—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Nolcha Fox
I CAN’T GIVE IT AWAY
It sits in the sideboard,
in blue porcelain funk,
my grandma’s
casserole dish.
I pull it out now,
trace its round
empty yearning
with my finger.
So many things
I’ve given up,
but this, this
hidden love,
unused for decades,
I can’t give away.
It sits in the sideboard,
in blue porcelain funk,
my grandma’s
casserole dish.
I pull it out now,
trace its round
empty yearning
with my finger.
So many things
I’ve given up,
but this, this
hidden love,
unused for decades,
I can’t give away.
AN UNOPENED LETTER
I found a letter
in a box
at the antique store.
It was never opened.
In a box,
a secret drawer.
It was rarely opened.
The letter was a treasure.
A secret drawer.
What stories it could tell.
The letter was a treasure
someone hid from everyone.
What stories it could tell
if I opened that old letter
someone hid from everyone.
I wonder what it held.
I opened that old letter
at the antique store.
I wondered what it held.
I read a letter to my long-dead dad.
I found a letter
in a box
at the antique store.
It was never opened.
In a box,
a secret drawer.
It was rarely opened.
The letter was a treasure.
A secret drawer.
What stories it could tell.
The letter was a treasure
someone hid from everyone.
What stories it could tell
if I opened that old letter
someone hid from everyone.
I wonder what it held.
I opened that old letter
at the antique store.
I wondered what it held.
I read a letter to my long-dead dad.
SLOUCHED
I’m slouched and paunched and rumpled,
disgusting to the women
who walk by.
I’m some forgotten
duffle-bag drug
dealers wouldn’t touch.
I’m slouched and paunched and rumpled,
disgusting to the women
who walk by.
I’m some forgotten
duffle-bag drug
dealers wouldn’t touch.
LOST AND CONFUSED
Life is a series of roads.
I lost my map.
I lost my passport.
I’m a perpetual U-turn
on a one-way street.
When I ask for directions,
folks babble in a language
I cannot understand.
They point the way I lost myself.
I cry to my dead mother.
She says, “That’s life, dear.
Keep your gas tank full.
Stash candy in the glove box.”
I’LL NEVER KNOW
I loved who I would
never have, and if
we found each
other by some
miracle, I might
not love what I
would get. Could
I live traditionally?
I chose another
road where I
relied upon myself
for food and shelter,
without him. But
still, I wonder.
IN DISGUISE
You always know what you should say.
You flatter me with chocolates,
flowers, dining fine.
But I found out
about your lovers.
You’re not the man for me.
MAELSTROM
You are a walking turbulence.
Disaster is your middle name,
Commotion is your purpose.
A whirlpool searching for a thrill,
you have no care what you suck in
so long as it is tasty.
STRANGER THAN
I am a stranger knocking
on a door I’ve seen in dreams.
I wonder if this doorway
leads to porticos with paintings
of my options never ventured,
if it leads to opportunities
or obstacles or holes.
Will I meet a friend or devil?
Should I leave or knock again
to face the truth?
NEEDING A LIFT
The moon is too heavy
to rise on her own.
We have to use a crane
to bring her to Weight Watchers.
Today’s LittleNip:
SHELTER
—Nolcha Fox
Many hide under disbelief
and walk by a dim lantern
because truth is too intense to tolerate.
______________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for today’s fine poetry, and for finding us photos to go with it!
Happy Holidays from Ms. Fox!
—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa
For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
