The air has cooled.
We close the doors
and sleep under an
added cover.
For the first time
since May the
ceiling fans are still.
Cars crunch pecan
shells in the drive.
Acorns hit the roof.
Autumn.
The air has cooled.
We close the doors
and sleep under an
added cover.
For the first time
since May the
ceiling fans are still.
Cars crunch pecan
shells in the drive.
Acorns hit the roof.
Autumn.
We had stopped at the light.
I saw the tiny figure
standing on top of the partly
finished new stadium.
Hands on hips, the sky blue,
clouds behind him he
stood right on the edge. If
I’d had a camera, I would
have taken his picture, but I
didn’t. The light changed and
we drove on.
Dental appointment
over. Teeth cleaned.
We stop for lunch
downstairs. They have
us try the soups for
the day – lentil & hot and
spicey chicken. We get lentil.
Eating outside, I see
a spider web strung between
tree trunks. A tiny
spider, a leaf caught.
Flying so fast his
wings blur, the humingbird
darts from flower to
flower. By the time
I get my camera, he’s
gone.
The hummingbird flew
up close to the ceiling,
near the big vent pipes
against the laundromat
ceiling. She took off her
shoe, climbing on the table
trying to hit him. Her friends
laugh. I leave.
Silent.
When I saw your tiger,
I knew it was the same one that
comes around the corner
of my house, walking
softly on his big cat
feet, past my wall of glass.
I am frozen. Afraid
if I move he will
come through the glass.
Afraid if I don’t, he
will come through the
open door ahead.
Sometimes we skipped lunch,
working right through to leave early.
Other days we sat out on
the fire escape eating
cheese sandwiches
or fried chicken livers from
home, the brown paper bags
greasy or damp from pickles.
Afterwards we sang all the
verses of “La Bamba” and practiced
smoking.
It was hot in the old gym.
Three fans kept the temperature
bearable as we walked
slowly down the aisles looking
for differences in the pieces. I
recognized some techniques now,
but so many pieces blended
into each other. Naked raku
was rare. The cross hatched
shallow garlic olive oil bowl
was different. When we left the heat
had risen. There was nothing so unique
as a tulip helmet.
Sometimes I meet myself
coming down the stairs
and wonder if I
found what I was
looking for up there.
July 1950. I was almost four
years old and swirling
around in the backyard. My
life just beginning.
August 2016 I sit at my desk
writing my final postcard
poem for this year. Listening
to Sati, the ceiling fan as it
creaks around, the voice of
my husband talking to a friend
and the sound the cars passing.
We were driving to Jekyll
Island when my daughter
asked Siri for directions.
We had been on the freeway,
zipping along. She guided
us to back roads, down
winding roads, past farms
and fields and pine trees.
At a crossroads, Siri left us,
leaving us to decide which
way to the beach.