Tag: Poetry
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Cat-Alchemy the cat stands on its hind legs at dawn,paws deep in the flour bin,whisking chaos into a sort-of roux, “observe,” it intones,as three eggshells levitateand the toaster hums. the old woman watches,arms crossed,coffee steaming a fog:“that’s not how physics works,” she says. the cat flicks its tail,a spatula, somehow —and…
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0106: Liturgy for a Starry Night
Liturgy for a Starry Night, Part 12.1, Arles, Spring 1836(where beauty is the last thing left that belongs to us) I. The Yellow HouseIt sits on the corner,mustard yellow, warm to the eye,a promise of shelterthat the nose immediately contradicts. Damp plaster. Fried onion.Lingering acrid smoke from firesthat never fully caught. This is Arles.This is…
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3105: Meteora – Second Voice
The featured image is used with the kind permission of Nick (Spira) . Meteora UNESCO. Second Voice The cavesremainafter the voices leave. Dark openings in rock,like mouthspausingbefore speaking, where questions gothat are no longer satisfiedwith easy answers. A man enters the cavecarrying his voice. Years later, two voices leave. One asks.One answers. Again.And again. Until…
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31 May, Meteora: Remains
The featured image is used with the kind permission of Nick (Spira) who holds all rights. Meteora: Remains I. Passing Through Memory Not mountain.Silt.Water’s slow thoughtfulness. The sea remembers mebetter than the sky. Shell.Darkness.Weight. Pressure as language. I have worn the shape of riverslonger than rivershave worn names. A fish once passed through me.A root.The…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Heron in the Birdbath (An Almost Diplomatic Incident) The heron has arrived.A tall, grey-blue silencestanding knee-deep in the birdbath… like a librarian who’s forgottenwhy she entered the reading room. THE OLD WOMAN’S VIEW:“How majestic. How serene.A living sculpture,a breath of wildin our overgrown garden.”She reaches for her sketchpad,her tea going cold. THE CAT’S VIEW…
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25 May: The Liturgy for Accents
Part 11.2, Avignon, 1836: Liturgy for Accents That BetrayWhere the crowd turns on a syllable I. The Unforgivable DifferenceSometimes — it is how you say it. The foreign curl of a vowel,a rhythmlearned elsewhere. Brigid’s accent rises like smokeabove the herbs,the ointments like smoke from a fireno one sees. She asksfor chamomile,for arnica,for small remedies…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Conquers EuroVision(Or: A Feline Bid for Continental Glory) The cat sits before the TV,tail curled in concentration,watching a man in sequinssing something unidentifiablewhile a woman in a flying saucerplays the violin —or possibly weeps.It’s hard to tell. “Old Woman,” he says,“what is this Eurovisionand what is a Bulgaria?Is that a fish?Can we buy…
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23 May: 101 Word Palindrome
A Poet’s Mythology in 101 Words a crowkicks asidesummer clouds and divesinto the sky. wingshung by wind,touched by landscape. I am twelve, drawing crow sigilson my arm, my ink-black wing,a piercingfor the dark branchof my heart, conqueredby a crowthat desires speech. that was my childhood: my handsinside black nestsfull of pointed beaks, liftinga featherless nestlingback…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and the Sardine Campaign(Or: This is How a Cat Conquers a Tin of Sardines, Miss Violet 😂) The cat sits in the middle of the kitchen floor,a tin of French sardines clutched between his paws. The good kind.The lemony kind. The kind the Old Woman hides on the top shelfbehind the oatmeal. He…
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20 May: Stream of Consciousness
A Stream of Consciousness on a Tuesday Afternoon Rain arrived exactly on cue today,like a polite actor entering stage left at the BBC’s command —three o’clock,said the weatherman,and at three o’clock the sky obliged for precisely five minutes,just enough to silver the windows,just enough to make the world smell briefly of wet pavement and leaves,just…
