Through the Kieth window after all this snow...
THROUGH THE SEALED WINDOWS
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
Mistletoe hangs from winter-bare ashes like baskets.
The sky is layered into a blue and white parfait.
What would blue taste like, what would sky?
The smell of violets creeps into the house
through the sealed windows.
In a split second the present becomes the past.
The man down the street remodels his house
all through the stormy winter.
Hammering, hammering under the skin.
Roots under the soil, leeks in the compost.
Tulip magnolias peek over rooftops, their blooms
like fruit at the instant of perfection.
Then the petals separate and fall,
mauve and cream, slippery as memory.
__________________
EARLY MORNING HOUSE
—Jane Blue
Doves call across the canyons of the city.
From my chair, meditating, I see my house reflected,
superimposed on the house across the street.
A chalet, the yellow peaked roof from the ell
behind me pulled from one window
through the window in front of me, so I am
surrounded by my house like a cocoon.
Their house disappears. The morning is quiet.
Just the doves. Sunlight flickering
through the lush green of dogwood leaves.
I am inside and outside, my house hanging
in the street, my shadow in the middle
of everything, red roses smudged in the air.
My red roses become our red roses.
Their house becomes our house.
There is no other house.
—Jane Blue, Sacramento
Mistletoe hangs from winter-bare ashes like baskets.
The sky is layered into a blue and white parfait.
What would blue taste like, what would sky?
The smell of violets creeps into the house
through the sealed windows.
In a split second the present becomes the past.
The man down the street remodels his house
all through the stormy winter.
Hammering, hammering under the skin.
Roots under the soil, leeks in the compost.
Tulip magnolias peek over rooftops, their blooms
like fruit at the instant of perfection.
Then the petals separate and fall,
mauve and cream, slippery as memory.
__________________
EARLY MORNING HOUSE
—Jane Blue
Doves call across the canyons of the city.
From my chair, meditating, I see my house reflected,
superimposed on the house across the street.
A chalet, the yellow peaked roof from the ell
behind me pulled from one window
through the window in front of me, so I am
surrounded by my house like a cocoon.
Their house disappears. The morning is quiet.
Just the doves. Sunlight flickering
through the lush green of dogwood leaves.
I am inside and outside, my house hanging
in the street, my shadow in the middle
of everything, red roses smudged in the air.
My red roses become our red roses.
Their house becomes our house.
There is no other house.
___________________
TREE TRIMMERS THROUGH THE WINDOW
—Dawn DiBartolo, Citrus Heights
when the tree hit the house,
I was asleep; assumed it was something else,
and returned to the all-is-well veil of dreams.
and later, when I braved a glance
thru the rain-streaked window, branches
dangling from the roof, bending the gutters
and blocking my swift exit, I endured such a
bone-deep panic; the sudden shiver having nothing
to do with the wind. relentlessly, I called everyone I knew,
for advice, validation; prayer.
the trimmers came the next day
with loud toys and no evident fear,
tossing the trunks of my discontent
to the water-logged ground as if
they weighed nothing. I was stunned!
to me, those branches weighed everything.
from the splintered sanctity of my home, I watched,
too intimidated to step outside the walls
of my own beliefs about the gray sky
heavy with more rain to come, too afraid
of what the weight of the storm meant
to offer any kind of assistance. after all,
what could I possibly do to contain the rain?
what could I possibly offer to impede the
torrent of broken branches raining from the sky?
the trimmers were without defeat.
they were fearless; quite literally, on top of things,
and I, in my false sense of walls and windows,
cowered in the shadows, unconvinced
of my own ineptitude; their sweat,
my redemption.
(Dawn DiBartolo says a tree fell on her house last week!)
___________________—Dawn DiBartolo, Citrus Heights
when the tree hit the house,
I was asleep; assumed it was something else,
and returned to the all-is-well veil of dreams.
and later, when I braved a glance
thru the rain-streaked window, branches
dangling from the roof, bending the gutters
and blocking my swift exit, I endured such a
bone-deep panic; the sudden shiver having nothing
to do with the wind. relentlessly, I called everyone I knew,
for advice, validation; prayer.
the trimmers came the next day
with loud toys and no evident fear,
tossing the trunks of my discontent
to the water-logged ground as if
they weighed nothing. I was stunned!
to me, those branches weighed everything.
from the splintered sanctity of my home, I watched,
too intimidated to step outside the walls
of my own beliefs about the gray sky
heavy with more rain to come, too afraid
of what the weight of the storm meant
to offer any kind of assistance. after all,
what could I possibly do to contain the rain?
what could I possibly offer to impede the
torrent of broken branches raining from the sky?
the trimmers were without defeat.
they were fearless; quite literally, on top of things,
and I, in my false sense of walls and windows,
cowered in the shadows, unconvinced
of my own ineptitude; their sweat,
my redemption.
(Dawn DiBartolo says a tree fell on her house last week!)
MALTBY HOUSE
—Janet Pantoja
wood house
abandoned, rots . . .
wind blows in—out windows
I wonder . . . Who lived there before?
Someone.
___________________
A WORD ABOUT WINDOWS
—Janet Pantoja, Woodinville, WA
Windows are transparent openings that allow sunlight into your house.
Windows eliminate darkness . . .
You can open as many as you want to see outside.
Windows let you multi-task in the house—
like vacuum and check the weather at the same time.
You can see if it's raining outside without getting wet.
When you go outside, you take your umbrella.
Windows is an operating system that allows access to computer resources.
Windows eliminate darkness . . .
You can open as many as you want to see information.
Windows lets you multi-task on the computer—
like write a letter and check the weather at the same time.
You can see if it's raining outside without getting wet.
When you go outside, you take your umbrella.
Windows—
There are unlimited windows in the World . . .
allowing us to interface with unlimited rays of sunshine.
Windows—
There are unlimited windows in Windows . . .
allowing us to interface with unlimited knowledge.
What would we do if we there were no W/windows?
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
WINDOW VIEW
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys
On a wintry morning
Big picture window
Opens to the gray sky
Wet traffic splashing
California winter green returning
Peeping from the dead summer gold
Creek bubbles in back
Rushing with the rains
Windows connect me
To an inclement nature
___________________
—Medusa