A Snapshot

Jernee, The Little Monster, fast asleep.

The #dog sleeps soundly on a Saturday night, dreaming about God only knows what. My neighbor pulls up to our building–blasts his music for us to hear. I’m not opposed, it’s a tune I can bop my head to.

I spent a couple hours video-chatting with my younger cousin and watching her beautiful smile act as its own form of luminescence. There was no other place I wanted to be than in that moment, #connecting with her about the mundane acts of life–laughing about the calamities found in aging and ailments.

We discuss the inevitability of my little monster’s impending demise, and if I’ll get another dog immediately after or opt to get one soon so as to have another form of support on standby. Of course, I’ll get another dog. But I want her to enjoy her life being the spoiled, “only child” until she’s no more.

Oddly enough, I look at this adorable ball of fur, and all I feel is love. All I feel IS loved.

That is a beautiful thing.

Originally shared via LinkedIn.

**Since Chrissy’s passing, her children have reached out to me for deeper, closer relationships, and I needed this. I’d always been around for their growth–but their mom had my full and complete attention. They would get the occasional text or phone call. Now, it’s almost as if I’ve gained two more younger siblings, but it is Victoria with whom I sense a stronger bond will emerge. I see so much of Chrissy in her and she sees so much of her mom in me too. It is simply a joy to share these moments with them–with her. We are making beautiful memories. Beautiful memories, indeed.

NaPoWriMo #15

The Last Poem (Revised)

“this is the last poem
I will write for you.”
and as the words leave my mouth
I know I am lying, that
when it comes to you, truth
is hard.

I tell myself one thing
I do another.
I could have been a painter,
spreading the colors of you
onto the fibers of the canvas
while you blend in perfectly.

Every flaw you point out
as insufferable and odd have
become my favorites:
your hair, your nose, and the
way your bottom lip quivers
when you try to explain something

I see no wrong in you.
I believe this is why
we will not make it,
why we could not,
and I believe you hate me
for being blind to your
view of you.

I say again, “this is the last poem
I will write for you”
and you smile, tilt your face
to the sky, and pull my hand
to your heart.
You purse your lips together
and utter a revelation,
“that’s a lie and you know it.”

And you’re right.

NaPoWriMo #6

Hey, There. Thank You For Being Here.

For Denise
Hey, There. Thank You For Being Here. Tremaine L. Loadholt 2022 April 05

at first, I was so nervous — afraid
to even speak to you — you weren’t
the spaces I crept through the
day I graduated from training
made me feel as though I was
sinking in a sea of mission-less

slowly, over time, I began to know
a woman who has a smile that
can pull you into the light.
I had so many dark days behind
me, and standing in a brighter place
lured me in.
I’m still here. I’m still surviving.

much of this world would not be possible
if you weren’t doing what you do
just the way that you do it.
to check in monthly, inquiring about
my mind, heart, and my work ethic
keeps me interested — keeps me
the proverbial door is always open — 
ready for anyone to step in.
I am so glad I don’t have to knock
more than once.

you are made for this time — your
position is one you have earned,
and the title suits you.
a supervisor is supposed to
to be able to pull up her pants
and lower herself into the muck
with her employees, assuring them
everything is okay, and you do
more than just wade in it with us,
you ride the waves effortlessly.

I’d put my money on you
on any day of the week because
I know you’ll get the job done.
there is no one else under which
I’d want to be placed, not after
knowing what you do for us.
no one else.
thank you.

For my supervisor who has taken the time to hear me when I truly needed it most, and she never stops.

©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt

The Ladies of Workforce Management Poems #3

NaPoWriMo#5: The Shadow-Speaker: For Stace-E

The Shadow-Speaker Tremaine L. Loadholt 2022 April 03

we don’t always see you but
we know you’re there — two-stepping
in the shadows, popping out only
when time allows or something has
fallen completely apart or a few
house rules need reiterating.

how is she overseeing it all,
I often think to myself? how is
it done and sanity is still
as crystal clear as it was one
year and five months ago?

I wasn’t always this vocal and
adamant on telling my higher-ups
what they mean to me, but flowers
are meant to be smelled while
one can still smell them, and I’m
moved to make sure you have
your bouquet.

Sometimes I don’t know what
I can do — sometimes I’m not as
confident in myself, but you’ll
step out of the shadows to remind
me of my abilities, and then I
remember — I can do whatever I
coerce myself to do.

you are serious about our work — 
about us maintaining a certain
presence as we submerge ourselves
in the almost neverending sea of
calls we get on a daily basis.
we know who we are.

we know what we can take.
on the days when breaking seems
like it’s so very close, you emerge,
and a sliver of light
pulses through the clouds.
goodbye darkness.

there’s a reason I say,
“Good morning, QUEENS” nearly
every day as I log in to help calm
the raging waters of doctors’
offices and patients alike retrieving
their orders . . . it is because
you are — all of you — standing tall
in the face of a promising
kingdom, directing us from
a not-so menacing throne.
thank you.

This is the last poem in The Ladies of Workforce Management Poems series. Thank you so much for reading.

The Ladies of Workforce Management Poems #2

NaPoWriMo #4: The Wolf Mother: For SS

The Wolf Mother: For SS Tremaine L. Loadholt 2022 April 03

you aren’t just punching keys
and hitting buttons on the other
side of the screen, you come
equipped with Mama Bear claws
ready to pounce on belligerent
individuals who dwell in insouciance.
I imagine you grimacing mockingly
at people who are senseless as 
they make demands for something 
we cannot do.

you don’t need a cape, yet you’re
out here saving us from verbal abuse
and people who haven’t had their
share of walking over hot coals 
in a world not meant for many of us. 

I tip my hat to you — with tons
of markets flashing before your 
eyes as you monitor their moves,
you still have time to say, 
“Good morning!” and on 
some days, that means more 
than the breaths I take to 
continue this life.

I believe you have our best interests
at heart and even though we 
may cut up and find ourselves
on the happier sides of time throughout
the day, you honor your role 
making sure we are held to task.

it takes a mighty woman to
sit back and say, “I am not trained
in that area, but let me point
you to someone who is” and 
lean into her badge of vulnerability — 
of simply being human.

if you don’t know just who you are
to us, let me be the first to dub 
you wolf mother — pack gatherer extraordinaire,
we all fall in line because we want to
not because we’re demanded to, 
and there’s the difference between a leader
with willing followers versus one
who has to beg them.
thank you.

I am doing a series of poems for the ladies who form our workforce management team at work. They truly are a gift. This is the second of three. Thank you for reading and listening too. Peace and blessings