tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61483625728755679502024-03-13T10:50:04.228-05:00Places that LingerMississippi Currents
a hand, a finger,
lips, and breath
move along
the river where
mud, stones,
love, and family
members now restJudyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-39721271703388008792010-09-21T22:50:00.005-05:002010-09-21T23:17:50.826-05:00bomb<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">felt like a bomb ready</p><p style="text-align: left;">to detonate with fall colors</p><p style="text-align: left;">green, red, yellow, wires</p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="text-align: left;">inserted in pale chest</p><p style="text-align: left;">silver dollar fuse under</p><p style="text-align: left;">skin turned black and blue</p>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-28148065451050976572008-07-03T08:58:00.002-05:002008-07-03T09:22:13.377-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGzgYvezipI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ZYoZ3dLMI0U/s1600-h/ks111112.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGzgYvezipI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ZYoZ3dLMI0U/s320/ks111112.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218792783882717842" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />love to mom<br /><br />her broom<br />swept the kitchen floor<br />so often<br />dirt<br />did not know<br />where to hide<br /><br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-89371388648454668612008-07-01T11:27:00.002-05:002008-07-01T11:34:41.590-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGpcgSO7FcI/AAAAAAAAAGo/QaspL1JwrmU/s1600-h/dragonfly_purple_and_red.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGpcgSO7FcI/AAAAAAAAAGo/QaspL1JwrmU/s320/dragonfly_purple_and_red.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218084827982140866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Haiku:<br /><br />red cardinal sings<br />to dragonfly visiting<br />feeder as dusk wanes<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Senryu:<br /><br />Houdini the rat<br />cancerous tumor bulging<br />eats a lace curtain<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Whatchamaku:<br /><br />fat cat reclines in<br />square box resting in summer<br />afternoon sun raysJudyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-6571903084111242172008-06-30T16:17:00.004-05:002008-06-30T22:08:09.051-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGl_1IoMyGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/cv-WNtkMX2E/s1600-h/popcorn.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGl_1IoMyGI/AAAAAAAAAFc/cv-WNtkMX2E/s320/popcorn.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217842194111318114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">in my head<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">lick my fingers<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">around<br />lollipop<br />popcorn and<br />bullets break<br />air<br />where smells of<br />vomit<br />in toilet<br />bowl<br />of cheerios<br />with bananas<br />chewed<br />by monkey<br />around missiles<br />loaded<br />with germs<br />snorted<br />by children<br />dull eyes, twisted mouths<br />misshapen arms and legs<br />wobble<br />to table<br />covered in<br />ants<br />carrying sticks,<br />stones,<br />body bones<br />crack<br />lips smack<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-53729783266562020892008-06-28T01:31:00.001-05:002008-06-28T01:34:07.466-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGXa4E1SbNI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xsy4Kk96waI/s1600-h/raspberry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGXa4E1SbNI/AAAAAAAAAFE/xsy4Kk96waI/s320/raspberry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216816400283364562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">fond memories<br /><br /><br />red stained fingers<br />picking<br />eating raspberries<br />8 cents a carton<br />cold raspberry lemonade<br />Celie, Pauline, Sophie<br />in the heat of the day<br />open blouses<br />giggle<br />gurgle<br />Rome smiles<br />cool breeze on lake<br />stringers of fish<br />umm - crispy fish tails<br />baskets of fresh vegetables<br />Sophie, Susie, Pauline<br />at picnic table<br />tearing rags<br />making rugs<br />german words<br />huge elm tree<br />days of reading<br />dreaming<br />fond memories<br /><br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-5474401127855244852008-06-26T10:32:00.002-05:002008-06-28T22:30:54.557-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGO3UdmLeSI/AAAAAAAAAE8/QfQxB8CLsbY/s1600-h/momballoons.