CHILDLESS
Outside, the voices of loud children
surrounding the mirage of my house
I live here
in precarious silence
holding the tremulous boundaries
together
but they get through
to the bright oranges on my tree
to the curiosity beyond my fence
to the dismissal of my windows
I have become so narrow—
Just now,
a child slips through . . .
then another . . . then another . . .
THE HOUSE’S DREAM
After Blue Grille by William Halsey, 1956
I can’t get out of the house’s dream—composite
house with yellow rooms, with doors that lean
and stairs that fall away—a crooked moon in
all its windows, it thinks I am a game and waits
till I’m asleep to rearrange itself—change its
colors and its new address that I must learn—
the space grows smaller—where is my mother—
which room—which room—where do I go
to play—I used to know which room was
mine, the one with the cot—the one with
the transom— the one with the loudest
radio. Something walks the hallway with a
silent tread that makes it shudder. I cry out,
should I hide in a closet—dark will save me.
A wall sags. A light bulb sways. The page
tears in my coloring book, my blue crayon
breaks. The porch falls off. I use more red,
press down, out line with black to keep the
house more stable—the green smears—
orange takes over—I can’t make it right—
the door too small—the windows too
tall, the looming house too big for
the page now. A shoe comes
through the transom to waken me.
A MONARCH BUTTERFLY FLUTTERING DOWN
THE LOW AFTERNOON
A Monarch Butterfly—fluttering down
the low afternoon
in a startle of orange confusion.
Child—
do not touch that soft and tremulous life
at the edge of your reach—
It goes from here to everywhere it has left.
It goes in a
fragile flight from here to extinction.
Touch the air where it was, feel how soft and empty—how it makes
your eyes wonder what is gone
Child,
that was a
Monarch Butterfly
Did it delight you?
Did it touch your life
With its own . . . Brief . . . Bright?
Of all the colours I feel,
Orange overwhelms me with its warmth
and soft lingering around the edges in
my colouring book. I love the smoothness
as I go around and inside the lines.
I move the dull clumsiness around
and feel for the brightness of colour
and wish my hands were not
so much a blame as a joy
of simple creation.
And, lo! And, lo!
to all my scribblings
of frustration—how I
can admire the result of
my realization : I can see this,
I can feel this, I can claim it for my Art.
OF THE MOON
The gold water drowns into the night,
the light of the moon…
Save me, says the full moon,
orange and low.
I hold out my hands
to catch the moon…
The moon drifts into the water.
I am too far.
I follow the moon-path of the water.
My eyes do the catching.
My eyes
are full of the moon.
I close my eyes
and lose the moon.
I sleep and the moon escapes
into the sky on the water.
The light illuminates my wonder.
I am in my dream now—
the drifting dream,
the falling moon—
the moon-filled pond that is now
a shallow drowning river.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2016)
OLD MAN LOOKING AT FRUIT
old man
looking at fruit
(pears and peaches and cantaloupe)
in the grocery window
(nectarines and apricots and
the sweet grapes)
the old man’s eyes are as filmy
as saliva
(strawberries, blackberries,
raspberries)
his hands shake
his pockets have no money
(oranges and tangerines
and the yellow apples)
the old man’s hunger
is on his face
like a hate
(honeydew, casaba,
Persian melon)
words he can almost
taste
(pomegranates, plums, bananas)
(prev. pub. in Jeopardy, 1971,
Lemon Center for Hot Buttered Roll [chapbook], 1975,
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 2010)
A THEME OF RED
After Four Darks in Red by Mark Rothko
A figure of a man
dragging red behind him all his life :
His blood? His love?
All his rage and effort?
.
Now he stands
at a blank frame of ending;
everything behind him
is a hum of memory.
.
He does not turn to look.
He puts his hand against a wall
that was always there,
waiting for his handprint.
Oh, you who are yet a child,
somewhere out of reach, your
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2015)
THE YOUNG MAN PLAYS HIS FLUTE IN THE
SUMMER GARDEN
At various stations of listening the listeners pause
in their musings and conversations to hear the
lyrical notes of the flute carry and dwindle. The sad
girl leaning against the tree on the shady slope that
goes down to the pond, simply sighs and closes her
eyes. An animated couple on the veranda look at
each other and smile, then stare off into the quiet
distance. An old woman at her watercolors suddenly
dips her brush into orange and draws a flower, and
the one who is mesmerized by the flautist falls in love.
(prev. pub. in Blue Unicorn, 2018, and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2018)
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
How will you find me
if I am a silence
leaning
into
an explanation,
a bowl of oranges
glowing on a table,
time turning in the clock,
how will you
recognize me—
out of the mirror—
my old face made of shadows—
my eyes burning.
what will you say
if I turn toward you
and wait for you to speak
after offering you
these words . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2008)
____________________
Here we are, plunging deep into October already, which is slipping through our fingers like gossamer—but more about that in a minute. Joyce Odam has celebrated orange with us today, our most recent Seed of the Week, bringing in orange’s parent, red, and yellow, too. Thank you, Joyce, for bringing colors to life for us with your scrumptious poetry and photos (lots of ‘em today!). By the way, in reference to her first poem, Joyce is by no means childless, having three lovely offspring, and grandkids besides! One of her girls, Robin (a fine poet herself) is very helpful to Joyce, both with Medusa's Kitchen, and with Joyce's wee, long-running publication, Brevities.
Our new Seed of the Week is "Gossamer". Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.
___________________
—Medusa
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
