Escape From New Jersey

Turkey Vulture at the State Fair

—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento

THE WAIT 
—Kim Clyde, Sacramento

The first remembrance I have of
Waiting for “him,” it was Hallowe’en and twilight
And I wore a harlot-red satin strapless cocktail dress that
My grown-up sister Jackie had made
With her own two hands.
I imagined myself a princess as I stood there
In the picture window of the ranch-style living room
And watched the Trick-or-Treaters tearing
Up and down the street, the third sister in the front yard
Handing out candy from a cauldron
Boiling with dry ice while I watched,
Recalled from the fray because I was too young
To stay out so late.

How well brainwashed, little me
In all that finery with forehead pressed
Against that window, I stood, alone
Surveying the knots of children
As they ebbed and flowed
Tides of sugar gliders squealing and laughing
Trailing the draperies of their home-made costumes
Pirate. Hobo. Ballerina. Ghost.
No store-bought superheroes then.
I remember wishing for the carriage to arrive,
White horses, footmen and all, to carry me away
To carry me to my own true love.
I remember feeling sad
At not being able to stay and join in,
Sad at the thought that “he” might be out there
Searching for ME.

It is a feeling that has stayed
And stayed, and stayed,
And never have we met.
The fairy tales have done their work.
I am still well brainwashed.

_______________ 

REMEMBERANCES

—Kim Clyde

Light and shadow
Gambol across ceiling and walls
Driven by the unheard breath of
This summer morning.
Tonight it will be the moon
Whispering in my room, in my ear
Remembrances of childhood trips
In the bed of daddy’s truck
Lying amid the detritus of camp gear
Flying down the road under the trees
Light and shadow flickering red
Upon closed eyelids.

_______________ 

2012 JULY HEATWAVES

—Kim Clyde

Sactown Summer

It was one of those nights
A night so hot
The only music worth hearing
Is cool, dissonant, New York jazz
So hot.
The air so thick
You have to chew your way through it
Just to get down the sidewalk.
So hot.
You want to lick the asphalt
To see if you can taste
The wind of fall or
The rain of winter.
Blistering.
You feel like a clay vessel
In a solar-hot kiln,
Golden, molten,
Like that last lonely note
Crowing from the bell
Of a dead man’s
Saxophone.

_______________

FOR LARRY DINKINS 

—Kim Clyde

You smile
As I walk in and later
Sit by me.
I say “I can’t get your
Ode to fast food
Out of my head.”
You smile again,
A sly secret smile and say
“That’s Mario’s.”

“Open mouth
Insert foot!” comes to mind,
And I think how glad I am
I didn’t bring anything to read…
There’s no following the likes
Of you.

Michelle Kunert as Mona Lisa [note corn dog]
State Fair, 2012 

HER ESCAPE FROM NEW JERSEY

—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

the books scattered

the desk abandoned

the stale-smoke living room

the lamp standing tall

the walk across the rug

the piano by the stairs

the front door

the porch outside

the bush

the grassy lawn

the maple at the curb

the corner on the lane

the bus to the bridge

the river to the city

the buzz of subway

the dash to school

the classroom

the street

the building

the elevator to the third floor

the door to his rented room

his waiting bed 

_______________

PEACE COMES TO UNCLE BILL’S CABIN XII

—Patricia Hickerson

I dreamed I was re-writing the Bible, Uncle Bill

What? How can this be?  You don’t know the Bible

yes, I do, just as well as you know Chinese

the new words were pouring out on the paper

burning it up with a fiery sun of ideas

changing words that create wars

Where was that? in Exodus? in Deuteronomy?

I was stopping wars, Uncle Bill

so you blame it on the Bible?

I’m just saying….

say, kid, come indoors

the sun is heating up your brain

 

_______________

KITCHEN FUN AT UNCLE BILL’S CABIN XIII

—Patricia Hickerson

cooking oysters casino

Uncle Bill guiding me

at the same time talking

about his cousin Kimbo Bienvenu, age 18

ran away with his 13-year-old girlfriend Darlene

up to Bay St. Louis

they rented a room behind the local Winn Dixie

and after they finally wore themselves out in bed

Kimbo got a job as box boy

and used to steal prime steaks,

filet mignon, run through the butcher shack

to the back door and throw ‘em over the fence

to Darlene and she

would catch ‘em and fry ‘em up

with shallots and Madeira wine

so simple

like this recipe, kid

now I already shucked the oysters for you

and they are beauties, let me tell you

big and gorgeous

all right get on with it, Uncle Bill

what’s next?

nothin’ to it, kid, when the oil’s hot

throw in the sausage, peppers, onions

pimentos, garlic

next, cheese, salt, cayenne

now we’re gonna bake the oysters till they curl

up at the edges

oh wow let me look at those sweet babies,

they’re smiling at me I could kiss ’em

well, kid, you know the rest

we’re gonna cover the oysters with the sauce

like putting ‘em to bed with a blanket and….

eat ‘em, Uncle Bill, we’re gonna eat

those sweet babies, aren’t we?

 

_______________

Today's LittleNip:

MY ALCOHOLIC

—Patricia Hickerson

you came to me from Planet X

after 30 years in bars

speaking of Zark

your constant companion out there

Zark’s wisdom had become your own

I didn’t understand

but took your word for it

_______________ 
 

—Medusa

 Danyen Powell and Shawn Pittard
—Photo by Sandy Thomas, Sacramento

[Just a reminder: Danyen and Shawn
will be reading at Crossroads tomorrow,
Saturday, July 21. Check our blue b-board
at the right for details.]