Showing posts from May, 2011

Tuesday in CinCity


by Ruth Stone

Through the open window, a confusion

of gasoline fumes, lilacs, the green esters of grass.

Edward Waite rides the lawn mower.

Each summer his voice is more stifled. His emphysema is worse.

"Three packs a day," he says, still proud of the fact.

Before he got sick, he drove semis across the country.

Every two weeks he drives his small truck up the mountain.

He mows in long rows fitting swath to cut swath, overlapping the width.

To please me he saves the wild paintbrush along the edge.

Stripped to the waist, I see he has hung his blue shirt

on my clothesline to dry out the sweat.

The shirt, with its arms upraised, filled with the body of air,

is deeply inhaling, exhaling its doppelgänger breath.

Saturday in CinCity. The Rockin' Edition.


by Louis Simpson
My ex-wife comes over

and invites me to sit

with them. I say okay.

There are a lot of speeches,

all saying much the same,

about the new generation,

the future belongs to them.

They're lining up for it,

walking onto the stage.

There she is, our Meredith.

The sound of two hands clapping

is mine. If there's one thing I know

it's when something is over and

done with, and it's time to go.

Graduation has come and gone, though these chicks are smart enough to space out their parties through  the summer to enjoy them all and orientaion for BigFatUniversity is the end of June. Time moves on.

HoneyHaired is the big grin in the middle and her dad and I are in the background watching and smiling, which is exactly where we should be. CollegeGrrrl is on her way up from the Town of Horses to give her well-lived advice on college life.

As far as moving on, what is not moving is this kidney stone. It's much too big and I can't get the shock blast …

Kidney Stone. Dislike.


It's a Monday, kiddos...

The zebra stood in the night

by Kerry Hardie

now it keeps flashing up on the screen of my mind,

the lines on its body sharp and precise,

no blurring of edges, no shading.

I'm surprised that I seem so surprised

at the hardship that's dwelling inside me.

Black, white, black, white.

No compromise. No bleed.

Saturday in CinCity. The Rapture Edition.

Just in case...

Last. Carpool. Ever.

and HoneyHaired's last day of high school :>)

Time really does fly when you're having fun.

The Enkindled Spring

by D.H.Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up, and the flickering, watery rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, these sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

please note: art, Curvy Branches in Spring by Susanna Katherine

Spring? It's 50 degress and raining. Feels like November and some mornings I wake up thinking we're gonna need to batten down for another round of winter. Difficult to summon forth the heart for it until I remember we shouldn't have to. I. Hope.

Coming into the last weeks of school fo…


Scary Movies

by Kim Addonizio

Today the cloud shapes are terrifying,
and I keep expecting some enormous
black-and-white B-movie Cyclops
to appear at the edge of the horizon,

to come striding over the ocean
and drag me from my kitchen
to the deep cave that flickered
into my young brain one Saturday

at the Baronet Theater where I sat helpless
between my older brothers, pumped up
on candy and horror—that cave,
the litter of human bones

gnawed on and flung toward the entrance,
I can smell their stench as clearly
as the bacon fat from breakfast. This
is how it feels to lose it—

not sanity, I mean, but whatever it is
that helps you get up in the morning
and actually leave the house
on those days when it seems like death

in his brown uniform
is cruising his panel truck
of packages through your neighborhood.
I think of a friend's voice

on her answering machine—
Hi, I'm not here—
the morning of her funeral,
the calls filling up the tape

and the mail still arriving,
and I feel as afrai…

who's afraid...??

Computer is back home after virus removal and a massive lightening of my wallet. What a major pain, but I have a new BFF, Norton 360. Long may we be friends.

just a beautiful quote

There are sadnesses which cast in one's soul the shadows of monasteries.
E. M. Cioran

Obviously the Only Way There's To Be Any Hint of Sunshine Around Here Today

Crossing State Lines [Shirtsleeved afternoons]

by Rita Dove

Shirtsleeved afternoons
turn toward leather as the trees
blush, scatter a last

few bright, weary wisps across
the great bruised heart of the South.

The spirit cup drifts
down the pond's moon-sparked highway.
Far laughter, shadows.

Love or poison? Your turn. Drink
to the star-drenched latitudes!

no title

Staff Sgt. Metz

by Dorianne Laux

Metz is alive for now, standing in line
at the airport Starbucks in his camo gear
and buzz cut, his beautiful new
camel-colored suede boots. His hands
are thick-veined. The good blood
still flows through, given an extra surge
when he slurps his latte, a fleck of foam
caught on his bottom lip.

I can see into the canal in his right ear,
a narrow darkness spiraling deep inside his head
toward the place of dreaming and fractions,
ponds of quiet thought.

In the sixties my brother left for Vietnam,
a war no one understood, and I hated him for it.
When my boyfriend was drafted I made a vow
to write a letter every day, and then broke it.
I was a girl torn between love and the idea of love.
I burned their letters in the metal trash bin
behind the broken fence. It was the summer of love
and I wore nothing under my cotton vest,
my Mexican skirt.

I see Metz later, outside baggage claim,
hunched over a cigarette, mumbling
into his cell phone. He's more real to …