Betrayed Voyage

 

—Gas Pump Photo by Nolcha Fox

 —Other Photos by Katy Brown, Davis, CA

—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY

TOO MANY MILES

I’m too many miles
away from yesterday,
idling at a truck stop
that stopped,
weeds spreading
in cracks faster
than rumors.
I unfold an old map,
squint at squiggles
falling into emptiness
without a plan
or sense of direction.
I don’t want to stop,
I don’t need to go anywhere
but back to who I was,
on this road
that seems to go
nowhere.
Isn’t getting home

always the hardest part?

 

 

 

Purple Thistle Buds

 

BETRAYED VOYAGE

We were a sailing ship,
a train, a bus,
made of wood, of steel,
of fiberglass,
yet insides soft
and intertwined.
You demolished our skin
when you decamped
at the dock, left me
stranded at the station.
Not even a word goodbye.
Did you desire
another destination?
Too late, you’ll see
we remain in each other,
and what you destroyed
is worth more than all
your travels alone.

 

 

 

Red-Winged Blackbird With Bee

 

BLOW

See the birds blown across the sky,
black scribbles.

See the gate fly open,
see the dogs blown across the street.

See the flags, blown
fabric ripping.

See white fingers write across a sky-blue chalkboard,
see cloud dust blown, erasing words.

See the minutes blown across tomorrow,
see how they evaporate before we know they’re gone.

 

 

 

Thistle in the Afternoon

 

 

FILING CABINET

Under a tent of stars,
under the tent of my skin,
a dented, rusty
filing cabinet
buried in sand.
The lock is broken,
the key is lost.
Wish the doors open.
Dig through the dust,
through passages in time,
passages in books
with faded titles.
Under a cobweb pillow
a brush and comb
to subdue the scream,
untangle the yo-yo
string to wrap
this metal box,
postage due.

 

 

 

Bees on White Flowers

 

FILLED WITH ODDS

We were flowers
growing from a rock,
trees growing
on the pavement,
wild optimism
rooted in disruption.
Our ends were filled
with odds
against us.
When I looked
at the ring
you said was your heart,
under a microscope,
it was shattered glass.

 

 

 

Cow 796

 

FOOD EATS YOU

Food eats you
in your dreams.
Food fills you
with longing,
with sugar,
with chocolate,
with cream.
Food spits you out.
You’re a donut,
a cookie,
a cake
made in heaven,
a scone
made in hell.
You’re too fat
to fit into
your dreams.

 

 

 

Two Thistles

 

 

HOW COULD I MISS YOU?

I can spot you even when
you’re on another planet.

You’re a marching band
in my cathedral.
You’re the oven
that bakes my pot roast
to within an inch of life.

You’re a blizzard
to my bikini.
You’re the porcupine
to my balloon.
You’re white water
to my leaky boat.

Inadequate and fragile,
I can’t withstand
your nature.

I couldn’t miss you
if I tried.

 

 

 

Retreating Rabbit

 

 

 

Today's LittleNip:

 

Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.

  

—Hermann Hesse

 

________________ 

—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for a flurry of fine poetry today, and to Katy Brown for her also-fine flurry!

 

 

 

Good Afternoon

—Photo by Katy Brown

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For upcoming poetry events in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
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