Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Apprentice


there are no recipes

just songs

passed from bird

to bird


the air...

Sometimes it’s good
to rise with the sun

to be
in that extraordinary
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

Thursday, November 4, 2010

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
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
We wear them
to school plays
to the RKO
screening of Spartacus
the first day of spring

Written for OSI prompt, "fancy".