#BlogElul Day 1

Prepare

I descend

beneath my outer sheath—

crawl into crevices, into niches 

hidden under sinews and roots,

and unearth spots overgrown with weeds

I need to gather them, cut away the knots,

bring them out into the open,

cut away the tendrils,

expose them to light

               

Spinning

You kissed me in the kitchen in front of the radio

before  the ice cubes flooded the basement

I listened to the preacher at the circus

describe a Helium balloon speed past my window

and photograph a  priest in a purple cassock inside out

dance with a ballerina spinning on her thumbs

Then you spun my hair into sunbeams  

A Dip in the Road

Where the road dipped it slid off the map

landing in a new snow bright light enough

to ignite trees and caress

my hair with a fresh touch 

Our car drove over a dip, my stomach 

fell into the arroyo, water shed its droplets

over and beneath each crevasse while time

swiveled until the water withdrew and I ,

initiated with a new identity

looked into a mirror 

and welcomed the advent of becoming new

l

MRI

  

Sounds follow pathways

through the clutter in my brain

and stop to read poems

The Examined Life

     The Photographer

     Freezes action—and

Photographs

A shut door

A half eaten sandwich

A conversation in medias res 
with the next word unsaid 

Half an explanation

A landscape blind

to the catastrophe arriving

after the town turns out the last light

A man leaning against a pole

unaware of the car ready to jump the curb

Constrained

Dependent upon a piece of glass

The fish eye lens distorts the edges

The telephoto pulls the mountain into view

Explain to the viewers—

This is how it looked before the dust

buried the crops, before the earthquake 

buried the people, before the snow melted

You are seeing a piece of history

captured, manipulated, enhanced

The photographer documents the strike, the landslide—

The first day of school—

The children with distended stomachs

The plight of refugees

The demarcation line

The portraits of leaders, tyrants, serial killers

The marching band playing the national anthem

before the football teams take they field

The lens stop the years

For a moment you’re ten

then sixteen wearing a corsage for the junior prom

Here’s a class photo

Remember that person on your left?

He died in Korea, Vietnam, —Iraq

The photographer pauses—distill the moment,

Adds a viewpoint to a perishable reality—

and it haunts the soul

Repetitions

I know the route, the path—

it’s terrain, detours along the way

The prayers that go awry and those

that surround with holy breath

I accept the measured words

with their familiar sentiments

I experience words forged in love—

as prayer  

#Inktober2019: Ripe

Not Quite Ready

Ripe fruits of summer

become fleeting memories

along with hot days

#Inktober 2019: Catch

First Little League Game

He stood on third base

hoping to catch his first ball

His dad held his breath

#Inktober2019:Injured

Creating a Saga

It was self inflicted

or brought on by natural

circumstances or perhaps

a malicious incident

She wore the raised oval

on her wrist as a way 

to enter into an intimacy

without risk, a conversation

gambit, an indulgent ploy 

that let her enter another life

She spun stories

of how the oval appeared—

a marvel, something woven

out of the thread of myths

This was not an injury

without a backdrop.

#Inktober2019: Ride

      Summer

I recall the ride to a bungalow in the Catskills where we piled our overstuffed baggage into the trunk of a large car transporting three families to different destinations and I asked how much longer— we all left the city with its fire escapes and sweltering apartments to spend a week or even the whole summer sharing kitchens in small cabins where fly paper hung down in the kitchen to catch any flying insect and bridge tables became maj jong tables after supper

Our mothers played canasta or maj jong while our fathers worked in the city and came up on weekends and played softball until the sun disappeared while we cheered and sucked popsicles 

I recall the ride home and how I asked how much longer

#Inktober2019: Coat

The Issue of Height

I wore my Pea Coat

and a wool scarf

coiled around me 
ready to unfurl 
as I walked

*scarfs were six feet long

#Inktober2019: Dark

The Dark Season

Winter brings darkness
erasing long days and the
deep heat of our sun

#Inktober2019:Tasty

Summer Treats

A pound and a half lobster

potato salad and a cold beer

eaten while overlooking the ocean

A raspberry chocolate chip

ice cream or a pistachio gelato

A burger piled high with accouterments 

and hand cut sweet potato fries

Banana, strawberry, and mango

spun and blended into a smoothie 

And the sun —warming my bones

I taste the sun, swallow it’s warmth

along with wild  blueberries

and the tang of a summer day

#Inktober2019:Dizzy

   The Earth In Rotation

Once, just once, I traveled

on a spinning, gyrating  

amusement park ride

I traveled from a stable earth

to one that spun, dipped,

shuddered, and catapulted

me into a limbo where I

lost contact with the ground—

where my limbs became 

appendages I no longer

recognized, where my insides

jiggled and lurched from side 

to side, where my head 

began to spin —slowly at first 

and then began to quicken

At the end, unbuckled and released

my legs wobbled, 

and the world still spun
         

#Inktober2019: Ancient

    Interpretation 

When does old become ancient 

Is it a matter of time or perspective

When I was sixteen forty seemed old

and fifty almost ancient

At thirty old moved up to fifty

and ancient hovered around seventy

Now I look upon old as a metaphor

rather than an age— how old do you feel

And ancient refers to Egyptian mummies

or Greek statues, or shards of pottery

found beneath buried cities