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGO3UdmLeSI/AAAAAAAAAE8/QfQxB8CLsbY/s320/momballoons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216214355595196706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />mom<br /><br />made the best cream peas on toast<br />fried corn meal mush with fresh maple syrup<br />tapped from ancient maple trees in yard<br />where brothers and sisters slept out drunken stupors<br />at yearly summer gathering of relatives<br /><br />mom<br /><br />sewed a purple coverlet and bed ruffle<br />for my bedroom with white wallpaper<br />decorated with lavender<br />lilacs pungent aroma seeped through a window<br />while I rested and waited for shooting stars<br /><br />mom<br /><br />told junior high school principal<br />that her daughter took a bath at home<br />did not need a shower at school<br />where students<br />stole her clothes and hid them<br /><br />mom<br /><br />reported Judo instructor<br />who spent a great deal of time<br />on top of<br />daughters<br />during evening lessons<br /><br />mom<br /><br />did cart wheels in the grass<br />stood on her head against our house<br />played baseball at family gatherings<br />told the best "dirty" jokes<br />heard at community senior center<br /><br />mom<br /><br />is missedJudyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-8610951797940883812008-06-25T11:50:00.003-05:002008-06-25T12:01:29.415-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGJ5GGW8lzI/AAAAAAAAAE0/pwGmENg-rEQ/s1600-h/tulipmoth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SGJ5GGW8lzI/AAAAAAAAAE0/pwGmENg-rEQ/s320/tulipmoth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215864464141489970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">earth child<br /><br /><br />he lives in dark<br />dank earth<br />under a lake<br />cabin<br /><br />he listens<br />to cries<br />shrill in the<br />night<br /><br />he watches<br />jubilant children<br />jump and romp<br />in cool lake<br /><br />he remembers<br />the woman<br />who gave<br />him a home<br /><br />she's dead<br />and buried<br />beside<br />him<br /><br /><br />~first appeared in Mystery Island Publications<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-78339426380212572082008-06-21T20:36:00.003-05:002008-06-21T20:58:49.796-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SF2wzcrQkFI/AAAAAAAAAEk/jg01DSwy49k/s1600-h/red-shoes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SF2wzcrQkFI/AAAAAAAAAEk/jg01DSwy49k/s320/red-shoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214518341482352722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">In Honor of Dick<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">red shoes<br />tapping their way<br />to conception<br />Kansas<br />a postal carrier<br />who<br />plants kisses on cheeks<br />purple carnations<br />between sweet moist lips<br /><br />click<br />those ruby red shoes<br />dance your way<br />into mists of<br />90's Queens<br />sequined breasts<br />glittered crotches<br />dancing<br />breathing<br />clicking<br /><br />I love your red shoes<br /><br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-50540624742931162852008-06-20T07:39:00.002-05:002008-06-20T07:44:14.136-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFuleERBqAI/AAAAAAAAAEM/OUijx56P-YI/s1600-h/yard07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFuleERBqAI/AAAAAAAAAEM/OUijx56P-YI/s320/yard07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213942929571293186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Grandma Sophie<br /><br />fried sunfish<br />and crappies<br />in smokehouse<br />on cast iron<br />wood stove<br /><br />(jaws of stove spewing red,<br />skin prickly fire)<br /><br />pale pink apron<br />covers<br />soft breasts under<br />gingham checked<br />house dress<br /><br />(her softness cradled my head while lullabies sung<br />held destined dreams)<br /><br />she produced<br />overflowing platters<br />of fish with<br />fresh baked<br />bread<br /><br />(warm yeasty aroma of bread from oven, dripped butter,<br />pushed fish bones down throats)<br /><br />grandpa rome<br />sons, grandsons<br />daughters, granddaughters<br />waited in<br />anticipation<br /><br />(crisp skinned fried fish, potato chip crunchy fish tails,<br />mouth watering tender meat)<br /><br />at<br />picnic table<br />under mammoth<br />elm tree<br />we ate<br /><br />(effervescent lightening bugs illuminate our feast<br />on sultry summer evening)Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-45602304071166276492008-06-18T19:30:00.004-05:002008-06-18T21:28:44.362-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFnEJhw5oKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/z6dNucZSP4c/s1600-h/greatmoon2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFnEJhw5oKI/AAAAAAAAAEE/z6dNucZSP4c/s320/greatmoon2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213413711619399842" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Drawing By Willow E. Morse<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">June 2008<br /></div><br /><br />here he comes, yesterday (a tribute to j.rees)<br /></div><br />here he comes<br />man with neon shoes<br />embroidered letters<br />on his jacket<br /><br />here he comes<br />energetic thought-provoking man<br />fingered volt<br />to his brain<br /><br />transmitting<br />sensibilities into<br />glass tubes<br />shot with argon and mercury<br /><br />here he comes<br />with yesterday in his pocket<br /><br />here he comes<br />philosophizing of ME<br />written on<br />brick walls<br /><br />here he comes<br />making films<br />of canned coffee<br />and yesterday<br /><br />here he comes<br />perpetuating now<br />tomorrow genuflecting to dope man<br />burning incense before rock-out star<br /><br />here he comes<br />pinching gentle ladies rumps<br />ripping open<br />his silk shirt<br /><br />exposing gorgeous chest<br />to drool over<br />yesterday<br />still in his pocket<br /><br />here he comes, yesterdayJudyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-38395219313158607992008-06-17T10:01:00.002-05:002008-06-17T10:17:52.164-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFfSQwcucnI/AAAAAAAAADk/x8MyEg6_WN4/s1600-h/romefish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFfSQwcucnI/AAAAAAAAADk/x8MyEg6_WN4/s320/romefish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212866279029764722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">granddaughter sits on stool<br />watches hole<br />cut in ice<br />of frozen lake<br />nose is red<br />mittens caked<br />with ice and snow<br /><br />grandpa rome sits on stool<br />watches hole<br />cut in ice<br />of frozen lake<br />tells his granddaughter<br />"Don't talk - it will scare the fish."<br />he chuckles<br />tells granddaughter stories<br /><br />granddaughter stands up<br />bladed shoes<br />buckle against ankles<br />gingerly she takes steps<br />away from hole in ice<br />falls forward<br />on frozen knees<br /><br />grandpa rome drops<br />dangling fish pole<br />stands up<br />hurries to granddaughter<br />helps her stand<br />returns to stool<br />sits<br /><br />granddaughter glides<br />around hole<br />in ice<br />shivers<br />crouches down<br />looks for fish<br />grandpa rome tells her<br />"Don't pee in the hole - it will scare away the fish."<br />both sit on stools<br />and chuckle<br /><br /><br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-6945587844926517962008-06-16T13:17:00.002-05:002008-06-17T10:19:11.341-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFauv_IOjHI/AAAAAAAAADU/b82UodApKKQ/s1600-h/butterflybunny.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFauv_IOjHI/AAAAAAAAADU/b82UodApKKQ/s320/butterflybunny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212545758150954098" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Drawing by Willow E. Morse<br />May 2008<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">beat me<br />with butterfly wings<br />i taste the pollen<br />under a hot sun</div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-21956344220656469892008-06-15T22:01:00.005-05:002008-06-16T10:52:46.192-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFXbg98q94I/AAAAAAAAADM/QgeAx0Q5VYk/s1600-h/willowsredconvert1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFXbg98q94I/AAAAAAAAADM/QgeAx0Q5VYk/s320/willowsredconvert1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212313503182550914" border="0" /></a>Red Convertible<br />Drawing by Willow E. Morse<br />June 2008<br /><br /><br /></div>RED JAG<br /><br />what would you do if<br />given a RED 12 cylinder JAG<br />to drive from Atlanta to LA<br />where you have to give it up<br />even though it's not yours<br /><br />you really don't want it<br />but push a button<br />doors lock<br />windows go up<br />down<br /><br />all programmed previously<br />as you drive through Alabama<br />Louisiana, Texas<br />houses scattered<br />along roadside<br /><br />deteriorating shacks<br />people live within<br />RED JAG<br />you drive on and on<br />higher and lower<br /><br />pushing RED JAG<br />to speeds amused<br />stopping to take pictures<br />of RED JAG<br />beside the road<br /><br />cotton pickers<br />in sweat soaked shirts<br />from sun percolating<br />on hot dusty fields<br />you feel so bad<br /><br />but continue to<br />Texas where you<br />join a party with<br />red-neck long hairs<br />who bogart two joints<br /><br />throughout night<br />booze trickles<br />down your forehead<br />dropping on nose<br />of beautiful girl who kisses you<br /><br />she climbs with you<br />into RED JAG<br />tearing out into darkness<br />on dirt roads<br />making doughnuts<br /><br />back and forth<br />laughing as windows<br />go up and down<br />early sun glows<br />RED JAG stops<br /><br />knocks<br />doggone y'all<br />thing done died<br />but<br />it's under warranty<br /><br />it's grand<br />it's a 12 cylinder RED JAG<br />that can no longer<br />pass through homeless people<br />drunken indians<br /><br />just as you learned<br />the programmed<br />window pattern<br /><br />RED JAG<br />RED JAG<br />RED JAG<br /><br />In Honor of Jill and Joe<br />Oakland, CA (1975)Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-74096009780714869102008-06-14T12:42:00.002-05:002008-06-14T13:37:43.553-05:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFQDguCQaXI/AAAAAAAAADE/WvwdPQKOG68/s1600-h/moonstarbigdipper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFQDguCQaXI/AAAAAAAAADE/WvwdPQKOG68/s320/moonstarbigdipper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211794529422698866" border="0" /></a><br />Moon, Stars, and Big Dipper<br />Drawing by Willow E. Morse<br />May 2008<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>shooting stars<br />are magical<br /><br />a glaring streak<br />across damp night darkness<br /><br />lying on my back<br />in wet summer grass<br /><br />after a rain shower<br />as a child I watched and watched<br /><br />for shooting stars<br />I pressed anxious eyelids<br /><br />so tightly I saw<br />their streaks<br /><br />in my mind<br />my eyes closed<br /><br />I made tails and balls of fire<br />more intense<br /><br />it has been a long, long time<br />since I have seen a shooting star<br /><br />but the magic<br />returned not long ago<br /><br />driving back on a cold<br />glistening freeway<br /><br />a long bright flash was seen<br />in suddenly cleared skies ahead of me<br /><br />excitement swelled in my throat<br />as I shouted "a shooting star"<br /><br />my son in the back<br />seat asked, "What's that, Mom?"<br /><br />I explained the magical feeling<br />of nights in years past<br /><br />"Like when you hold your eyes<br />tight, Mom, is that a shooting star?"<br /><br />6-14-08Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-45326749044591214502008-02-19T02:50:00.003-06:002008-06-25T12:01:00.287-05:00i cut fresh yellow lemons<br />with a dull serrated knife<br />pick out the slimy slippery seeds<br />and squeeze the tart juice<br /><br />it gets into tiny cuts on my<br />hands and burns, burns<br />the sadness from my mind<br />that is a revolving door<br /><br />of thoughts on chemo, him,<br />paperwork, damaged nerve<br />endings but not of life<br />adding red, ripe raspberries<br /><br />make lemonade sweet<br />make love under fragrant<br />sheets free from toxins<br />his hands as soft as cotton<br /><br />i dream while drinking raspberry lemonade<br /><br />~first appeared in Outsider Writers (Summer 2007)Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-81654872375680939382008-01-30T09:08:00.001-06:002008-06-20T07:53:53.346-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFuoUViJonI/AAAAAAAAAEU/rCpePSTi7EQ/s1600-h/gandgbrekke.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/SFuoUViJonI/AAAAAAAAAEU/rCpePSTi7EQ/s320/gandgbrekke.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213946060942713458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />California 1955<br /><br />grandma fyrne stands in her pale blue flowered<br />cotton dress over soft saggy breasts<br />gray brown hair crimped around<br />her tender face of wrinkled waves<br /><br />next to her is grandpa ole<br />he is thin, erect, mouth puckered<br />eyes brown and penetrating<br />glasses cover the intense gaze<br /><br />reaching for the bottom grated step of the train<br />dust swirls over the tracks<br />obstructs my nose and becomes<br />a swarm of gnats in my eyes<br /><br />i trip and fall to sharp gravel<br />it digs into my naked knees<br />my brown cardboard suitcase opens<br />the violet velveteen dress curtsies before me<br /><br />welcome to sacramento<br />dirty, dusty, and ugly to my vision<br />grandma and grandpa amble to<br />our family now standing on the faded wood platform<br /><br />no hugs, no kisses, a smile from grandma<br />grandpa takes dad aside and speaks<br />out of reach of our ears<br />mom frozen as hard as rock<br /><br />grandpa ole and dad walk around the clapboard station<br />mom and grandma talk about pressure cookers<br />canning tomatoes, visiting aunt helen,<br />and uncle guy at the turkey farm<br /><br />i am sweating in my yellow<br />sleeveless cotton shirt<br />the drips rolling down my back<br />into orange plaid seersucker shorts<br /><br />blood and dirt clog the cuts on my knees<br />black flies buzz around like they are pieces of meat<br />my mouth is dry as rough towels<br />that have waved from a worn rope clothesline<br /><br />my three sisters begin to chase each other<br />around the wrought iron bench<br />no mind to the couple holding hands<br />as though handcuffed to each other<br /><br />a pale green plymouth rounds the corner of train station<br />through the windshield under the visor i see<br />dad with his right hand on the steering wheel<br />his left hand out the window dangling a cigarette<br /><br />a black chrysler turns the corner next<br />grandpa ole drives to the platform<br />his body erect and mouth pursed<br />ready to pick up grandma fryne<br /><br />my sisters and i climb into the back seat<br />of the green box-like car<br />mom sits silent in the front seat<br />ready to find a small pink house with peeling paint<br /><br />we drive down dust blown streets with<br />kids playing in their yards under orange trees<br />dogs bark at the striped chippies<br />the scent of roses everywhere<br /><br />~first appeared in Wilderness House Literary Review (Fall 2007)Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-81842612567457927602008-01-21T08:54:00.001-06:002008-01-21T08:56:40.346-06:00raccoon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5SyTxOVaMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/WGu9yO3ONfE/s1600-h/RACCOON.