Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Tuesday in CinCity

Air

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, May 28, 2011

Saturday in CinCity. The Rockin' Edition.

  

Graduation

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 procedure for three weeks because the shock blast machine is only at Big Fat Teaching Hospital once a month. What's up with that?? Until then I'm planning my life as a beer-oholic. And, taking anti-nausea and pain meds. Good times.

Oh well, until then...

Monday, May 23, 2011

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.


Thursday, May 19, 2011

Last. Carpool. Ever.


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



Time really does fly when you're having fun.

Monday, May 16, 2011

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 for this quarter, glory, glory... A presentation on near-miss injuries in firefighters(plentiful and underreported) and a PowerPoint presentation on financial reimbursement to long term care facilities(un-plentiful and overregulated). And, Miss HoneyHair graduates on the 26th. Two more mornings of carpooling and then the end to a chapter of early morning parenting that parents dislike until it's over.

And that's all my poor research addled brain can contend with for right now...

Friday, May 13, 2011

TGIF

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 afraid as I was
after all those vampire movies
when I'd come home and lie awake

all night, rigid in my bed,
unable to get up
even to pee because the undead
were waiting underneath it;

if I so much as struck a bare
foot out there in the unprotected air
they'd grab me by the ankle and pull me
under. And my parents said there was

nothing there, when I was older
I would know better, and now
they're dead, and I'm older,
and I know better.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

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.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

just a beautiful quote




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

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

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!

Monday, May 2, 2011

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 me now
than my brother was to me then, his big eyes
darting from car to car as they pass.
I watch him breathe into his hands.

I don't believe in anything anymore:
god, country, money or love.
All that matters to me now
is his life, the body so perfectly made,
mysterious in its workings, its oiled
and moving parts, the whole of him
standing up and raising one arm
to hail a bus, his legs pulling him forward,
all the muscle and sinew and living gristle,
the countless bones of his foot trapped in his boot,
stepping off the red curb.