A Tidings of Magpies

by Jane Piirto the 3-year-old, wanting to know what day it is asks everyday what day it is we tell her Tuesday or Saturday etcetera then she asks what day it will be tomorrow and we go through the naming of tomorrows in order chanting the future like a litany tomorrow is when she wakes up in the morning and when we tell her we'll go shopping tomorrow she remembers yesterday and informs us that it is tomorrow that today is yesterday that therefore the time is always now to do what we plan to do tomorrow please note: photo by Donncha O Caoimh

by David Budbill I'm glad to see our friends come: talk, laughter, food, wine. I'm glad to see our friends go: solitude, emptiness, gardens, autumn wind. please note: art by Claude Monet

Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right I have been one acquainted with the night.

by Mary Szybist Are you sure this blue is the same as the blue over there? This wall's like the bottom of a pool, its color I mean. I need a darker two-piece this summer, the kind with elastic at the waist so it actually fits. I can't find her hands. Where does this gold go? It's like the angel's giving her a little piece of honeycomb to eat. I don't see why God doesn't just come down and kiss her himself. This is the red of that lipstick we saw at the mall. This piece of her neck could fit into the light part of the sky. I think this is a piece of water. What kind of queen? You mean right here? And are we supposed to believe she can suddenly talk angel? Who thought this stuff up? I wish I had a velvet bikini. That flower's the color of the veins in my grandmother's hands. I wish we could walk into that garden and pick an X-ray to float on. Yeah. I do too. I'd say a zillion yeses to anyo...

by Hayden Carruth North people known for silence. Long dark of winter. Norrland families go months without talking, Eskimos also, except bursts of sporadic eerie song. South people different. Right and wrong all crystal there and they squabble, no fears, though they praise north silence. "Ho," they say, "look at them deep thinkers, them strong philosophical types, men of peace." But take notice please of what happens. Winter on the brain. You're literate, so words are what you feel. Then you're struck dumb. To which love can you speak the words that mean dying and going insane and the relentless futility of the real?

A lot's gone on this summer and I haven't much felt like reading poetry or posting it. It's one of the many things I just can't seem to wrap my head around. Much like my To-Do list which I normally love as I can check things off and use different colored markers . I don't have much attention for reading. Don't want to go out and listen to music. Don't feel like pilates. I cook. I work. I could walk and walk and walk and walk and walk some more. Thinking about starting back to a dance class. Could happen. I separate piles of clothes and books to go into various baskets and out of the house. I realize this will pass. There is a season for grief. It doesn't last forever. I would like a stop date to mark on the calendar, but I know it will come. Until then, I am grateful for small pleasures. Bridesmaids came out on DVD yesterday. Modern Family starts again tonight. Funny helps.

kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.” ― Stephen King, Salem's Lot

by Linda Pastan When I taught you at eight to ride a bicycle, loping along beside you as you wobbled away on two round wheels, my own mouth rounding in surprise when you pulled ahead down the curved path of the park, I kept waiting for the thud of your crash as I sprinted to catch up, while you grew smaller, more breakable with distance, pumping, pumping for your life, screaming with laughter, the hair flapping behind you like a handkerchief waving goodbye.

by Alice N. Persons Female reported running up Main Street yelling "No, no, no!" She was described as wearing dark clothing and loud shoes. Subject was reported standing in the roadway with a sign saying "lawyers suck and police are outlaws." Woman called to report a man lurking on her patio. Officers investigated and found a runaway goat. Clerk in convenience store reported male customer was looking up someone's skirt. Subject was tracked to the university. 911 report — woman says her wallet was stolen from her kitchen. Before officers could investigate, she called back and said that it was her son, 45. Elderly woman called to report a moose, people carrying torches, and strange music on her property. Officers searched and found nothing. 911 dispatcher got a call saying there was a "huge party" in the woods off County Road 3. Officers find empty bottles and discarded clothes. Residents of Elm S...

by Tony Hoagland Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between "green thread" and "broccoli," you find that you have penciled "sunlight." Resting on the page, the word is beautiful. It touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent from someplace distant as this morning—to cheer you up, and to remind you that, among your duties, pleasure is a thing that also needs accomplishing. Do you remember? that time and light are kinds of love, and love is no less practical than a coffee grinder or a safe spare tire? Tomorrow you may be utterly without a clue, but today you get a telegram from the heart in exile, proclaiming that the kingdom still exists, the king and queen alive, still speaking to their children, —to any one among them who can find the time to sit out in the sun and listen. please note: art by ...

For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out. --James Baldwin     please note: art by Ana Juan, Reflections as New Yorker cover

I have been a bit lost after the death of my friend. The topography of my life has been altered. C.S.Lewis called it the Shadowlands; I view it as the MiddleLands. Robin's deep, abiding love for her family is in one direction and the action to leave her children that was undeniably made is in the other. We are traveling through the middle land where the geography is unmapped, and where I have to believe God and His Spirit walks with us. One has to just keep walking in the stillness. But, the earth keeps moving at a thousand miles/hour and dinners require cooking, cars need repairing, and daughters are preparing to go off to college. HoneyHaired moves into the dorm on Thursday and today we are going to the opening of the ballet season. New Works, where the choreography loosens up a little and some non-classical performances can take place. Gotta keep stepping.

Lotsa rain, compliments of Lee. Work tomorrow. Plans for more canning this weekend. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Short-order Cook by Jim Daniels An average joe comes in and orders thirty cheeseburgers and thirty fries. I wait for him to pay before I start cooking. He pays. He ain't no average joe. The grill is just big enough for ten rows of three. I slap the burgers down throw two buckets of fries in the deep frier and they pop pop spit spit... psss... The counter girls laugh. I concentrate. It is the crucial point— they are ready for the cheese: my fingers shake as I tear off slices toss them on the burgers/fries done/dump/ refill buckets/burgers ready/flip into buns/ beat that melting cheese/wrap burgers in plastic/ into paper bags/fries done/dump/fill thirty bags/ bring them to the counter/wipe sweat on sleeve and smile at the counter girls. I puff my chest out and bellow: "Thirty cheeseburgers, thirty fries!" They look at me funny. I grab a handful of ice, toss it in my mouth do a little dance and walk back to the g...

IX. by Wendell Berry I go by a field where once I cultivated a few poor crops. It is now covered with young trees, for the forest that belongs here has come back and reclaimed its own. And I think of all the effort I have wasted and all the time, and of how much joy I took in that failed work and how much it taught me. For in so failing I learned something of my place, something of myself, and now I welcome back the trees. please note: photo, Young Trees by Ryan Houston