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5SyTxOVaMI/AAAAAAAAAC0/WGu9yO3ONfE/s320/RACCOON.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157943525946779842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">next to the<br />carrot tops<br />in the garden<br />small footprints<br />maybe a<br />raccoon visited<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-51815236867026677312008-01-21T08:52:00.001-06:002008-01-21T08:54:27.792-06:00moon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5Sx1xOVaLI/AAAAAAAAACs/USW59iJTZH0/s1600-h/moon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5Sx1xOVaLI/AAAAAAAAACs/USW59iJTZH0/s320/moon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157943010550704306" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">orange moon<br />creeps over mountains<br />the autumn night<br />is quiet<br />children sleep<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-17199119677552581502008-01-20T10:25:00.001-06:002008-01-20T10:26:41.408-06:00ice cream<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5N1-hOVaKI/AAAAAAAAACk/KIC5R-LWLWQ/s1600-h/icecream.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5N1-hOVaKI/AAAAAAAAACk/KIC5R-LWLWQ/s320/icecream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157595715200182434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">strawberry<br />ice cream<br />drips<br />run down<br />my finger<br />later<br />the black cat<br />licks<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-47015027992964560252008-01-20T10:22:00.000-06:002008-01-20T10:24:39.562-06:00grass<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5N1ehOVaJI/AAAAAAAAACc/TtARbFj_IXQ/s1600-h/grass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5N1ehOVaJI/AAAAAAAAACc/TtARbFj_IXQ/s320/grass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157595165444368530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">the child rolls<br />through tall grasses<br />laughing<br />as it tickles<br />and grabs<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-18910003759321406432008-01-19T08:56:00.001-06:002008-01-19T09:00:03.509-06:00frog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5IPxhOVaII/AAAAAAAAACU/9S07bTxwnLc/s1600-h/frog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5IPxhOVaII/AAAAAAAAACU/9S07bTxwnLc/s320/frog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157201866699139202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">hop - jump - hop<br />c-r-o-o-a-a-k<br />c-r-o-o-a-a-k<br />frog lands on<br />lily pad<br />singing<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-79394110752010795342008-01-19T08:53:00.000-06:002008-01-19T08:56:30.054-06:00flower<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5IPLhOVaHI/AAAAAAAAACM/rvB6NC70WiY/s1600-h/flowerpot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5IPLhOVaHI/AAAAAAAAACM/rvB6NC70WiY/s320/flowerpot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157201213864110194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">one flower glistens<br />after evening shower<br />of rain<br />a bee drinks<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-56231287366534838672008-01-18T08:32:00.001-06:002008-01-18T08:34:25.356-06:00fish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5C4mhOVaGI/AAAAAAAAACE/7NsQBcvuGuY/s1600-h/fish.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5C4mhOVaGI/AAAAAAAAACE/7NsQBcvuGuY/s320/fish.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156824545232250978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">waves crash<br />on the beach<br />covering<br />my feet<br />and leaving<br />a fish<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-14144439864296949582008-01-18T08:29:00.001-06:002008-01-18T08:31:52.266-06:00dog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5C38BOVaFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/xzGnSlDmHgA/s1600-h/dog.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R5C38BOVaFI/AAAAAAAAAB8/xzGnSlDmHgA/s320/dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156823815087810642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">cracks of thunder<br />the dog howls<br />jumping up<br />his ears<br />hurt<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6148362572875567950.post-49380374626905973422008-01-17T10:00:00.001-06:002008-01-17T11:10:52.340-06:00clouds<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R497zBOVaEI/AAAAAAAAAB0/0TXuNogIYCA/s1600-h/clouds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_SZCT1p8N7jE/R497zBOVaEI/AAAAAAAAAB0/0TXuNogIYCA/s320/clouds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156476214794610754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">sun shines<br />through<br />black clouds<br />wet leaves<br />of magnolia tree<br />blow in<br />west wind<br /></div>Judyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05108735251512903652noreply@blogger.com0