to put in the pocket of her favorite jeans. I packed a plastic toy horse called Spirit. I packed her some shampoo hoping she would rub some sense into her head. I packed some fish oil for her brain to heal. I packed the quilt her grandmother gave her. I packed cute shirts we bought together. I packed lavender soap hoping it would help her relax. I packed a fresh towel to use when she washed herself clean. I packed watercolors and paintbrushes since she used to love to paint.

As I struggled a little with the zipper, I said “You will live.”

- Sara Leslie Camacho October 9th, 2019