Sunday, April 24, 2011

untitled 4-23-11

The tangerine tree trembles, its white blossoms
Shake with uncertain shyness, young women 
Frightened that they bloomed too soon. 
When I arrived here, I thought,
I am concentrating on all the wrong things.
Meant to be writing a piece of analysis dry as dust.
And instead-- 
The meat of olives.
Pungent as a memory that only the body can recall.
Cumquat juice slipping down swollen fingers.
How, there is no other word for alone.
Not really.
A rippling purple iris caught in the lens of the sun.
Exhausted straw hats, terra cotta water jugs.
A fish made of bronze in a chalky fountain.
A painted quail. 
Soft cats roll their clean fur in the baked dirt. 
The photo of Joanna at the beach. 
And tonight,  the 
‘Best Dessert This Side of the Mississipi’ 
After crawfish, red potatoes, a filet. 
The blankets here are really shawls 
To wear around your shoulders.
I have danced beneath my kaftan.
Listened to a song about smoke and ashes.
Collected more Durrell volumes.
Seen my father’s eyes
As Louis sang “What a Wonderful World”
And every time he did,
We raised our glasses.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

mexican blanket 4.16.11

once buried beneath 
sand six feet deep 


(now uncovered within)
resides an unruly beast


eyes as sharp as hunting knives
and bared snaggle-teeth


i fantasize of nights 
jarring hot and black


imagine incisors 
lacerating lazy hands


and the quick blade of fact
tested my bloody lip


it did not find me wanting
lashes lowered and words slipped


from the mouth of the creature
that never whispered its existence 


until new and clear-eyed 'neath
my mexican blanket she stirred





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