Oddments

In search of story


2 Comments

Connections: October 10.17

My sons and I have disagreed

how could they be so crass?

My dear old doll is Mary Ann

but they call her Creepy-Ass.

 

 

 

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Connections: September 9.17

Carousels, cupolas

hexagonal rooms

houses with frosting

universal heirlooms

fantasies, wishes

we want to hold on

to the horse and the magic

lest they one day be gone.

 

 

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives,

Fernandina Beach (Florida) Gallery.

When I started to write this, I was not thinking of Irma, Harvey, Jose, Katia.

Now I am.

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5 Comments

Connections: August 8.17

 My grandma’s tub had feet

and Olympic-pool-sized feeling

her toilet had a chain

that hung down from the ceiling.

More, the bathroom window

was tall and opened wide

so fresh air and scent of train

could cleanse the room inside.

Now I have this footless

peculiarity

someone mean invented

to taunt and bully me.

It can’t be cleaned without

risking tendinitis

when I fold to fit its contours

it gives me rigor mortis.

It’s called a garden tub

a pity and a shame

someone ought to sue

for slandering garden’s name.

The window can’t be opened

the toilet’s in a box

so I reach way back in memory

where my grandma’s bathroom rocks.

 

 

 

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4 Comments

Connections: July 11.17

When July comes out to play,

bouncing on trampoline leaf,

climbing monkey bar stems,

sliding down the smooth

shiny pepper,

cartwheeling,

hopscotching,

hide-and-seeking in

herb tunnels,

and no one knows

how green the world can be

until the hot light leap-frogs

over itself

and we wish we could snatch it

this limpid summer air

but

unpossessable

it mocks

catch me if you can!

like childhood,

then does the garden dapple

make us stop

to fetch a memory.

 

 

 

 

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4 Comments

Connections: June 27.17

The library was a bike ride away

back in the day

bumping up

oof

and down

ow

the curbs

back in the day

my kingdom for a basket!

handlebars and books

precarious one-girl circus

back in the day

a tiny place, that library

in a big summer

and the books whispered

take me for a ride on your bike

to that cushy old blanketed couch

in  your cool damp basement

and don’t forget

what this was like

back in the day.

 

 

 

 

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

And thanks also to the Poquoson Library, Virginia, and all libraries!

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