Posted on June 26, 2021 8:49 pm EDT Across the street the sun shines on a tall tree top. Over here it’s already dusk. A shower earlier left my yard green and dripping. Its wild with years of unraked leaves and bushes and coarse grass, uncut. The fireflies, their tiny red and green lights ziging and zaging, glowing. They fly up to the window lighting for a moment, soaring away their sparks magical in the darkening yard.
Posted on June 26, 2021 7:54 pm EDT It was the next morning before the clouds moved in. The rain spread across the mountain and beat on the tin roof like a troop of gumboot dancers. It rained all day and all night. The next day brought the sun back, sparkling on the puddles all over the yard. The periwinkles covering the path to the garden, flowered extra beautifully from the rain.
Posted on June 26, 2021 6:42 pm EDT Back then, we lived on Elbow Ridge, up on Red Top Mountain. Mostly I raised children and a huge garden. My husband worked in town. That evening, the kitchen table was crowded with jars of tomatoes I’d canned that day. The air was full of steam and heat. We ate dinner on the screened in porch surrounded by the evening sound of frogs singing like rain was on the way. Afterwards we sat around watching fireflies dance in the overgrown yard, fanning ourselves, waiting for a breeze and hoping for the rain to come. Prompt for hour 14. Random Write a poem that contains at last five of the following ten words. Feel free to include all ten if you wish. frogs, evening, tomatoes, jars, raincoat, steam, peculating (embezzle or steal (money, especially public funds), children, elbow, mystery
Posted on June 26, 2021 4:52 pm EDT
Hey, where's the meat? Are you bringing it? (What will we eat if you aren't?)
Oh, she plans to bring it
later this evening when she
takes them back.
Did you need it before
(I had planned it for dinner...) What time will that be? Was it frozen?
She said between seven and
eight. Yes, it was frozen. Hope
you are not planning
to have it for dinner.
Not now we aren't. Thawing some chicken as he froze the salmon and shrimp. Arghhhh.
Consolation doesn't mean much when before another 24 hours pass, another black wo/man is dead. Because the moment when you become the target, the only support is someone who can stand between you and the bullet. Can stop the pulling of the trigger. The weight of the knee.
Posted on June 26, 2021 3:28pm EDT Drops of water caught on a summer green leaf. Pools shinning in the sun.
Posted on by kriscleage
Riding the train, wondering what life I'd find in any small town if I got out and disappeared. The lonesome sound of the train whistle, coming into a night time stop. Pulling back the curtains to look. The huge prehistoric bird flying alongside the train for awhile in Wisconsin. The officers coming through, checking only the ID of two Asian women as we traveled along the northern border. The grafitti coming into or out of Chicago. And along the way on water towers, viaducts, freight cars. Cris- crossing the country carrying their authors tags. A father singing "This land is your land" to his daughter as we rode along the water coming into Seattle. Or leaving Seattle at dusk. The tired, dirty look of Detroit, coming into the station at night. Almost home.
The inventory of the estate of Crawford M. Jackson, deceased, contained one hundred and thirty-five enslaved people. My thirty five year old great great grandmother, Prissy and her baby child Eliza, valued at $1,200. Twelve year old daughter Iba, valued at $1,000. Sons Harjo nine and Griffin eight. $700 each. Six year old Frank, $600. My great grandmother Mary, (Poppy's mother, my mother Doris's grandmother), was four years old and valued at $400. In today's money, $12,973.25.
Explosions as my neighbors celebrate the 4th. Kids walk up my street setting off firecrackers as they go. Whistling Chasers shoot down the street, sparking, whistling. One sputtering into my yard. I watch the fireflies.