Creating Love

—Anonymous Photos

THE TUMBLEWEED AT CHRISTMAS
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

“To move a tumbleweed you must push it,
preferably with wind.” —Dale Odam


He has lashed and staked
the tumbleweed to the yard,
a gift for his lady of whims
who next year would have one
as her xmas tree.

But now the big green
wild one
is a prisoner for her delight.
She looks at it through her window,
shows it to her friends,
watches the wind try to roll it free,
watches the rain try
to penetrate its brambleness.

Perhaps it breathes more brokenly
than most, having exhausted
all its one direction.
At least it knows which way
it cannot go.


(first pub. in Folio, 1974)

 O CHRISTMAS TREE & THE NEON MACHINE
—Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

In our local pizza joint, in the wood-grain
veneer of our table, there’s an eye
aimed at the far corner by the restroom
alcove where sits the flashing-light machine
that vends cheap junk nobody buys.
Year-round, wreathed in circling reversing
jitterbugging blinks like a holiday light-
string on steroids. Last year, it almost
obliterated the Christmas tree whose lights
glowed steady but self-effacing beside
the machine. The tree, topped by a flightless
angel; I wondered if the tree wanted to root
right through the floor into earth and raise
its crown through ceiling, opening up
the pizza joint to stars; if it wished a raven
to alight, dark angel with real wings.
What would I find this year? The Christmas
tree brightened the far corner with festive
glow. The neon machine was dark—
maybe dead. Maybe a raven atop the tree.
Maybe it killed the neon.

On a Christmas-time episode of “The Flash” (CW TV show)
       Only the bad guy mentions the celebration of Jesus’ birth
       The Flash, or Barry Allen, never acknowledges having any faith
       Notice how superheroes never seem to believe in God anyway
       and never read The Bible, nor do they pray?
       Well, a “saved” superhero might convince villains to change their ways
       but born-again Christians don’t show up in most comic book fantasies—
       the superhero and not Jesus gets the praise for saving the day
       and if Jesus’s name is mentioned, it’s a curse in vain        

—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA

I dreamt I woke up and saw I was surrounded in a neighborhood of mansions
     These places even had parking lots filled with nice cars
     I looked to see that all I had was a small house in the midst of it
     I was once told that in heaven there are many mansions
     but of course I would be happy with just a little place that I could call my own
     and I pray and hope that God will let me have that on this side of paradise

—Michelle Kunert

LINES CARVED IN THE BARK OF THE ANCIENT SYCAMORE
—Michael H. Brownstein, Chicaco, IL

        for Deborah who I love dearly

How do we create love?

Four days from the start of winter, five days from the great
Ursid meteor shower, six days after the temperature climbed
into the sixties, rain fell, froze on contact, changed everything
to white ice, clean and smooth, clean and crunchy rugged. The
man and woman stood outside their small home, logs burning
in the fireplace, candles lit in darker corners, thick sunlight
heating everything through thin windows. It was cold outside.
They listened to the scents around them, saw the sounds of life,
smelled the fresh breeze swinging through the bare trees, arms
around each other, scarves across their throats, hats light on
their heads, heavy jackets open to the day. Christmas comes in
the morning, he said. I know, she answered. I never asked, he
continued. I did not ask either, she replied. I do not need any-
thing, he said. Nor I, and she smiled and paused and let out a
fog of air that dissipated quickly. We are not like that, he began
again. We are not like the air you see in this weather when you
breath. We have something stronger and we have something
greater. She turned her head to him. A glitter of light flashed
through a nearby evergreen, its needles ripe with color, each
branch flickered then stopped—a pause in wind. I know, she
answered. We have all we need. We have this forest and this
house and we have each other. He kissed her lightly. That is all
I have ever needed and will ever need, he said. That was all
they needed to say to each other, the day fresh, the forest clean
and white and bright, water dripping from the eaves, and slowly
the night's ice fall melted, leaving behind the colors of winter's
fields.

Love is created in many ways. This is one of them.     

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS FROM THE HOUSING
PROJECTS, ENGLEWOOD, CHICAGO
—Michael H. Brownstein

       for the David Sheltons working against the grain in the 
      Chicago Public Schools


This Christmas, I hope for the best for my students—past and present:
May Mildred Johnson find her pace in life, her baby quiet gratitude.
May Timothy Stewart put down his armor, enter his library,
check out his cool character, his kind being, his calm and resourcefulness.
May Deidre Miller discover her inner peace, her wants and fears,
her staircase away from always needing, always attaching herself to another,
the ability to stop walking down the up escalator. She deserves to reach the top.
May Mark Edwards understand words are as strong as sharpened iron,
strength from inside is better than anger, restraint and kindness is best of all.
May Michael Smith find his way home. His mother needs him. She is crying.

This Christmas, may all of my prayers for all of my students be answered.

Today’s LittleNip:

DARK HEART OF DECEMBER
—Taylor Graham

Behind Stone Mountain, dawn
is gathering tinder, twigs of winter-
brittle oaks. Frozen ground’s littered
with brown leaves
blown against dredged-rock walls.
But there’s a light up the hill,
neighbor at his barn; hay
for the manger and he’s singing.
Horses don’t care if he’s off-key,
if he sings a carol older than
warmed-over coffee. Even in this
dying year it packs a jolt
to the heart that makes a body
feel like singing.

_______________________

—Medusa, wishing you and yours a holiday season full of poetry and contentment!

 —Anonymous Photo
Celebrate poetry!

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