Her name was May. Not named for the month of showers, flowers and springtime But short for Maybe As in maybe this kid won’t make it As in maybe someone else will take this kid Pushed aside and forgotten most of the time She screamed and clawed her way into this world Soon learning that silent was the way to be Going unnoticed among the crowd She tiptoed along on the steady route Through the background of her thorny life Forging a path, rising Until standing at the front, still faceless, soundless to many She found her way, her voice, her worth She made it Just maybe No , just May Named for perhaps, might, could

  Felts House, WKU Campus, Bowling Green, KY Standing in the breezeway Of an era vanished like the mammoth A cast iron kettle lays upended Beside cold ashes No longer useful    Of a time now only in memories The grubbing hoe leans Amongst other forgotten tools Like rubbish in the corner   The days of working sunup till sundown Fading away with the years The spinning wheel is still  Silent without calloused hands to move it Discarded with yesterday’s tricks   Families scattered now Once shaped together Apparitions visiting like kinfolk That gathered days ago Standing in the breezeway