The kettle sings “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Vapor sprites dance above.
Aug 012011
Jul 302011
A pigeon takes one dainty step onto a slatted table of golden wood. Bits of granola and French bread make an ordinary breakfast, but on a nearby table, that pastry box is the color of cinnamon, and it must be full of something wondrous.
A brief glide, landing on a nearby chair, gazing at the woman sitting there. Jerking its head to the side, asking “You gonna eat that?”
Jul 292011
Two flags, clasped to the top of the speeding truck
Blistered by the wind
State, nation, stripes, stars
All a uniform blur
Jul 262011
A man, dressed in white and black, walks into the open field, and disappears behind a hedge row. Watched by four crows on a rooftop, and by me, he is not anonymous.
Jul 242011
Six cast iron benches sit against the church’s eastern wall, turned gray from years of mornings. The iron scrollwork in their backs makes a pattern of hearts, all empty.
Jul 232011
My heart asks a silent question that I don’t hear. Rickie Lee Jones begins singing on the radio as the smoky breath of cafe americano fills my mouth. A young bird follows an arc of morning sunlight from a low branch to the supernaturally green grass below.
Jul 202011
The cut grass smell makes me think of baseball and early morning walks in slanted sunlight, across town to the practice field where I will sit in the dugout for two hours, listening to debates about which boy knew Larry Paul first and who can call him by his baseball name, which is his real name, and not the name his parents gave him.
Jul 182011
Eight green grapes on a plate perched atop four carrot sticks, a forest drawn by a child. But close your eyes, imagine yourself in a haunted house, they become four sets of eyeballs, four detached fingers.
Observations take strange forms on a smoldering summer evening.
Jul 142011
July acorns cluster by the hundreds on the branches of an oak tree, embryonic, weightless.
The July sunset, minutes earlier than a month ago, as our part of the earth turns away from the sun, unnoticed.
A breeze that gently moves the wind chimes is the first stirring of winter.
Jul 112011
The sharp tang of ginger in a swallow of lemon tea, the golden beam from a lamp melting into a brick red wall to form a semicircle of caramel light. An envelope, torn open on the side, words of hope spilled out across the desk.