17 Forks and Moon-Cats Dancing

 

—Poetry by Keith Snow, Harrisburg, PA

—Artwork Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

17 FORKS


for Christmas

a gift

from my son

for "our" house

(where only i live)

from Target, wrapped

only in their bag

I question 17 forks

not 8 or even 24

does he know,

3 were for salad

I am low on spoons

and that the knives

need sharpening

 

 

 

 

 

Everything looks better

in the left-work-early
morning light.

Venus looks sexy
this morning
no longer in her red
party dress, just wearing
a creamy, pearly slip

the moon is still out, looking
down on this bus stop
a mix of people going to work
going home
and ain't got a home

minutes      past     waiting

sky is lighter
brighter
Venus gone from view
more working folks
shuffle in
moon is still watching

I’m still waiting
most of the homeless
have drifted away
a few remain
one laying on the ground
I hope he's asleep

I make it home
finally
sit on porch
watch barely visible moon
as she gazes
at me

 

 

 

Los Gatos Bailando

 

"Gone-dule-lays“


she says slowly so I can follow, learn to pronounce, as this 

Dominican grandmother points
to the pigeon peas that dot yellow rice.


Back of a corner store, behind a steam table, her domain, where 

she cooks, serves and teaches.


This isn't a poem about the Dominican place or Caribbean food or a 

neighborhood I grew up in, but left long ago.

The tongs in her hands are fork, knife, spoon. Whatever she needs 

them to be,


as she flows from pollo asado, chicarrones y pernil.

 

"Sigue viniendo aquí y te enseñaré el español,” she tells me.

I grasp just enough to offer


"Yeah and i'll teach you English.”

We laugh.

Slowly I attempt to order

"Quisiera pollo asado y yuca con arroz con gandules, por favor."

"Si Si papi "

She is the poem.

 

 

 

 


CLICK

you enter a room
or a garden terrace
or a large garden party
or are in a line to get pink cotton candy at the circus

there were ten elephants
or six monkeys with turtle
doves in each hand or they had on mittens
and wore new red Chuck Taylors on each foot

i napped before bed, i dreamed
of 83 when the exits were not numbered by their distance from 

state border and or
i was hit by number 12 bus i just got off of

13 fish died, two by drowning
how many people went down to the river?  

 

 

 

 

 

SERENDIPITY

Hey kitty kitty
ante up
side
down

Inside a joke
punching
her
way
out

Growing by leap years
and rebounds

En la Cocina
hoping for treats
or flamenco guitars
she dances
with everyone
and
sometimes
no
one
at
all

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

FILE 13
—Keith Snow

Your apologies
are as light as paper
airplanes slip-gliding
to the ground
waiting to be put
in the trash.

___________________ 

Welcome to the Kitchen to newcomer Keith Snow from Pennsylvania! Keith has been writing and performing since 1999. He says he’s “Trying to find all his voices. Hoping to be better father, husband.” Again, welcome, Keith—and don’t be a stranger!

Our Seed of the Week is Cats, so I’ve played up the theme today, since Keith sent such a graceful poem about the little beasts. (“Growing by leap years and rebounds…”) It’s not too late to send in your cat poems to kathykieth@hotmail.com, and be sure to check each Tuesday for our latest Seed of the Week.

Tonight, Second Saturdays at the Brickhouse in Sacramento will feature Terry Moore at 8pm, with open mic sign-ups at 7:30pm. Earlier today, Straight Out Scribes will talk about the meaning and significance of Kwanzaa (including poems and stories), with two programs: one at 2pm and the other at 2:30pm, at the Culture Collection store in the Florin Center in Sacramento. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.    

______________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

Keith Snow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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