—Michael Lee Johnson, Itasca, IL
The first time I saw your face, cosmetic images, dust, dirt, determination
fell across your exiled face. Coal smoke lifted with your simple words and short poems.
Your meaning drawn across a black board of past, rainbows, future
fragment, still in the shadows.
Muhammad, Jesus twins, only one forms a halo alone.
One screams love, drips candle wax, lights life, shakes, love.
I encrust your history in the Ginkgo tree, deliverance.
I wrap in the branches the whispers in your ears a new beginning.
I am the landscape of your future walk, soft peddle on green grass.
I will take you there. I am your poet, your lead, freedom clouds move over, then on.
I review no spelling, grammar errors; I lick your envelope, finish, stamp placed on.
Down with age I may go, but I offer this set of wings I purchased at a thrift store.
I release you in south wind, storms, and warm in spring, monarch butterflies.
Your name scribbles in gold script.
Night, mysteries, follow handle, your own.
HARVEST TIME
A Métis lady, drunk—
in his native baby blue eyes.
CHEATERS
—Michael Lee Johnson
I am tired of cheaters
online, weary-eyed crossword
players, complicated chest moves
drift dancers, lies, laid soft peddle,
shared pillow, dark closet dreamers.
Campaign gossip whispers,
infidelity, sex objects shoved up orifices
in open or private places.
Sex shops open late, consummation
nightclubs, cities dark corners.
Two doctrines of selfishness
you should know about
penises and affairs: most are short.
Flesh and fights, scabs, cheaters in the night.
ONE-LEGGED GOOSE
—Michael Lee Johnson
You see me in the parking lot hobbling, avoiding cars.
I am that one-legged Canadian goose guest of the wild.
You toss me a handful of mixed birdfeed.
I am your morning wing flapper picking up leftovers
by sparrows, brown wing doves, yet grateful for charity.
I learn to survive dipped in red resister North then South
traveler, lifelong, mute to borders, I cross the line.
I thank you poet, bouquet, crossword flowers
gusty winds mix carnations.
Cheap, reasonable costs in depth, death, within religions,
tones of god Zeus, one space to Mary wept.
Those cheap carnations at the foot of the cross.
One-legged goose singled out.
___________________
WINGS
—Loch Henson, Diamond Springs, CA
Time preened her long white
feathers, with a slightly iridescent
The business of taking over the
She flexed her wings, and folded
That was her main advantage:
TRIAGE
—Loch Henson
Assess the damage, and
bind what needs it.
Repair what you can,
refer what you cannot
to someone with a more
specialized skill set.
Not all injuries are mortal
wounds, and some of the
most grievous harm can
be invisible.
Your job is triage.
The hours are long,
and remember to leave.
INSTANT MESSAGING
—Loch Henson
It takes longer to write
than to read.
Letter. Poem. Book. Scholastic text.
Social text.
The equation stands.
What of the care with which
the recipient reads?
My words have been warped
and wrangled into unrecognizable
tangles of unintended messages.
I write with a particular intention,
which I seek to convey whole,
and yet there is always room
for unpredictable elements,
for the imagination of others,
to take as playground what I meant
as sacred space,
and vice versa.
WALK WITH ME
—Loch Henson
At a certain point,
the hearing of the teachings
becomes dull. When I
refuse to walk in practice,
or resist accepting the
wisdom offered, I lose
my moment to apply
that which I have learned.
My path is not crowded.
There is more than enough
room for us to walk together.
Perhaps we can encourage
one another to embrace
that which we know to be helpful.
Walk with me, that the walking
may happen for both of us.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE
—Michael Lee Johnson
From the dawn, dusty skies
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Michael Johnson, Loch Henson, and Stacey Morgan for today’s hearty breakfast here in the Kitchen!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
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