Saturday, September 26, 2009

A Sense of Place

grass stains, bees underfoot, salt on slugs
glug sun tea, sweating by gallons
handmedown bikes, broken chains, patched tubes
scraped knees, mecurichrome medals

Sit down to roast beef falling apart,
fresh baked rolls, drizzled butter,
rich brown gravy rivers down quiet potatoes mashed and piled,
The dinner conversation is boisterous, masculine
mother bustles about serving in silence,
slaps hands which reach too often, too soon for unclaimed leftovers
brushes up crumbs the dog can’t reach
and the clammy blanket pulls down the sides of the day

dust settles on the books while children
jump and dance on sticky asphalt
eager for the whoosh of heat meeting ice,
whiff of stale freezer
as the ding dong jeep stops to exchange
my quarter for a fudgesicle

Later the washed jars we’d emptied of green beans and peaches
become glass cathedrals for faeries
we chase their lightening glow
the fire around which we jostle for place, warm our hands
on slaps of laughter

brush away ants, watch how they carry a hundred times their weight
like I do the memory of family now scattered and hands holding
the weight of a hundred other worlds,
changing for the better one crumb at a time.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Meditation 1: Consumed

The flame on the sacrifical candle
slips slowly into the middle
of the wax flower, leaving the unmelted
outer petals as a suspended splash
rising from a liquified pool.
Music streams like a tide across our ears.
We inhale exhilaration, lift our hands
to plunge into a shower of words,
scrub away ancient tearstained remnants
of last week. Languid cheeks remember
why mouth muscles stretch back
toward ears as we exhale
into sleep and the floral candle
drowns its own light.