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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Bouillabaisse

—Poems and Photos by Ann Privateer, Davis



VIEW FROM THE TOP
 
The trail angles toward a ridge
where wind tinsels leaves
and Eucalyptus trees sway.
A quick lunch then we
take a last view from the top
before heading back.





CRAB SHELLS
                   
Crabs gather on the beach
purple and orange shells
bits of refuse, empty, immobile.
A claw, a leg strewn by gulls
on wet sand as clouds
roll fast overhead.






A POSTCARD FROM THE ISLE OR ISLAND, 
TAKE YOUR PICK

Before        depends
on the picture                a close crop
modified thanks to the library
who only prints
black and white
who reduces it
because I like
to crop it.
Who attaches a photo
who thinks this place
looks great
who wants you
to have a look
at bikini-bike photos
from this tiny beach
100m from our house.
The Isle does not look like this
when it is cloudy, which is often
in April and May, but the photos
by the local town drunk
who operates the bike rental
and laundry are quite alluring.





THE SHRINE

We traveled to the shrine
some Sunday afternoons
us females, mother, grand-
mother, aunt, and me where
their friend, a nun, sister
Mary Thomasine lives.  In
summer we say the rosary
climb rough-honed steps
through the woods, prayer
sounds drown like fog
above us, I follow the praying
chain of women, long to stop
for a flower, an insect, my kind
of prayer.

Other seasons we carry a flickering
candle, sing songs to Mary.  In
spring the shrine is ringed yellow
with daffodils.  Our visit always ends
the same, with the ample nun and
candy before sending us on our way.





 
WHY DENY IT

there is racism all sides
it has always existed
this obsessive hatred
of Islam, of suburbs,
of sectarian speech.
How can you speak
with impunity on behalf
of the majority, who will be
the minority?

________________________

Today's LittleNip:

TAKE OUT

blessed are those who take out the garbage
blessed are those who speak with children
blessed are those who breathe deeply
blessed are those who eat vegetables
blessed are those who feel compassion

(excerpted from "do or rot a me")

_______________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Privateer for today's fine bouillabaisse!