The Black Pegasus
—Painting by Odilon Redon
—Patricia Hickerson, Davis
finally
a whisper of hope along Sugar Street
and the secret alleys where pharaohs lounged
where they pushed off on their barques
along the Nile, sailing down their corridors of power
kings and commanders with knotted whips,
electric shocks
shrieks of pain still echo along the crumbled walls
narrow streets of filth and shame
market stalls huddled close
whispers against the bleak
behind veiled windows closed during the long wintry summer
sweet thought barred
power a frozen desert
hope chilled
whisper of starved streets for the rapid scurry
and sweep along the revolutionary moment
startled streets swarm
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Thanks, Patricia, for the poem celebrating the success of the Egyptian uprising. You can find Pat's new rattlechap, Dawn and Dirty, at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sacramento.
Another treat in the Kitchen today is our guest poet from Austin, Texas, Mary Rudig, who uses the pen name, Minhocao. Minhocao lives in and works in the great state of Texas, which is the only exciting thing about her life, she says. She spends her days being a prairie dog in a cubicle farm, but when released, she writes, makes eccentric poetry recommendations, and pretends to know something about gardening. Her publications on Medusa's Kitchen and the upcoming Ophidian are her first! Minhocao’s Christmas gift to herself was an online poetry journal, which can be perused here: minhocao.livejournal.com Scroll down for a photo of Mary that is an MK first: a round photo!
__________________
EARLY SUMMER
—Minhocao
The cicadas have
come to the suburbs.
It is too cool for air,
too hot for closed windows.
I listen to metallic chirps
through screens and
The blurred sound of the box fan
and wash the dishes.
__________________
EVENING DESIRES
—Minhocao
Crowded sometimes,
Our lives—there is
Scarcely room for
Two. When I raise my
Hands to strip
You bare for
Love-making, my
Elbows bump
Against time,
Obligations,
—Regrets.
____________________
SKINNED, BUT WALKING
—Minhocao
When I was
very young, I
kept my pelt
hanging on
the nail beside
my bed.
Until
the morning
when they stole
it, locked my
fur up, down
in the root
cellar.
They
gave me a
white dress,
gave me a boy,
not yet a man,
instead.
When
I cried for
the key, they
only said:
Hush
your mouth
Girl,
he's a
good man
and my,
but
don't you
look
so fine,
in that
pretty
pretty
dress.
______________________
SELF REFLECTION
—Minhocao
The road crew has
left another rock pile,
The sunlight puddles and streaks
across white limestone.
An orange safety sign lies
abandoned in the tall grass.
______________________
BLOODED HEAT
—Minhocao
My head,
tipped by your hand,
Guided like a coursing hound
into
The heated blood of your kiss.
If I tremble,
forgive.
I am pawsore
and
famished.
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
For these "holidays", with their big, stuffed commercial fliers,
why not—instead of buying candy, jewelry and flowers—
give to world hunger relief organizations?
Don’t people realize that the same money for mere trinkets
could instead be put to use saving peoples' lives?
Besides—what could be better to show your love than
a receipt showing that you cared that many other people get to eat?
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
_____________________
—Medusa
Mary Rudig (Minhocao)