—Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Original Art by Vangie Hansen, Buffalo, WY
COMING WEST
We began our journey west
when I was still a baby.
Hurricane Diane with wind and rain
pushed our car ahead of her.
My parents in a hurry,
they didn’t want to shelter.
Perhaps they thought
they’d change their minds,
or the service call my father back.
It might have been the only time
my parents were not late.
We began our journey west
when I was still a baby.
Hurricane Diane with wind and rain
pushed our car ahead of her.
My parents in a hurry,
they didn’t want to shelter.
Perhaps they thought
they’d change their minds,
or the service call my father back.
It might have been the only time
my parents were not late.
WOMAN AWASH
I can be flooded,
tossed by waves,
while standing on dry land.
One sunny day
floods me with warmth, and
tosses the shoes off my feet.
I can be flooded,
tossed by waves,
while standing on dry land.
One sunny day
floods me with warmth, and
tosses the shoes off my feet.
UNNECESSARY
I know I’m in your way,
a coat rack that you
blame for bruises,
a lampshade that you
bump at night.
I know that you don’t
find me useful,
I know and yet I wait.
I wait and spill cream
on your sweater,
If you won’t love me,
I’ll take hate.
I wait for you to take my key,
and shove me out the door.
Instead, you treat me
like a portrait
hanging on the wall.
Something barely
noticed, something
you acquired.
I know I’m in your way,
a coat rack that you
blame for bruises,
a lampshade that you
bump at night.
I know that you don’t
find me useful,
I know and yet I wait.
I wait and spill cream
on your sweater,
If you won’t love me,
I’ll take hate.
I wait for you to take my key,
and shove me out the door.
Instead, you treat me
like a portrait
hanging on the wall.
Something barely
noticed, something
you acquired.
RUSTY
You say that I’m just rusty,
too old to care, neglected,
my clothes all worn and faded.
You say I’m out of practice,
my mind decayed, too sleepy.
Just don’t forget that rust is used
to polish gold and silver.
It takes away your itching.
I’ll take it as a compliment,
Rust is not too shabby.
You say that I’m just rusty,
too old to care, neglected,
my clothes all worn and faded.
You say I’m out of practice,
my mind decayed, too sleepy.
Just don’t forget that rust is used
to polish gold and silver.
It takes away your itching.
I’ll take it as a compliment,
Rust is not too shabby.
WHEN A TREE FALLS
When a tree falls,
and I don’t hear it,
does it make a sound?
When a rainbow paints the sky,
and I don’t see it,
was there any rain?
When you want me
and I don’t know it,
are there any tears?
When I close my eyes
for one last time,
will the world exist?
Today’s LittleNip:
SERENADE
—Nolcha Fox
I’ll serenade you long and sweet,
a low romance, some swaying hips,
I’ll be your reed, your vibrant pulse
until the cows come home.
And that’s a long, long time.
___________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to Nolcha Fox and Vangie Hansen for another collaboration today, sending us poems and art from the book they’re working on. (The first part was posted here in the Kitchen on June 15.)
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
For upcoming poetry events in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
