The Apprentice

Prologue:

there are no recipes

just songs

passed from bird

to bird

thickening

the air...

Sometimes it’s good
to rise with the sun

to be
in that extraordinary
moment
of the not yet dreamed

grouper crowding
with nothing
but the slippery sky
on their backs

carrots glisten,
parsnips drowse
ripe bellies of beets
swell on bleached boards


In the palest
of times
I cradle the blade
sweeping the dark corners
of your mouth
happy to be
a beginner
again

Fancy dresses

Growing up poor. We bought our everyday clothes at fire sales—literally— rummaging through items stacked high on collapsible tables, choosing by discount, condition and fit. I well remember the aroma of smoke and the feeling of being tucked inside a warm roasted peanut shell.

Our fancy outfits we found on Tremont Avenue, a boulevard festooned year round with Christmas lights waiting for their time to shine. We purchased these frothy delights with crisp bills, passing our dreams softly from palm to palm. We wore our fancy dresses often, celebrating every thing.

Fancy dresses

navy jackets
pilgrims
proofed by fire
heaped on table tops
with grasshopper legs
we thread
the wooden buttons
sideways through loops
to keep the cold out
smelling of roasted peanuts
smoke still rising

fancy dresses
pure spun sugar
funneling late afternoon sun
through softshelled
dreams
We wear them
everywhere
to school plays
recitals
to the RKO
screening of Spartacus
the first day of spring

Written for OSI prompt, "fancy".