Excepts from "Lost and Found in Las Vegas", a story book of sorts...
Posted 1/12/2014
Mom loved mums... and she loved anything yellow.... |
STITCHING BLACKBERRIES
the backbeat of a broken fan blade syncopates air. a nurse pulls tubes from my mother’s throat. my needle rises and falls, stitching blackberries on rough cloth. hand-fast, she kissed husband and friends, waited for morphine. it’s a gift, I’m told, to accept, to be still. had the stroke not taken her voice I would have heard her goodbyes. my needle lifts and lowers, mute counterpoint to the broken blade; she died six days later. I’m left stitching peace where peace never was. |
Posted 8/22/13
BLUE JEANS I bought new jeans yesterday; they hang like strangers on my leg, harsh as nights spent arguing politics in cowboy bars. my old jeans held me like friends at renegade campfires, where we sang for peace and justice, planned another march to nowhere, drew immutable lines in the dust. If we ever made a difference, I don’t recall. My old jeans are tattered and frail; I tossed them as trash this morning. |
This group was after my time... same place, same date and time. Only the people are new.
When I was active they "arrested" us by escorting us to the pens (men to one side, women in the other), and kept us there until people stopped dancing or otherwise crossing over the cattle guard. They gave us tickets on release, which are probably still packed up in a box somewhere up North. No other actions were ever taken after the first few years. Futile, maybe... necessary... oh yeah! Read more at: http://bit.ly/176TSd0
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Posted 8/7/13
Guess I'm a dangerous person to eat out with... I was sitting with friends at a local eatery, chatting while "observing" with one part of my mind. This couple was in the booth to the right of us and just a little in front, so I was in a good place to see and hear what went on. Interesting yes, but not immediately intriguing. On the way back to our car something "hit"; the words and impressions that became this poem just started coming. I ran. By the time the rest of the group caught up, I was leaning against the car scribbling on paper scraps scavenged from the bottom of my purse. My friends were used to this. They didn't say a thing, just waited for me to finish so we could all go home... |
EATING CHINESE
Between bites of Kung Pao Chicken I listened as the young man behind me gave last minute orders to his wife. She was to buy a new brush, he said-- wire bristle this time, not fiber, they never last. He was leaving tonight, he said. On this Memorial Day weekend he was leaving and he hoped that the airport would not be too crowded. He had packed a new shirt, a “nice” shirt in blue and grey, with new pants besides. He hoped that his mom would like his new clothes. I passed them to search the buffet for more. His wife looked as faded as her dress, she sat silent and nodding to the measure of his words. He hoped for a nice trip. He hoped for an un-crowded airport. He hoped that his wife would obey him. I hope he gets something of what he wants. |
Posted 7/2/2013
STORM WARNING The taste of the wind changes. Salt brush and sage lie sweet on the tongue. Dry stems clatter at the edge of each errant breath; clouds climb one upon the next as the desert wakes, thirsting. Lightning strobes strike quick bright; thunder rips the dry sands as small things scurry and dig under stone; the succor of water means nothing to the unwary. The first drops fall at wind shift. It might be enough. |
"Water is life in the desert..."
Ingold Inglorion, wizard and life warrior. (quote courtesy of Barbara Hambly) |