Photo Enhancement by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove
—Kathy Kieth, Pollock Pines
A careful ear can hear them in that darkness
that falls with sundown: hear those faintest murmurs
of leaves or breeze or owls' feathers stirring,
warm world of day now cooling into night.
These whispers hem the very edge of night,
their agitation growing in the darkness:
breathy voices clearing, sighing, stirring,
susurring, soughing, turning with their murmurs.
A careful ear won't listen to these murmurs,
will close itself to rustlings in the night—
shut out the nervous thrum of spirits stirring
and rising to their lives of thorny darkness—
will deafen to that darkness, with its murmur-
ations softly stirring in the night. . .
______________________
HOSPITAL LAB WAITING ROOM
—Kathy Kieth
Rubber branches slither through sagging
scotch tape, snake along
faded pink walls; pretend-
plants tangle in chartreuse confusion.
Scotch tape snakes along
around the plain black-and-white clock;
plants tangle in chartreuse confusion
as their tape gives way and loses its hold.
Around the plain black-and-white clock,
a spiderweb has been begun, then abandoned
as the tape gives way and loses its hold,
impotent from waiting.
A spiderweb has been begun, then abandoned.
The magazines are two years old, badly torn.
Impotent from waiting,
an old man slumps in gray Naugahyde.
The magazines are two years old, badly torn.
Down the hall, the sound of approaching footfalls echoes;
an old man slumps in gray Naugahyde,
dozing in the murmurs of nurses.
Down the hall, the sound of approaching footfalls echoes
off faded pink walls which pretend
to doze in the murmurs of nurses.
Rubber branches slither through, sagging…
___________________
THE DARKNESS OF CHILDREN
—Kathy Kieth
mewls and titters behind dirty
hands: mumbles under
mufflers: shadowy murmurs
back of the woodshed that ooze
over your skin just before
the disheveled cat
runs away… Canyons drop
behind darting, feral
eyes: sighs rustle like
the whisper of papery leaves
in gathering autumn. Secrets
mutter in cupboards: smirk
one last time: then skitter
off and away, lodge them-
selves in the dusty
armoire of the heart…
_____________________
DOZING IN THE FRONT SEAT
of the Nash: head on Mother’s
lap: clack of wipers on a rainy
road: murmurs mingling with
thrumming motor sounds: father-
mother murmurs: night folding
around wet windows: night-rain
closing its dark curtain around
the grey hunch of a Nash: whispers
of rain and water-flash of passing
cars: sibilant sighs carrying
the ess in cancer: essy hush
of it: night-sounds of slick tires
and road-rumbles: hum of
grown-up voices folding around
her dozing head: all those esses
sliding along in their dark
murmurs: rainy susurrations over
the grumble of an old motor: smell
of those seatcovers: sibilant sound
of this new word, cancer. . .
—Kathy Kieth
________________________
MURMURS IN THE KITCHEN
for Frannie-Alice
—Kathy Kieth
Yellowing windowshades muzzle
a hot summer day: muffle
brassy July sun that slants against
peeling linoleum. Two grey heads
bend over knife nicks in a wooden
table: murmur the worn-out secrets
of old women as stiff fingers curve
around chipped cups: grasp at
the soft flesh of each other's words:
embrace the slim gossip of this
gathering twilight. . . Yellowing
shades fold the room in liquid
amber: wash faded tile bronze, as
the murmurs scatter across crowded
drainboards: bounce with a ping off
the cooling stove: roll along base-
boards and under dented pans: finally
come to rest: curl up in the china
cabinet alongside those few choice
pieces left behind by somebody's
grandmother, somebody's mother,
somebody's aunt. . .
(first published in Nanny Fanny)
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
Vanity: What you feed first.
—Stephen Dobyns
_____________________
—Medusa
Bill Gainer has a new book coming out August 1; see the Medusa's Kitchen Facebook page for more info and to order it from Amazon.
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
