Cooking Class, Illinois, Mid 70s

Cooking Class, Illinois, Mid 70s Along her immaculate counter: silo of red-handled sifter, bright order of silver spoons, lemon bales of butter softening in late winter light. In cupboards her husband the carpenter built, bars of Baker’s Chocolate, dried figs, quartered apricots and Mason Jars of brined harvest. A good cook puts up her hair,...

Death Defying

Death Defying From her husband’s teeth, the thin lady hangs, her star-painted seat twirling as he swings precariously from his brother’s arms, who dangles upside down, as if harm knows nothing of the circus wire, taut between belief and fear, the locals taught respect for gravity, for faith, for all that brings the dollars in...

After the Sea Ship

After the Sea Ship After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds, After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes, Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks, Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship, Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying, Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven,...

Please

Please Stay in this world with me. There go the ships. The little buses. The sanctity, the subway. But let us stay. Every world has pain, I knew it when I brought you to this one. It’s true– the rain is never stopped by the children’s parade. Still I tell you, it weakens you after...

Two Ways of Leaving

Two Ways of Leaving Here is the stone domed like a turtle for long life. Here is the tree cut like a crane for good health. Here are the moonbridge and the waterfall. The road is four parts passage six parts sky. Where you are going may the ratios be favorable. Let us paint pictures...

A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky

A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky A boat beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear — Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she...

Photograph

Photograph The family pontoon attempts to usurp dominant contrast though your twin brother sticks out his chest like a gangster— your father’s fedora slopes too close to his nose. Straight as the safety railing, your older brother locks hands on hips. He manages a squint for the camera. The boat blushes mimosa pink to be...

from Paradise Lost – Book 1

from Paradise Lost - Book 1 Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime, Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid What shall be right: fardest from him is best...

Canary

Canary Billie Holiday’s burned voice had as many shadows as lights, a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano, the gardenia her signature under that ruined face. (Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass, magic spoon, magic needle. Take all day if you have to with your mirror and your bracelet of song.) Fact is, the invention...

November 2013 ~ NaBloPoMo ~ #28

Thursday, November 28, 2013 How do you feel about the first blog post you ever wrote? ~~~~~~~~ I started my blog nearly one year ago; December 11, 2012. My first blog post, was an introductory post. I feel pretty good about it. I haven't met my goal of getting a novel finished, but once I...