Posts for June 13, 2017

funny tonight’s menu should call for
coleslaw with the beans and knockwurst
such that carrots needed
to be peeled
and grated
and mixed

lovingly handling the roots
under water,
stripping them
of their skin
then
unsuccessfully
attempting to drag them
to achieve
the thinnest slices,
instead resorting
to a makeshift julienne
so that they and the cabbage
could achieve their vegetative coitus
in my mouth
with sundry other condiments

funny, in that, just last week,
I joyously partook in snacking on
baby carrots 
not one
not two
but three days
in a row,
each time ruminating on
just where in the world did baby carrots come from

Remember the smell of bread as a kid?
It tiddly wouldly be enjoyablay
Like stunami salami.

i was chasing rainbows across two counties today.
first out in Farmers, then comin’ down Christy Creek and around the ridge.
driving between rural route raindrops, 
the kind that leave the blacktop breathing steam.
i was sure i’d catch up with one

when the sky busted open just as i topped Merdie Waddell hill,
where the light likes to play in amongst the broom sage,
but i just missed the right light and followed a black cloud along the curves
smelling the rain and feeling gracious the garden got good and wet.
taters are more tangible than rainbows. 

She never intended to die
She was trying to reach
That calm
That can only be had
By escaping under the water 
Floating away
Your mind
Somewhere else entirely 

my shoe laces

wrap my ankle

and shimmy

up onto my skin 

they do not belong

an aesthetic choice

saying maybe

but meaning no

or a nose piercing

for summer

You set the scene with ease
as if practiced many times.
Driving your off-road gas guzzler into the creek,
parking on limestone bed.
We listened as water rushed past
stars and fireflies our only light.
I gazed out the windshield and remembered  

as a naïve little girl,
I wondered if fireflies spoke.
Perhaps there was a Morse code for luminous butts?  

You placed your hand on my shoulder and leaned in.
And I
so desperate to be wanted
.- -… — .-. – # / .- -… — .-. – #
ignored the warning while
fireflies blinked their messages in the falling night.    

(Inspired by the “last line poem challenge” given on July 13.)

Precursor: Jesus crawled on all fours to his mother’s house

,In front of God & Country,

to warn her about eating in front of him. 

Now she’s just standing there
not doing damn thing.

Watching. The Crucifixion. 

                           The quivering burro made the sound that burros make that no one remembers what it sounds like but can never forget when they hear it.

                                Clog dancing sounds exactly like the beating.

Everyone just watching. A zipper the sound of the crown of thorns being lowered onto a brow. No one does a damn thing … except stand there.

Gawking. Thinking. How awful? Hands and ankles being nailed to cross have no choice but to sound exactly like hands and feet being nailed to a cross. Somebody should do something. Then silence

as the spear piercing the skin produces the same sound as a foot stomping in the mud.

The crowd sighs.                                He remains loyal to the end.

Horseback riding in Central Park
1979, I believe
Only did it once
Was taking lessons at a riding stable on the Upper West Side
Couldn’t really afford them
The park ride was our only outing
Was a between-school/job thing

Did a lot of Central Park stuff
Summer of 78, had a job on the East Side
Would often cut a diagonal from the West Side if the weather was nice
Much more pleasant than the subway

Sometimes would catch a performance or do a picnic
Went ice skating once
Jogged around the lake several times
Had heard Woody Allen often did that jog, but never saw him
Maybe he took the money and ran (sorry about that).

fb posters brood–
climate catastrophe
coming soon; for now
chickadee, nonchalant,
feeds his brood, perched
on the cable that brings dire news.

 for Andrew David  

Last night I woke up a dozen times
with your name on my tongue,  

you’re the most delicious sequence of alphabet,
the only one who can satiate my palette,  

I can still taste every letter of you
sliding through my lips.