Rebecca and Zuri making Spoke No.1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYQISABHdNo

Wooden Spoon

Look beyond the branches of a tree

See the light peeking through the canopy

Spin and spin, just as you stir your cup of tea

Feel the wind and just be

Stare at the sky until you bother your eyes

See that you can enter any universe you advise

Curl your toes into the dirt

       Feel and see it really does work.

Spoke

http://www.spokejournal.com/?page_id=171

 

Some ums

This is my first blog. I am attempting to figure out exactly how it works. I don't have much time lately, but hope to stay in touch. I pulled my nephew in his red wagon today. We enjoyed the big snowflakes and gray sky. Have a dreamy day.

That Name

The stale water sleeping on the counter

Purple flowers racing the dungeon of pine

A bowl of stale almonds suffocating my brain

The empty soap bottle tearing my muscles

But the china cabinet with pens and paper

The soul shaper. . .

The picture of a little girl

with no frame

Dry sandwiches between my teeth

Always new life above the kitchen sink

The fawn peeking through your jungle

And that smile

Every time that smile

Like drinking cold water too fast. 

We’re the crooked cut, not the color. 

Sidewalks

It’s Sunday morning and the city is frosted. A gray sky swallows exhaust smoke as people rush through; every one way, one wave.  

She stands along the cracked sidewalk. She’s holding a cigarette in one hand, a cell phone in the other.  Her nose is red and she twists her hips to keep warm. She listens to the other line.

Inhale.

Birds perch on power lines.

Exhale.  

  

The train barrels over the bridge above. Below are cars building up, awaiting permission from colored lights. First in line sits a golden Cadillac sedan. An elderly man and woman are sunk into the tan, leather seats. They are looking forward. She catches their attention.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Twist. 

They glance over her. Her jeans reflect a broken TV.  Metal connects her nostrils. Their heads shake in sync as she locks her eyes on them.  

The light turns green.  They are distracted by her stare. But cars begin to honk and soon they aim the Cadillac, heads still shaking; they turn away.

The train above finishes the cross; birds take flight into the gray sky.

The Cadillac rumbles through the intersection. Their heads bobble with the pot holes.

She stomps out her cigarette and watches them pass. She smiles, and puts her hands into her pockets.