8.30.16

I haven't written in forever, and last night it occurs to me that the feeling of not doing so is similar to that which I used to feel when I hadn't gone to church in a while (back when I went to church semi-regularly). There are some things I miss about going to church, but I no longer feel this way. However, when I do write after a long absence (journal or poem are pretty much the only things I do anymore. Short fiction, you win. I'll never get there) it feels much like that first time back in a service. The surrounds are lovely, you feel at peace, perhaps transcendent, full of purpose even. (Maybe even part of a community, if you write or share in the company of others).


After all of that, I'm not even going to share it with you. Mean lady. Here are some pretty things that came to me:



The Dream 


Lola Ridge



I have a dream
to fill the golden sheath
of a remembered day . . . .
(Air
heavy and massed and blue
as the vapor of opium . . .
domes
fired in sulphurous mist . . .
sea
quiescent as a gray seal . . .
and the emerging sun
spurting up gold
over Sydney, smoke-pale, rising out of the bay . . . . )
But the day is an up-turned cup
and its sun a junk of red iron
guttering in sluggish-green water
where shall I pour my dream?




Senior Discount


Ali Liebgott

I want to grow old with you.
Old, old.

So old we pad through the supermarket
using the shopping cart as a cane that steadies us.

I’ll wait at register two in my green sweater
with threadbare elbows, smiling
because you’ve forgotten the bag of day-old pastries.

The cashier will tell me a joke about barbers as I wait.
He repeats the first line three times
but the only word I understand is barber.

Over the years we’ve caught inklings
of our shrinking frames and hunched spines.

You’re a little confused
looking for me at the wrong register with a bag
of almost-stale croissants clenched in your hand.

The first time I held your hand it felt enormous in my own.
Sasquatch, I teased you, a million years ago.

Over here, I yell, but not in a mad way.

We’re laughing.
You have a bright yellow pin on your coat that says, Shalom!

Senior Discount, you say.
But the cashier already knows us.
We’re everyone’s favorite customers.