Flowers for You, or Algernon

What do you say? You.

Drop me a line.

Or a poem even.

If it keeps, in my hand

or my pocket.

Like a bank note flower

on a 'bak yard' grave

Let's just say.

I'm yours.

git

Perhaps I'm slow to learn this word. It makes me laugh. It makes me laugh.

From dictionary.com....

git

noun
a person who is deemed to be despicable or contemptible; "only a rotter would do that"; "kill the rat"; "throw the bum out"; "you cowardly little pukes!"; "the British call a contemptible person a 'git'"

Forecast--snow

A life might be made of assessments. A series of. Then lumps and clumps and bumps. Then reassessments. Reclumps and relumps. When a person learns that something does not work, so a person reworks, until the thing is something different. No one has to suffer. No one has to cry. But someone might suffer. Someone might cry.

Sometimes the new way sneaks in. At night. Or even day. It is subtle. And a person hardly knows that anything is different, but for the old way, when reencountered, as obnoxious as an obnoxious drunk.

There is a period, maybe brief, of remembering. An engagement, of sorts. And then a disengagement. Not a breaking up or a breaking of, but a no. A loud no. A stop whispering no. Not meant to be hurtful. But meant to say I'm finished. I'm finished with this. Not you, but this. People can't be constructed, built to please, but boundaries can be. So I've drawn lines, in the snow, where I need them. Not out of anger. But out of love. For them. And for you.

stop

Is there no redemption? No justice?

Big questions for a Wednesday night.

I'm hoping that Radiohead has the answers.

Creep

Some of you Radiohead fans may have already seen this...but I thought I'd post it anyway. It's creepy (sorry, necessary pun).

P.S.--If you have an oldish computer like I do, it might take a minute to load up.

Because I don't have photos

Two Legs Bad

About a week ago, while driving and listening to the radio, I began to quietly fume as Bush talked about the Iraq war. He fielded questions, maintaining his stay-in-Iraq-because-I-say-so position. He went on about Al-Qaida and the threat they pose and after a few minutes of 'we have to get these guys' talk I realized exactly how long Bush has been trying to connect Iraq and Al-Qaida. I had to stop and shake myself awake to remember that we went to war over the threat of weapons of mass destruction, unseen and unfound weapons of mass destruction. I've heard his silly lines of reasoning so many times that I feel like a character from Animal Farm in that I've almost started to believe that what he says is true. I'm nearly guilty of not being able to remember what the farm was like before the pigs took over, foggy and distant as it is.

Then there are things that cause me to snap to, like an around the world headline found today in the B section on page SIX of the GDT. It reads, "Intel report: Al-Qaida threat is heightened." First line: "Al-Qaida is using its growing strength in Pakistan and Iraq to plot attacks on U.S. soil, heightening the terror threat facing the United States over the next few years..."

And now war supporters say, "Look, see, Al-Qaida...they're a threat." But why are they a threat? How stupid can a person be? How can someone not see this war's role in the mobilization of said groups? I want analysis...the straightforward, no nonsense kind that links the growing strength of terrorist groups to four years of chaos, destruction and violence in Iraq....to our middle finger up, poised and ready to fire, U.S. leader and White House cabinet middle fingers that say....well....they say precisely what a middle finger is supposed to say, the gesture universal.

Last Night at Harbor Loop

On 7/12/07 old folk and young folk and middle-aged folk of Gloucester and thereabouts came out to hear music at Fitz Henry Lane. Featured musicians donating their time and talent: Joe, Leo and Inge and a bunch of other local and semi-local music makers. It was a good time.



For more photos click here.

Summer

Cosmos about to bloom. I can see the tall stems from here.

A man in front of me at Market Basket tells me how to properly unload my cart. There's a right way. And a wrong.

Baby starts screaming, I take her out and a kid offers to walk my cart to the car. "At least you have a car," he says. "Mine got taken when my girlfriend smashed the headlights in with a baseball bat. Someone called the police. It got impounded and sold at auction for $300. I put almost 15 grand into it."

Baby in the car. Asleep. Listening to our leader drone on and side step, not looking any of us in the eyes.

I think about basil from the garden, fresh pesto last night for supper, the way the warmth of toasted pinenuts brings out the sweet, spicy smell of basil, garlic on the tip of my tongue this morning.

Summer makes me take notice, the way the light is long and drawn out, how sounds sit at the tip of the ear, the way sea-salt air is here. And there. And then gone.

Gift

There are things about being a parent that are difficult.

And then there are things that are easy, this afternoon, the kids and their sweetness, wanting to make cards and gifts for Thea who turns one on Friday. Cole drew a gasoline tanker sitting atop a yellow and black road. And Aidan made a card with a baby wearing a birthday crown, cake and presents within reach. Upon completing the card Aidan said, "A card isn't enough. I want to make something for her to play with." "Sketch it out," I said, and a few minutes later she'd created instructions for a wooden baby rattle. With a bell inside so that the baby can hear it ring, arrows pointing here and there so that she and the wood cutter will know what to do, where things should go.

This is a world full of sadness and disappointment and longing. It is also a world full of tenderness and beauty and love. I am glad for myself on days that I am able to see and feel both. My children help me to see.

Everywhere

It is everywhere. In the crevices of the sofa. My hair at night. The stone steps cold, we do a dance together. A jig, of sorts.

Her skin is brown and smooth and clean. Not sandy. But clean.

No lines. Smooth. No lies. But tender.

And beautiful.

The Girls