Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Who Knows All the Changes We'll See?

By the time it gets dark. This is a view of St. A's Lightner Museum, taken from the nunnery parking lot nearing 8 p.m. I took this pic and the new header photo avec my telephone. Lyrics quoted from the song "By the Time It Gets Dark," first introduced to me through the voice of the inimitable Sandy Denny, then much enjoyed, similarly lovely version performed by the also inimitable Mary Lou Lord.

Friday, April 17, 2009

You Know. They Call Them Killer Whales.

Bitter. Sweet.

Grandma Jerry, when I forget how much I miss you, when I think of you instead of me, I daydream about your heaven and what might be there. There would be lots of yummy, no-longer-dangerous cigarettes, sweet and satisfying. And rose gardens, red red roses, pink, yellow, white and red red red. And Solitaire, Bridge games, Edna St. Vincent Millay, rhyming couplets, Shakespeare, big band swing, your long-lost-too-soon Mama, your here-too-briefly daughter Alice Elizabeth, and all those hundreds, easily hundreds of people who loved you but most importantly, who you loved and bid farewell over the years of your long, long life. Laughter is raucous. Cattiness elicits woops of hearty laughter, and the month is April, the breeze is soft, the sun dappled by light tree branches, those imagined poetic metaphorical erector-sets of your poems dissolved from stark nakedness into the lush lush breathing green of Spring. Today, you would be 104 years young. So there would be cake. Chocolate birthday cake--dark chocolate with a chocolate rasberry mousse center, chocolate frosting, and a map of fresh raspberries on top. The blackest, hottest coffee, even in the sun, cicadas singing, cardinals alighting on those branches, robins riding waves of sweet spring air. So. Spring is here. You are gone a year. You are no longer of time, of space, of dimension. Wish your shoulder, grown so tiny as you aged, were warm and waiting for my weary head. I miss your touch. I'm pretty good at voices, but yours won't pour from my lips. I wish I could hear your voice, my sweet sweet Grandma. It rolls through my mind but never hits the air outside. Relief? Spring is here. Spring made you weep with relief. You had the most beautiful hands, the fullest mouth. You loved so fiercely, so passionately, so plain. Spring has come, Spring came. And I, I guess, I can. I can weep again.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The King of Kong: A Fistfull of Quarters

The King of Kong: A Fistfull of Quarters. An engrossing human drama about high scores and Donkey Kong. As intriguing and funny and unforgettable as Hands on a Hardbody. Watched it last night. Documentary-lovers, this one is for you! So awesome.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Biko. Scissors. Stories.

Listening to Peter Gabriel's "Biko" and marveling about how Eudora Welty, the writer born on this date in 1909, edited her short stories by cutting them up with scissors and reassembling with straight pins. That is all. I have to go back to work now. This portrait is by Irina McGuire. xoxo Ama

Thursday, April 09, 2009

one more broken morning

one more broken morning and a spine whose tiny vertebrae seem to roll and fret like an early spring ocean. a dance is what's holding me up. nothing ever settled, nothing finished, nothing sold. a day begins. a day ends. words can come fast. words can come not at all. voices come along and fade, a roaring train shaking the windows in my head. blue sky gray sky blue. shining sun. cold wind. full moon. forward motion. falling. and beginning again. let's forget this dance; remember almodovar; remember neruda; remember wheat. let your hand unwrest. let it fall to music and melody and waves of sound, broken and shattered like fallen leaves flying upwards under the pressure of the tiniest foot. (image via we heart it)

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Suicide Aside {A Melody of World

suicide aside try watching birds regard them as they fly like salt to bread spice up this crusty world a giant spider web their lines of flight tie up and bind the world they fly birds jump up in the air and stay you try it flap your arms for all you're worth no way you're stuck they’re free to leave the world the colors lemon zest and lime and berry sugar coffee cream and all the rest sublime delicious flavors how our eyes drink in the world and listen to them sing the wind becomes a thing alive with music whistles squawks and chirps a melody of world so tell me why you thought you'd rather die check out pluck all the feathers close the lights alright don't tell me but please me stick around a while with me to watch the birds see how they swirl and turn the world
{Suicide Aside" by Bruce Dethlefsen, from Breather. © Fireweed Press, 2009.Image via}


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