A few poems from 2009. Most of them are finished, but some still need work. Any thoughts?

Untitled 1
Corn bred and milk fed twenty years before I ever saw your sun tanned face.
Was born on a farm forty miles from where I was raised.
And you coming in seven years before on the other side of those East Coast Mountains.
Dipping in and out of everyone else’s lakes before you dragged your long legs the thousand miles out here to climb these trees.
Mountain man who’s never had milk and muddy earth eyes match your cheek streaks.


Untitled 2
Dusty brown mornings blowing back into my face, cho-o-kin’, coughing up my mother’s blood.
The sun dipped behind his brother/lover, his hermit place.
Giving us all one moment of freedom from the sin and sweat of Summer.
Like a minute of church bells reminding you that father’s always looking down your blouse
and biting at the heels of boys who look up your skirt, saving his virgins for Heaven.


We'll All Die There
Don’t talk to me with your feet up in the air like that. (Well when your jeans are too tight and you’ve gotta make money somehow.) Mama never wood carved, and the bees got her somewhere between Rockford and St. Louis; with her too big shoes and dry paper hands. She’s gliding down that long song Summer highway, taking everything I left last year down to the creek, leaving me to follow the paper trail to where she’s digging her own grave. Her own sing-song mountain-top shouting at the top of her buttertone voice,
“What’s to be done-”
“With a problem like child abandonment and weekend whores.”


You're Just Like Your Mother And I'm Just Like Mine
I’m one of those foolish girls,
The ones mama warned you to avoid.
Love singing, hip swinging, couldn’t look away if the had the choice.
One of those girls you can’t know,
Changes her mind too often to guess.
Makes you afraid to frown and worry about things that don’t exist.

Oh give a cheer for the foolish girls,
The ones that ran away from happy homes,
Drops of lust and luck in their cracking bones.
Your mama damns the foolish ones.
Her good heart full of hate,
For the lovers keeping you out so late,
Reminding her of boys she used to know.