Showing posts from April, 2012

Sunday in CinCity. The Blue Skies Smilin' at Me Edition.

In the White Sky

by William Stafford

Many things in the world have

already happened. You can

go back and tell about them.

They are part of what we

own as we speed along

through the white sky.

But many things in the world

haven't yet happened. You help

them by thinking and writing and acting.

Where they begin, you greet them

or stop them. You come along

and sustain the new things.

Once, in the white sky there was

a beginning, and I happened to notice

and almost glimpsed what to do.

But now I have come far

to here, and it is away back there.

Some days, I think about it.

Hubby and I are sitting here this morning drinking our coffees and listening to WWOZ out of New Orleans on the computer and trying to decide what to do with our day off. If anything. It's cool and grey here. Good day to curl up and read or watch more episodes of Treme in our vigorous and studious attempt to learn about our daughter's new home.
I'm newly hooked on a fabulous book I heard about on NPR, Midnig…

Tuesday in CinCity. The Home Sweet Home Edition.

Well, MissNewOrleans Grrrrl is unpacked in her new apartment and sent us a pic of the orange tree outside her kitchen window. That seems a good omen to me for a sweet home. 

Live Oaks, New Orleans

by Jennifer Maier

They square off along Napoleon avenue,

opposing armies of dark women, leaning out

so far their branches meet at the top, like hands

grabbing fistfuls of tangled hair;

and some of them are old, with the thick,

scarred trunks of Storyville madams, and

roots so strong their suck heaves

up the sidewalk like so many broken

saltines. And some are young, with the

straightbacked bodies of girls who dream

of horses and the brown arms of the neighbor boys,

but underground the red roots grow together,

fuse in a living circuitry spun deep and

stronger than the whims of emperors, as if

they've known all along that earth's the right

place for love, as though, planted in battle lines,

they incline toward the circle, and hold it open,

vaulted and welcoming.

Monday in CinCity. The We are Dancer Edition.

The Dancers Inherit the Party

by Ian Hamilton Finlay

When I have talked for an hour I feel lousy—

Not so when I have danced for an hour:

The dancers inherit the party

While the talkers wear themselves out and

sit in corners alone, and glower.

Tuesday in CinCity. The U Haul is a Beautiful Thing Edition.


by Faith Shearin

That year we left the house we couldn't afford and put

our belongings in storage. We were free now

to travel or live in tiny spaces. We kept our chairs

and tables in a cement cell, our bookshelves,

our daughter's old toys, clothes we wouldn't wear

or discard. There were books we liked but did not

need and mattresses and pots and pans. Sometimes

we went to visit our things: sat in our rocking chairs,

searched for a jacket, listened to an old radio. It was like

visiting someone I loved in a hospital: the way, removed

from the world, a person or object becomes thin,

diminished. The furniture on which we lived

our young life had no job but to wait for us.

It remembered our dinners, the light through

our windows, the way the baby once played on the floor.

Sunday in CinCity. The Ides of April Edition.

The tax man cometh.

please note: photo by Larry Lynch, National Geographic Photo of the Day

Saturday in CinCity. The Miss New Orleans Edition.

Our girlie-girl was in New Orleans for the Final Four final game, but had another reason to be down there which involved a job interview. After weeks of crossing our fingers and lighting multiple Our Lady of Guadelupe candles--very concerned about job prospects and economic recovery--our girl found out she got the job. While she is busy packing up this weekend for her move next week, we are busy gathering bits and pieces here to exchange with her the things she won't need till she finds an apartment. Go down with a fold-up cot, come back with a backseat full of winter coats and sweaters. Sheer joy and excitement have been replaced with some nostalgia and a nod to Time who keeps truckin' on whether we are quite packed and ready or not.

For a Daughter Gone Away

by Brendan Galvin

Today there’ve been moments

the earth falters and almost

goes off in those trails of smoke

that resolve to flocks so far

And small they elude my naming.

Walking the Boston & Maine

roadbed, September, …

Sunday in CinCity. The Spring Is in the Air Edition.


by Michael Ryan

Fragile, provisional, it comes unbidden

as evening: the children on the block

called in to dinner that for tonight

is plentiful, as if it had cost nothing

either in money or worry about money.

Then evening deepens and the street

turns silent. There may be disasters

idling in driveways, and countless distresses

sharpening, but all that matters

most that must be done is done.

please note: photo by Abu Emir